Chr. Whither are you going?
Men. They said, Back! back! and we would
have you to do so too, if either life or peace is prized by you.
Chr. Why, what's the matter? said Christian.
Men. Matter! said they; we were going that
way as you are going, and went as, far as we durst; and indeed we were
almost past coming back; for had we gone a little further, we had not
been here to bring the news to thee.
Chr. But what have you met with? said Christian.
Men. Why, we were almost in the Valley
of the Shadow of Death; but that, by good hap, we looked before us,
and saw the danger before we came to it.
Chr. But what have you seen? said Christian.
Men. Seen! Why, the Valley itself, which
is as dark as pitch; we also saw there the hobgoblins, satyrs, and dragons
of the pit; we heard also in that Valley a continual howling and yelling,
as of a people under unutterable misery, who there sat bound in affliction
and irons; and over that Valley hangs the discouraging clouds of confusion.
Death also doth always spread his wings over it. In a word, it is every
whit dreadful, being utterly without order.
Chr. Then, said Christian, I perceive not
yet, by what you have said, but that this is my way to the desired haven.
Men. Be it thy way; we will not choose
it for ours. So, they parted, and Christian went on his way, but still
with his sword drawn in his hand, for fear lest he should be assaulted.
I saw then in my dream, so far as this valley reached, there was on
the right hand a very deep ditch; that ditch is it into which the blind
have led the blind in all ages, and have both there miserably perished.
Again, behold, on the left hand, there was a very dangerous quag, into
which, if even a good man falls, he can find no bottom for his foot
to stand on. Into that quag King David once did fall, and had no doubt
therein been smothered, had not HE that is able plucked him out.
The pathway was here also exceeding narrow, and therefore good Christian
was the more put to it; for when he sought, in the dark, to shun the
ditch on the one hand, he was ready to tip over into the mire on the
other; also when he sought to escape the mire, without great carefulness
he would be ready to fall into the ditch. Thus he went on, and I heard
him here sigh bitterly; for, besides the dangers mentioned above, the
pathway was here so dark, and ofttimes, when he lift up his foot to
set forward, he knew not where or upon what he should set it next.
Poor man! where art thou now? thy day
Good man, be not cast down, thou yet
Thy way to heaven lies by the gates of
Cheer up, hold out, with thee it shall
About the midst of this valley, I perceived the mouth of hell to be,
and it stood also hard by the wayside. Now, thought Christian, what
shall I do? And ever and anon the flame and smoke would come out in
such abundance, with sparks and hideous noises, (things that cared not
for Christian's sword, as did Apollyon before,) that he was forced to
put up his sword, and betake himself to another weapon called all-prayer.
So he cried, in my hearing, O Lord, I beseech thee, deliver my soul.
Thus he went on a great while, yet still the flames would be reaching
towards him. Also he heard doleful voices, and rushings to and fro,
so that sometimes he thought he should be torn in pieces, or trodden
down like mire in the streets. This frightful sight was seen, and these
dreadful noises were heard by him for several miles together; and, coming
to a place where he thought he heard a company of fiends coming forward
to meet him, he stopped, and began to muse what he had best to do. Sometimes
he had half a thought to go back; then again he thought he might be
half way through the valley; he remembered also how he had already vanquished
many a danger, and that the danger of going back might be much more
than for to go forward; so he resolved to go on. Yet the fiends seemed
to come nearer and nearer; but when they were come even almost at him,
he cried out with a most vehement voice, I will walk in the strength
of the Lord God! so they gave back, and came no further.
One thing I would not let slip. I took notice that now, poor Christian
was so confounded, that he did not know his own voice; and thus I perceived
it. Just when he was come over against the mouth of the burning pit,
one of the wicked ones got behind him, and stept up softly to him, and
whisperingly suggested many grievous blasphemies to him, which he verily
thought had proceeded from his own mind. This put Christian more to
it than anything that he met with before, even to think that he should
now blaspheme him that he loved so much before; yet, if he could have
helped it, he would not have done it; but he had not the discretion
either to stop his ears, or to know from whence these blasphemies came.
When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate condition some considerable
time, he thought he heard the voice of a man, as going before him, saying,
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear
no evil, for thou art with me.
Then he was glad, and that for these reasons: --
First, Because he gathered from thence, that some who feared God were
in this valley as well as himself.
Secondly, For that he perceived God was with them, though in that dark
and dismal state; and why not, thought he, with me? though, by reason
of the impediment that attends this place, I cannot perceive it.
Thirdly, For that he hoped, could he overtake them, to have company
by and by. So he went on, and called to him that was before; but he
knew not what to answer; for that he also thought himself to be alone.
And by and by the day broke; then said Christian, He hath turned the
shadow of death into the morning.
Now morning being come, he looked back, not out of desire to return,
but to see, by the light of the day, what hazards he had gone through
in the dark. So he saw more perfectly the ditch that was on the one
hand, and the quag that was on the other; also how narrow the way was
which led betwixt them both; also now he saw the hobgoblins, and satyrs,
and dragons of the pit, but all afar off, (for after break of day, they
came not nigh;) yet they were discovered to him, according to that which
is written, He discovereth deep things out of darkness, and bringeth
out to light the shadow of death.
Now was Christian much affected with his deliverance from all the dangers
of his solitary way; which dangers, though he feared them more before,
yet he saw them more clearly now, because the light of the day made
them conspicuous to him. And about this time the sun was rising, and
this was another mercy to Christian; for you must note, that though
the first part of the Valley of the Shadow of Death was dangerous, yet
this second part which he was yet to go, was, if possible, far more
dangerous; for from the place where he now stood, even to the end of
the valley, the way was all along set so full of snares, traps, gins,
and nets here, and so full of pits, pitfalls, deep holes, and shelvings
down there, that, had it now been dark, as it was when he came the first
part of the way, had he had a thousand souls, they had in reason been
cast away; but, as I said just now, the sun was rising. Then said he,
His candle shineth upon my head, and by his light I walk through darkness.
In this light, therefore, he came to the end of the valley. Now I saw
in my dream, that at the end of this valley lay blood, bones, ashes,
and mangled bodies of men, even of pilgrims that had gone this way formerly;
and while I was musing what should be the reason, I espied a little
before me a cave, where two giants, Pope and Pagan, dwelt in old time;
by whose power and tyranny the men whose bones, blood, and ashes, &c.,
lay there, were cruelly put to death. But by this place Christian went
without much danger, whereat I somewhat wondered; but I have learnt
since, that Pagan has been dead many a day; and as for the other, though
he be yet alive, he is, by reason of age, and also of the many shrewd
brushes that he met with in his younger days, grown so crazy and stiff
in his joints, that he can now do little more than sit in his cave's
mouth, grinning at pilgrims as they go by, and biting his nails because
he cannot come at them.
So I saw that Christian went on his way; yet, at the sight of the Old
Man that sat in the mouth of the cave, he could not tell what to think,
especially because he spake to him, though he could not go after him,
saying, You will never mend till more of you be burned. But he held
his peace, and set a good face on it, and so went by and catched no
hurt. Then sang Christian: --
O world of wonders! (I can say no less,)
That I should be preserved in that distress
That I have met with here! O blessed
That hand that from it hath deliver'd
Dangers in darkness, devils, hell, and
Did compass me, while I this vale was
Yea, snares, and pits, and traps, and
nets, did lie
My path about, that worthless, silly
Might have been catch'd, entangled, and
But since I live, let JESUS wear the
Now, 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! But Faithful
answered, No, I am upon my life, and the avenger of blood is behind
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
gotten 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 thus 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, it was for a while in everybody's
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 still, that the end of our city
will be with fire and brimstone from above; and therefore I have made
Chr. Did you hear no talk of neighbour
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
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 happened 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. These 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 perceived
you fell into, and got up to the gate without that danger; only I met
with one whose name was Wanton, who had like to have done me a mischief.
Chr. It 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 had; she lay 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 no.
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 said, 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 am 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 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 if he had any children. 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
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 half-way up, I looked behind, and saw one coming
after me, swift as the wind; so he overtook me just about the place
where the settle 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 shew mercy; and with that
he knocked me down again. He had doubtless made an end of me, but that
one came by, and bid him forbear.
Chr. Who was that that bid 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 spareth none, neither knoweth he how to shew 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. It was 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 the 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 shewed
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
Faith. Yes, I met with one Discontent,
who would willingly have persuaded me to go back again 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, Selfconceit, 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 worthy our affections.
Chr. Met you with nothing else in that
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 others would be said nay, after a little argumentation, and
somewhat else; but this bold-faced Shame would never have done.
Chr. Why, 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 hectoring 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 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 ignorance 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 have 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 had in abomination with God. And I thought again, this Shame
tells me what men are; but it 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 hectoring 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
loveth 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 it 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
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 sometime else, we by them
Be taken, overcome, and cast away.
Oh, let the pilgrims, let the pilgrims,
Be vigilant, and quit themselves like
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 promoteth the fool and none
else. The wise shall inherit glory, said Solomon, but shame shall be
the promotion of fools.
Faith. I think we must cry to Him for help
against Shame, who would have us to be valiant for the truth upon the
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. It 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 into 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 broke, and the sun rose, and I went through that which was
behind with far more ease and quiet.
Moreover, 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 enough for them
all to walk. He was a tall man, and something 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?
Talk. I am going to the same place.
Faith. That is well; then I hope we may
have your good company.
Talk. With a very good will will I be your
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,
to me is very acceptable, with you or with any other; 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 for 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
sayings are 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 is 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, &c. Besides, by this
a man may learn, by talk, 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
why so few understand the need of faith, and the necessity of a work
of grace in their soul, in order to eternal life; but ignorantly live
in the works of the law, by which a man can by no means obtain the kingdom
Faith. But, by your leave, heavenly knowledge
of these is the gift of God; no man attaineth 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 that
tongue of his, twenty of them that know him not.
Faith. Do you know him, then?
Chr. Know him! Yes, better than he knows
Faith. Pray, what is he?
Chr. His name is Talkative; he dwelleth in our town. I wonder
that you should be a stranger to him, only I consider that our town
Faith. Whose son is he? And whereabout
does he dwell?
Chr. He is the son of one Say-well; he
dwelt in Prating Row; and 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
Chr. That is, to them who 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 shew 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 (although
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 talketh 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
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 talketh 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
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 it is 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 commendations 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
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 carcass, so saying, if it be alone, is but a dead
carcass 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 deceiveth 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 shew you how insignificant the profession of Talkative
will be at that day.
Faith. This brings to my mind that of Moses,
by which he describeth the beast that is clean. He is such a one that
parteth the hoof and cheweth the cud; not that parteth the hoof only,
or that cheweth the cud only. The hare cheweth the cud, but yet is unclean,
because he parteth not the hoof. And this truly resembleth Talkative;
he cheweth the cud, he seeketh knowledge, he cheweth upon the word;
but he divideth not the hoof, he parteth not with the way of sinners;
but, as the hare, he retaineth the foot of a dog or bear, and therefore
he is unclean.
Chr. You have spoken, for aught I know,
the true gospel sense of those texts. And I will add another thing:
Paul calleth 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 if 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
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,
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, it is 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 causeth there a
great outcry against sin. Secondly -- --
Faith. Nay, hold, let us consider of one
at once. I think you should rather say, It shews 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, 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 calleth 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 addeth, 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 knoweth his masters will, and doeth 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 pleaseth
talkers and boasters, but to do is that which pleaseth 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
resteth 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 lie at the catch again; this
is not for edification.
Faith. Well, if you please, propound another
sign how this work of grace discovereth 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 discovereth 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 findeth not mercy at God's hand,
by faith in Jesus Christ). This sight and sense of things worketh in
him sorrow and shame for sin; he findeth, moreover, revealed in him
the Saviour of the world, and the absolute necessity of closing with
him for life, at the which he findeth hungerings and thirstings after
him; to which hungerings, &c., 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 discovereth
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, teacheth 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 aught
to object, object; if not, then give me leave to propound to you a second
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 this
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 fareth
the worse for your ungodly conversation; that some have already stumbled
at your wicked ways, and that more are in danger of being destroyed
thereby; your religion, and an alehouse, and covetousness, and uncleanness,
and swearing, and lying, and vain-company keeping, &c., 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 are you 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 perisheth.
Chr. You did well to talk so plainly to
him as you did; there is but little of this faithful dealing with men
nowa-days, and that makes religion to stink so 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 puzzle 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
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
As Faithful talks of heart-work, like
That's past the full, into the wane he
And so will all, but he that HEART-WORK
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.
Now, when they were got almost quite out of this wilderness, Faithful
chanced to cast his eye back, and espied one coming after them, and
he knew him. Oh! said Faithful to his brother, who comes yonder? Then
Christian looked, and said, It is my good friend Evangelist. Ay, and
my good friend too, said Faithful, for it was he that set me in the
way to the gate. Now was Evangelist come up to them, and thus saluted
Evan. Peace be with you, dearly beloved;
and peace be to your helpers.
Chr. Welcome, welcome, my good Evangelist,
the sight of thy countenance brings to my remembrance thy ancient kindness
and unwearied labouring for my eternal good.
Faith. And a thousand times welcome, said
good Faithful. Thy company, O sweet Evangelist, how desirable it is
to us poor pilgrims!
Evan. Then said Evangelist, How hath it
fared with you, my friends, since the time of our last parting? What
have you met with, and how have you behaved yourselves?
Then Christian and Faithful told him of all things that had happened
to them in the way; and how, and with what difficulty, they had arrived
at that place.
Evan. Right glad am I, said Evangelist,
not that you have met with trials, but that you have been victors; and
for that you have, notwithstanding many weaknesses, continued in the
way to this very day.
I say, right glad am I of this thing, and that for mine own sake and
yours. I have sowed, and you have reaped: and the day is coming, when
both he that sowed and they that reaped shall rejoice together; that
is, if you hold out: for in due season ye shall reap, if ye faint not.
The crown is before you, and it is an incorruptible one; so run, that
you may obtain it. Some there be that set out for this crown, and, after
they have gone far for it, another comes in, and takes it from them:
hold fast, therefore, that you have; let no man take your crown. You
are not yet out of the gun-shot of the devil; you have not resisted
unto blood, striving against sin; let the kingdom be always before you,
and believe steadfastly concerning things that are invisible. Let nothing
that is on this side the other world get within you; and, above all,
look well to your own hearts, and to the lusts thereof, for they are
deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; set your faces like
a flint; you have all power in heaven and earth on your side.
Chr. Then Christian thanked him for his
exhortation; but told him, withal, that they would have him speak further
to them for their help the rest of the way, and the rather, for that
they well knew that he was a prophet, and could tell them of things
that might happen unto them, and also how they might resist and overcome
them. To which request Faithful also consented. So Evangelist began
as followeth: --
Evan. My sons, you have heard, in the words
of the truth of the gospel, that you must, through many tribulations,
enter into the kingdom of heaven. And, again, that in every city bonds
and afflictions abide in you; and therefore you cannot expect that you
should go long on your pilgrimage without them, in some sort or other.
You have found something of the truth of these testimonies upon you
already, and more will immediately follow; for now, as you see, you
are almost out of this wilderness, and therefore you will soon come
into a town that you will by and by see before you; and in that town
you will be hardly beset with enemies, who will strain hard but they
will kill you; and be you sure that one or both of you must seal the
testimony which you hold, with blood; but be you faithful unto death,
and the King will give you a crown of life. He that shall die there,
although his death will be unnatural, and his pain perhaps great, he
will yet have the better of his fellow; not only because he will be
arrived at the Celestial City soonest, but because he will escape many
miseries that the other will meet with in the rest of his journey. But
when you are come to the town, and shall find fulfilled what I have
here related, then remember your friend, and quit yourselves like men,
and commit the keeping of your souls to your God in well-doing, as unto
a faithful Creator.
here to continue