The pilgrim's progress from this world to that which is to come. Delivered under the similitude of a dream. In two parts

Preface

The high estimation in which the " Pilgrim's Progress has been held for above a century, sufficiently evinces its intrinsic value ; and there is every reason to suppose, that it will be read with admiration for ages to come ; probably till the consummation of all things.

The pious Christian, in proportion to his '^ gi'owth in grace, and the knowledge of the Lord Jesus," derives more and more instruction from repeated perusals of this remarkable book; while his enlarged experience and extended observation enable him to unfold, with progressive evidence, the full meaning of the very agreeable similitudes employed by its truly ingenious author. And even the careless or uninstructed reader is fascinated to attention, by the simple and artless manner in which the intereslinj^: narrative is arrano-cd. Nor should this be represented as a mere amusement, which answers no further purpose : for it has been observed by men of great discernment, and acquaintance with the human mind, that young persons, having pe-

IV PREFACE.

rused the Pilgrim as a pleasing tale, have generally retained a remembrance of its leading incidents, which, after continuing perhaps in a dormant state for several years, has at length germinated, as it were, into the most important and seasonable instruction, while the events of their own lives placed it before their minds in a new and affecting point of view. It may, therefore, be questioned, whether modern ages have produced any work which has more promoted the best interests of mankind.

It would not perhaps be difficult to show, that the Pilgrim's Progress, as first published, is as really an original production of vigorous native genius, as any of those works, in prose or verse, which have excited the admiration of mankind through successive ages, and in different nations. It does not indeed possess those ornaments which are so often mistaken for intrinsic excellence : but the rudeness of its style (which however is characteristic of the subject) concurs to prove it a most extraordinary book ; — for had it not been written with very great ingenuity, a religious treatise, evidently inculcating doctrines yet disesteemed by the unenlightened mind, it would not, in so homely a garb, have so durably attracted the attention of a polished age. Yet, it is undeniable that Bunyan's Pilgrim continues to be read and admired bv vast multitudes ; while publications on a similar plan, by persons of respectable learning and talents, are consigned to almost total neglect and oblivion !

This is not, however, that view of the work which entitles it to highest honour, or most endears it to the pious mind : for, comparing it with the other produce

PREFACE.

tions of the same author, (which are indeed edifying to the humble believer, but not so much suited to the taste of the ingenious) we shall be led to conclude, that in perusing this he was highly favoured with a peculiar measure of the divine assistance ; especially when we recollect, that, within the confines of a gaol, he was able so to delineate ihe Christian's course, with its various difficulties, perils, conflicts, &c. that scaixely any-thing seems to have escaped his notice. Indeed, the accurate observer of the church in his own days, and the learned student of ecclesiastical history, must be equally surprised to find, that hardly one remarkable character, good or bad, or mixed in any manner or proportion imaginable ; or that one fatal delusion, by-path, or injurious mistake, can be singled out, which may not be paralleled in the Pilgrim's Progress: that is, as to the grand outlines ; for the minutice^ about which too many narrow minds waste their zeal, are with very few exceptions wisely passed over. This circumstance is surprising ; that every part of this singular book suits the various descriptions of such as profess godliness; and relates the experiences, temptations, conflicts, supports, and consolations of Christians in our own times, as exactly as if it had been penned from the observation of them, and for their immediate benefit : while, like the sacred Scriptures, it remains a sealed book to all who are strangers to the power of godliness, and that peace xvhich passeth understanding. These remarks may be very properly concluded with the words of a justly admired poet of the present day, who in the following lines has fully sanctioned all that has been here advanced —

■^i PREFACE.

'^ O thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wing Back to the season of life's happy spring, I pleas'd remember, and while mem'ry yet Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forgetr Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail, Whose hum'rous vein, strong sense, and simple style^ May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile, Witty, and well employ'd, and like thy Lord, Speaking in parables his slighted word.

I name thee not, lest so despis'd a name Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame ; Yet ev'n in transitory life's late day That mingles all my brown with sober gray.

Revere the man, whose Pilgrim marks the road, And guides the Progress of the soul to God. 'Twere well with most, if books that could engage Their childhood, pleas'd them at a riper age ; The man approving what had charm'd the boy.

Would die at last, in comfort, peace, and joy. And not with curses on his art who stole The gem of truth from his unguarded soul.'

COWPER, TIROCINIUM, V. 129.

In respect to the present edition of the Pilgrim's Progress, it may be proper to observe, that the Notes, explanatory and practical, are selected from those publications, known to have been edited by the celebrated reverend Messrs. Mason, Scott, and Burder : to the ingenuity of the latter is the present work indebted for that excellent plan, the division by chapters » — Great pains have been taken to examine every scriptural reference, in order to render this edition as correct as possible. — The author's marginal references seemed so essential a

PREFACE. Vll

part of the work, that it was deemed indispensably requisite to insert them in their places. But as the other marginal notes are only useful in pointing out any passage in the text, to which the reader might wish to refer; it was thought most adviseable to supply their place by a running title on the top of every page, conveying as nearly as possible the same ideas: for, indeed, they so encumber the page, and break in upon the uniformity of printing, that all hopes of elegance must be precluded while they are retained.

To render the Pilgrim's Progress of still greater use, this edition is presented to the public in a form entirely new. The work is divided into distinct sections, of convenient length; the design of which is to oblige the reader to make a frequent pause : for so entertaining is the narrative, that the heart becomes interested in the event of every transaction, and is tempted to proceed with a precipitation that excludes proper reflections : so that it may be justly feared, that thousands have read it with no other advantage than temporary amusement, without the least conception of its spiritual design.

Several ministers have thought it a pleasing and profitable exercise, to read and explain the Pilgrim to their people in private meetings. Should any into whose hands this edition may come, think proper to pursue such a method, they will find some assistance from the division of chapters made ready to their hand, as well as by some hints which possibly might not have occurred to them.

It is also submitted to the consideration of heads of femilies, whether the PilgriMj in this form, may not

Viil PREFACE, be well adapted for the purpose of reading to their children and servants on Lord's-day evenings. The subject matter is so entertaining, that the attention of all would be secured ; and the practical improvements might tend, by the blessing of God, to enlighten their minds in the grand truths of the gospel of Cluist.

THE tIFE OF 30JIN BUNYAN.

The whole compass of biography exhibits not a character more interesting, than that of a man converted from singular depravity of manners, to eminent pie* ty ; and raised from the deepest obscurity, to be an author celebrated for genius, and uncommonly useful to mankind. Such was the excellent writer of the Pilgrim's Progress.

John Bunyan was born at Elstow, within a mile of Bedford, in the year 1628. His descent was, as himself expresses it, of a "low and inconsiderable generation," his father being an itinerant tinker, and his mother of the like rank . They gave him the best education in their power^ which was common reading and writings of which he afterwards made a very excellent use ; but for the present he gave himself up to the most execrable vices, particularly '' cursing, swearing, lying, and blaspheming the holy name of God."

During this period he was not without considerable checks of conscience. At but nine or ten years of age, in the midst of his sports and childish vanities, he was often distressed, both by day and night. For even in his sleep he was terrified with " apprehensions of devils and wicked spirits," and "of the fearful torments of iO THE LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN.

liell-fire," insomuch that he sometimes wished himself to be a devil to torment others, that thereby (as he ignorantly hoped) he might escape being tormented by them.

These terrors were but partial and temporary restraints upon his conduct, and by no means cured him of his deHght in sin, or of his aversion to true religion. He mentions it, however, as a remarkable circumstance in his experience, that though he delighted in his own sins and those of his wicked companions, " it made his heart ache" to heai' profane language from people reputedly religious, and to see the wicked actions of persons professing godliness.

The early part of Mr. Bunyan's life was also attended with some hair-breadth escapes from dangerous accidents. At one time he fell into the river Ouse ; at another into a creek of the sea; in a tliird instance he escaped the bite of an adder, and (after wounding it) drew out its sting with his fingers ; but the most remarkable instance was the following : while a soldier in the Parliament army in 1645, he was draughted for the siege of Leicester, but another, desiring to change with him, took his place, and was shot through the head with a musket-ball, while standing sentinel.

Soon after this he married a young woman poor as himself; for they had not, he says, " so much household-stuft' as a spoon or dish between them." But she had been blessed with a religious education, and brought for her marriage-portion two small devotional tracts, *' The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven," and " The Practice of Piety." These books Bunyan repeatedly read ; and though they were not the means of his conversion, they had such an effect on him, that he was willing to ** do many things," and give up some of his outward vices.

At this period he received a considerable check of conscience under one of the sermons he heard at diurch oa sabbath- breaking, to which he was much ad-

THE I.IFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 11

dieted ; but this conviction he shook out of his mind, and the same afternoon returned to his usual Sunday sports, when the following incident happened, which shall be related in his own words :

" The same day, as I was in the midst of a game of cat^ and having struck it one blow from the hole, just as I was about to strike a second time, a voice did suddenly dait from heaven into my soul, vvhich 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 amaze ; wherefore, leaving my cat upon the ground, I looked up to heaven, and was as if I had, with the eyes of my under standings seen the Lord Jesus looking down upon me, as being veiy hotly displeased with me, and as if he did severely threaten me with some grievous punishment for these and other ungodly practices.

*' I had no sooner thus conceived in my mind, but suddenly this conclusion was fastened on my spirit, that I had been a great and grievous sinner, and that it was now too late for m.e to look after heaven. Then I felt my heart sink in despair, and therefore I resolved to go on in sin : For, thought I, if the case be thus, my state is surely miserable : miserable if 1 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 as for few.

" Thus I stood in the midst of my play before all that then were present : yet I told them nothing ; but, 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 : wherefore I found within me great desire to take my fill of sin, still studying what sin was yet to be committed, th.at I might taste the sweetness of it, lest I should die before I had my desires. In these things I protest before God, I lie not ; these were really, strong^, aijd with all my heait my

12 THE UFE 01« JOHN BUNYAN,

desires : the good Lord, whose mercy is unsearchable, forgive me my transgressions !"

Thus Bunyan went on sinning greedily for about a month or more, till one day, as he w^as standing at a neighbour's shop-window, and ''there cur sing and swearing, and playing the madman" (as he expresses it) after his usual manner, the woman of the house, though a loose and irreligious person, reproved him very severely, protesting he was " the ungodliest fellow for swearing" she had ever heard, and enough to spoil all the youth in the whole town.

This reproof, coming from such a woman, silenced and shamed liim ; nay more, it even cured liim of that detestable vice ; and his remark on this circumstance is well worthy the attention of profane and customary swearers:-^" " How it came to pass (says he,) I know not, I did from this time forward so leave my swearing, that it was a great wonder to myself to observe it ; and whereas before I knew not how to speak unless I put an oath before and another behind, to make my w^ords have authority, now I could, without it, speak better and with more pleasantness than I could before."

Soon after this he fell into company with a poor, religious ftian, that spake pleasantly of religion and of the scriptures ; which so delighted Bunyan, that he betook himself to his Bible, and found great pleasure in reading the historical and more entertaining parts of it. This carried his reformation one step farther. He became now conscientiously moral ; his acquaintance reckoned him very godly and religious; and himself thought that he "pleased God as well as any man in England,"

f Similar to this, was a remarkable circumstance in the life of Mr. Perkins, an able minister of the gospel. While a young man, and a scholar at Cambridge, he was devoted to drunkenness. As he was walking' in the skirts of the town, he heard a woman say to a child that was froward and peevish, " Hold your tongue, or I will give you to drunken Perkins yonder." Finding himself become a by-word among the people, liis conscience was deeply impressed, and it was the lirst step towards his conversion.

Bunyan's two favourite amusements were ringing and dancing; these now^ appeared inconsistent with tJie character he had assumed, and therefore must be rehnquished, though rehictantly and by degrees : they were like the extinction of a right eye, or the excision of a right hand.

All this time, how^ever, he was building upon a wrong foundation : being " ignorant of God's righteousness," he went about to establish his own ; and had no suspicion that he was in an error, till one day he overheard three or four poor women in Bedford dis> coursing on religious subjects. He was much surprised to hear them talk of conviction, the new birth, the sweetness of the promises, and the power of temptation, of the depravity of their own hearts, and of their imbelief ; and to hear them bitterly contemn '' their own righteousness as filthy, and insufficient to do them any good." *' They also spake (as he expresses it) with such pleasantness of scripture language, and with such appearance of grace in all they said, that they were to him as if they had found a new world ; as if they were ' people that dwelt alone, and not reckoned among the nations.' "(a)

These topics w^ere not only new to him, but in a great measure unintelligible ; and he was led first to iiuspect, and afterwards to condemn himself, as a vain babbler and a hypocrite ; as wanting the *' true tokens of a godly man," and as a stranger to those pleasures which he found these good people had experienced. This conviction induced him to seek repeated opportunities of their company, and the more he enjoyed of their conversation, the more earnestly he desired it. The various branches of christian experience, and the important truths of scripture, now engaged his whole attention, and he found it as difficult then to bring his

{a) Num. xxjii. 9 mind from heaven to earth, as, at some other times^ to H^levate his mind from earth to heaven.

Before his conversion, Bun van had formed a strong attachment to a young man of very loose morals, whose acquaintance he now found it necessary to drop ; but meeting with him a few months afterwards, and asking him how he did, the other replied in his usually wild and profane language, *' But, Harry^ (said Bunyan,) why do you swear and curse thus?" The other replied in a great rage — '^ What would the devil do for company, if it were not for such as I am ?"

About this time Mr. Bunyan met with some books written by the ranters of that age, who were a set of practical, as well as theoretical, antinomians. Their leading maxims seem to have been, (when fairly expressed,) those diabolical ones mentioned by St. Paul — " Let us do evil, that good may come : — let us sin, that grace may abound."

About this time he began to read the scripture ** with new eyes," and as he had never done before ; especially St. Paul's epistles, which were now very delightful, though formerly they had much oifended and disgusted him. In short, the Bible became his constant companion, and he was (as he says) " never out of it, either by reading or meditation;" constantly crying to God, that he might know the truth, and follow it.

A fresh difficulty however occun-ed. Reading in the New Testament, of the various extraordinary gifts of the Spirit, wisdom, knowledge, faith, &c. he was particularly stumbled at the latter ; and, misunderstanding some of our Lord's words on that subject, (a) he VAas tempted to try to work a miracle to prove his faith. One day, in particular, walking between Elstov/ and Bedford, it was strongly suggested

(c) Matt. xvii. 20.

to him to bid the puddle " be dry," and to say to the dry places, ''Be you puddles." But just as he was about to speak, the thought came into his mind, to go under the hedge to pray that God would enable him. On the other hand it occured to him, that if he tried and could not effect it, it would discourage and sink him into deep despair. For this reason he prudently declined it.

While his mind was thus agitated between hope and fear, he had what he calls " a kind of vision," respecting the good people of Bedford, which is thus related in his own words : "I saw, as if they were 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 frosty 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 even go in the very midst of them, and there also comfort ni}"- self 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 fine]. 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 door- way in the wall, through which 1 attempted to pass ; now' the passage being very strait and narrow, I made many offers to get in, but all in vain. At last, with great striving, methought I at first did get in my head, and after that by a sideling striving my shoulders, and after that my ^vhole body. Then was I exceeding glad, 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, &c. was made thus 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

TIIi: LUB OF JOHN BUNYAK.

that were therein; the wall I thought was the world, that did make separation between the Christians and the world ; and the gap which was in the wall I thought was Jesus Christ, who is the way to God the Father, [a) But forasmuch as the passage was wonderful narrow, even so narrow that I could not, but widi great difficulty, enter thereat, it showed me none could enter into life, but those that were in downright earnest,"

This vision, whatever it was, abode much upon his mind, gave him an ardent desire to enjoy the sunshine of the divine presence, and excited him to cry mightily to God for it.

A variety of temptations succeeded these ; but with every temptation the Lord made a w^ay for his escape. At length he began to break his mind to the good peo^ pie of Bedford, and they introduced him to their minister, Mr. Gilford, who invited him to mingle with those serious persons that frequented his house ; and to listen to the experience of others, in order to enlarge his own.

He now acquired a deeper acquaintance with the human heart, its inward corruptions and unbelief; evils which he felt so strongly working in himself, that he thought it impossible he should be already converted, and had little hopes that he ever should. His spiritual conflicts, therefore, increased rather than diminished, insomuch that he compares himself to the possessed child, brought by his pai^ent to Jesus Christ, who, while he was yet coming to him, was thrown down by the devil, and cruelly torn by him. (b)

Bunyan observes here, as a sign that his convictions were of the right sort, that they made him very conscientious ; so much so, as to tremble at the verge of duty, and shudder at the approach of sin. He now became (as is often the case with converts) so scrupulous, that he who once never spake without

(a) John xiv. 6. Matt. vii. 14r.

ail oath, was afraid to speak at all, lest he should speak idly, or misplace his words.

He was not, however, so entirely taken up with his own feelings, as totally to neglect observation upon those around him. The following remarks, as they cannot easily be better expressed, shall be given in his own words :

" While I was thus afflicted with the fears of my own damnation, there were two things would make me wonder : the one was, when I saw old people hunting after the things of this life, as if they should live here always : the other was, when I found professors much distressed and cast down, when they met with outward losses : as of husband, wife, child, &:c. Lord, thought I, what ado is here about such little things as these ? What seeking after carnal things by some, and what grief in others for the loss of them ! If they so much labour after, and shed so many tears for, the things of this present life, how am I to be bemoaned, pitied, and prayed for ! My soul is dying, my so^jI is damning. Were my soul but in a good condition, and were I but sure of it, ah ! how rich would I esteem myself though blessed with bread and water ! I should count those but small afflictions, and should bear them as little burdens. ^ A wounded spirit who can bear?' "

Painful as he felt his convictions, yet was he at times fearful of their dying away, or being removed by im« proper means ; because he had observed persons in similar distress, who, when their troubles wore away, or were improperly removed, became more carnal, and more hardened in wickedness, than before. That scripture lay much upon his mind, ^' Without shedding of blood there is no remission ;"(«) and he was led to cry earnestly to the Lord, that he might be delivered from " an evil conscience," only by the sprinkling of atoning blood.

i& THE LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN.

At length the time of his deliverance approached, and he received his first consolation th; ough a sermon on those words of Solomon, ** Behold, thou art fair, my love. "(c) This reached Bunyan's case, afforded him *^ strong consolation," and gave him a happy interval of joy and triumph in the' Lord : but his triumph was of short duration : the enemy returned to the charge with double force, reattacked him with increased malice, and he was now tempted to question the first principle and ground-work of all religion, the very being of a God, Or, admitting this, said the spirit of infidelity, *' How can you tell but the Turks have as good scriptures to prove their Mahomet to be the Saviour, as we have to prove our Jesus ? Every one thinks his own religion right, Jews, Moors, and Pagans ! and what if all our faith, and Christ, and scriptures, should be no more !"

These sceptical suggestions w^ere accompanied with strong temptations to immorality and profaneness..,. even to curse God, and to blaspheme his Son. For infidelity and profaneness are of near neighbourhood, and the arch-enemy of mankind knows how to accelerate the course of sinners from one unto the other.

Sometimes he attempted to reason wdth his temptations, but under great disadvantages, for want of his being acquainted with the external evidences of Christianity, The principal check his doubts received was from an internal principle, which rejected and disrelished them. At length it pleased God, however, to perniit him for a time to sink again into despondency ; and, at intervals, he feared that his senses would have left him ; at other times he thought himself possessed by the deviL

But the sorest trial of this period of his life, was a temptation to commit the unpardonable sjn against the Holy Ghost ; this he was prompted even to covet the opportunity of committing, though the new prin-

Ca)Cant. ir. 1.

Ciple within him so revolted at the suggestion, that he forcibly closed his mouth with his hands, lest the fatal blasphemy should escape him.

This temptation lasted about a year, and v/as at-^ tended one while, with peculiai' insensibility, and at other times with such distractions in duty as frustrated his attempts to pray ; and so much was his mind convulsed by it, that sometimes he thought he even felt one behind him pulling his clothes, to stop him when he began to pray.

It is unnecessary, and might appear tedious, to relate all the temptations with which this good m_an was agitated, during this period ; it is, however, proper to observe, that they were not without some allays of comfort ; his cup was bitter, but mixed with some pleasant ingredients ; or, to speak without a figure, he had intervals of consolation ; many precious promises were applied, and he was at some times as much elevated with joy, as he was at others depressed with grief.

It is also worthy of observation, that during this time he enjoyed the advantages of sitting under the ministry of good Mr. Gilford, (an ancestor of the late learned Dr* Giffbrd,) an evangelical and useful minister at Bedford ; whose advice appears to have been very judicious and salutary. *' He would bid us take special heed, (says Bunyan,) that we took not up any truth upon trust ; as from this or that man ; but pray to God that he would convince us of the reality thereof by his Spirit in the word : for (said he,) otherwise, when temptations come, not having received them with evidence from heaven, you \\411 find the want of that help and strength to resist, which once you thought you had." This advice was very seasonable to Bunyan, who betook himself to the scriptures, and to prayer ; and there found, as every simple honest inquirer doubtless will, all the satisfaction which he desired. He remarks also, that the sense he had of the evil of sin, was of use to keep him steady in the truth, by discovering his