The Works of John Bunyan, vol 3 by John Bunyan (summer books .TXT) 📕

is driven out, the town retaken, new-modelled, and garrisoned by Emmanuel.

To the Christian, whose aim and end is peace, war presents a most forbidding aspect. He loves not to see the garments rolled in blood, nor to hear the dying groans of the wounded, nor the heart-rending cries of the bereaved, especially those of the widow and the orphan.

Spoliation and robbery are not the pastimes of the child of God, nor is cruelty the element of his happiness or peace. To read of such scenes, produces painfully interesting sensations; but even these are not so strong or intense as those delightful feelings which pervade the mind while watching the poor pilgrim in his struggles to get through the Slough of Despond, his terror under the flames of Mount Sinai, his passing unhurt the darts from Beelzebub’s castle, and his finding refuge at the Wicket Gate. It is true, that the most delicate Christian must become a stern warrior—the most sensitive ear must be alarmed with the sound of Diabolus’ drum, and at times feel those inward groanings which cannot be uttered—pass through ‘the fiery trial,’ and ‘endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ’; while at other periods of his experience, flushed with victory, he will cry out, ‘Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?’ We must fight the good fight of faith, or we can never lay hold on eternal life. We must be engaged in this holy war, and FIGHT or PERISH. There is no neutrality, no excuse that can be awaiting at the day of judgment. The servant of Christ is therefore found trusting in the Captain of salvation, furnished with the whole armour of God, with which his soul is clothed by the Holy Spirit—having the shield of faith, the helmet, the breastplate, the two-edged sword. It was being thus mysteriously, invulnerably armed, that gave the delicate, learned, pious Lady Anne Askew strength to triumph over her agonies, when the Papists disjointed every bone and sinew of her body on the rack. Her spiritual armour enabled her with patience to bless God at the stake, when, for refusing to worship Antichrist, she was burned in Smithfield, and her soul ascended to heaven in a flaming fiery chariot. It is the same spiritual armour, the same Captain to guide, the same Spirit to sanctify, the same Father to bless us, by which alone we can become more than conquerors over our vigilant and powerful enemies. The Holy War is in this volume presented to us by an old, experienced, faithful warrior; it is an allegorical narrative, written by a master hand, guided by deeply penetrating, searching powers of mind. It is his own severe brunts with the great enemy, who is aided by his army of pomps, vanities, lusts, and allurements, many lurking within, disguised to appear like angels, while under their masquerade dress they are very devils.

It is written by one who possessed almost boundless resources of imagination. It is more profound, more deeply spiritual than the pilgrimage from Destruction to the Celestial City; and to understand its hidden meaning, requires the close and mature application of the renewed mind. There are, alas! comparatively few that are blessed with spiritual discernment; and even of these, there are but few inclined to mental investigation and research. These are reasons why it has not been so popular a book as the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress.’ To aid those whose time for reading is limited, notes are given, by which obsolete words and customs are explained, and the reader assisted to appreciate the beauties, and to understand the meaning of this allegory. It is earnestly hoped that many will richly enjoy the comforts, instructions, consolations, and strength which the author ardently wished to convey to Zion’s warriors, by the study of this important subject.

I have already, in my long Introduction to the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’

noticed the peculiar genius and originality which are conspicuous in all Bunyan’s works, and which most resplendently appear in his allegorical writings. That genius became hallowed and sanctified by prison discipline, by an intense study of the Sacred Scriptures, and by his controversies with great men of various sects and parties. In the ‘Holy War’ Bunyan’s peculiar genius shines forth in its most beauteous lustre; the whole is new, genuine, flowing forth from his own deep and rich experience. It is, in fact, the same narrative that he had published under the title of ‘Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners, or a brief and faithful relation of the exceeding mercy of God, in Christ, to his poor servant John Bunyan.’ This simple, heart-affecting narrative, is here related under the allegorical representation of the ‘Holy War.’ In this, all the circumstances of his conviction of sin, and his conversion to God, are narrated with startling interest from the first alarm—his being roused from a state of death-like lethargy, his opposition to the grace of God, his refusals of the invitations of Emmanuel, and his being at length conquered to become a monument of divine mercy—a temple of the Holy Ghost. Then came his declension by carnal security, and his misery in that state, until he was finally reconquered; and his heart is permanently occupied by Emmanuel. The ‘Grace Abounding,’ aided by the marginal notes of the author to the ‘Holy War,’ forms a very valuable key to the mysteries of this allegory; without their aid some passages would be found deeply mysterious, and hard to be understood. Nor can this be considered extraordinary, when it is recollected that the whole of the allegory is a revelation of scenes, feelings, hopes, fears, and enjoyments, which are unknown, unfelt, and invisible to all except to those whose minds are enlightened by Divine truth; and even of these, very few have had the deep and trying experience with which the author was exercised.

That the ‘Holy War’ allegorically represents Bunyan’s personal feelings, is clearly declared by him in the poetical Introduction or Address to the Reader, prefixed to the book. He adverts to books of fiction, and solemnly declares—

‘I have somewhat else to do,

Than with vain stories thus to trouble you, For my part, I (myself) was in the town, Both when ‘twas set up, and when pulling down; I saw Diabolus in his possession,—

Yea, I was there when she own’d him for Lord.’

A remarkable verse describes his state before conversion—

‘When Mansoul trampled upon things divine, And wallowed in filth as doth a swine;

When she betook herself unto her arms,

Fought her Emmanuel, despis’d his charms, Then I was there, and did rejoice to see Diabolus and Mansoul so agree.’

Some editor, imagining that Bunyan could never have so rejoiced, forgetting his own words in the fourth section of his ‘Grace Abounding’—‘It was my delight to be taken captive by the devil, at his will’—altered these words to—

‘Then I was there, and grieved for to see Diabolus and Mansoul so agree.’

This alteration, which perverts the author’s meaning, appears in a London edition, 1752, and has been copied into many modern editions, even into those by Mason and Burder.[2]

The author having in the above lines described his unconverted state, goes on to delineate his convictions in these words:—

‘What is here in view,

Of mine own knowledge, I dare say is true.

I saw the Prince’s armed men come down,

I saw the captains, heard the trumpets sound; Yea, how they set themselves in battle-ray, I shall remember to my dying day.’

The whole of this address is descriptive of what the author saw, felt, or heard—

‘What shall I say? I heard the people’s cries, And saw the Prince wipe tears from Mansoul’s eyes; I heard the groans, and saw the joy of many, Tell you of all, I neither will, nor can I; But by what here I say, you well may see That Mansoul’s matchless wars no fables be.’

The narrative of this eventful war is authenticated by his personal feelings while under the chastising, correcting, hand of his heavenly Father; in his new birth and subsequent experience; in bringing his soul from darkness to marvellous light, and from the wretched bondage of sin to the glorious liberty of the gospel. This address is closed with a very important notice, which all our readers should keep constantly in mind—it is to attend to the author’s key to the allegory, and that is his marginal notes—

‘Nor do thou go to work without my key,

(In mysteries men soon do lose their way), And also turn it right, if thou would’st know My riddle, and would’st with my heifer plough, It lies there in the window, fare thee well, My next may be to ring thy passing-bell.’

The last line strongly reminds us of the author’s difficulty to quit the gin and beer-drinking practice of bell-ringing, to which in his youth he was so much addicted. It is recorded in his ‘Grace Abounding,’ Nos. 33 and 34.[3]

The form and order of the narrative is exceedingly beautiful, and deeply interesting to those who have been engaged in a similar warfare. Passing over the short and vivid narration of the fall of man, our personal feelings are excited by witnessing the methods of grace, adapted by a covenant-keeping God and Father, to rescue his people from their natural state of Diabolonian slavery. Many of the incidents will bring, to the enlightened reader’s recollection, the solemn and powerful impressions under which he struggled, when opposing the invitations of Emmanuel. His holy joy, when a sense of pardoning love and mercy came over his soul; and his anxieties, when in conflict with doubts, and fears, and bloodmen.

Our young readers must be cautioned not to give way to doubts and fears for their soul’s safety, because they have never passed through the same feelings which fitted Bunyan for a sphere of extraordinary usefulness. God brings his lambs and sheep into the fold by such means as are agreeable to his infinite wisdom and grace. Some surrender at the first summons; others hold out during a long and distressing siege. ‘God’s ways are not our ways.’ All our anxious inquiries should be, Is Emmanuel in Heart-castle? is he ‘formed in me the hope of glory?’ do I live and believe in him who has immutably decreed that ‘whosoever’—be he rich or poor, learned or unlearned—if he ‘liveth and believeth in me, shall never die?’ It matters not, as to my salvation, whether the siege was long or short. The vital question is, Has my heart been conquered; do I love Emmanuel? If I do, it is because he first loved me, and he changeth not. In proportion to the trouble that I gave to my Conqueror, so should be my zealous, holy, happy obedience to his commands. Much is expected from those to whom much as been forgiven.

The Conqueror, by his victory, fits us for those peculiar duties to which he intends to devote us in extending his kingdom. In the history of this war, the reader’s attention will be naturally arrested by the fact that Mansoul, having voluntarily surrendered to the dominion of Satan, made no effort to relieve herself. No spiritual feelings lurked in the walls to disturb the reign of Diabolus; not even a prayer or a sigh breaks forth from her heart for deliverance; she felt not her degradation nor her danger; she was dead while she yet lived—dead in sin; and from this state would have sunk, as thousands have, from spiritual and temporal death into eternal and irretrievable ruin. The first conception of a scheme for her deliverance from such awful danger, arises in the celestial court of her Creator; grace lays the foundation, and raises the top-stone. All the redeemed of God will unite in one song, ‘Not unto us, O Lord; not unto us, but unto thy name give glory.’ A covenant is made, ordered in all things