Dæmonologia Sacra; or, A Treatise of Satan's Temptations / In Three Parts

by Richard Gilpin

CHAPTER IX.

Of his fourth way to hinder peace, by spiritual distresses. 1. The nature of these distresses; the ingredients and degrees of them. Whether all distresses of soul arise from melancholy. 2. Satan’s method in working them; the occasions he makes use of, the arguments he urgeth, the strengthening of them by fears. 3. Their weight and burden explained in several particulars.—Some concluding cautions.

The last sort of troubles by which Satan overthrows the peace of the soul, are spiritual distresses. These are more grievous agonies of soul, under deepest apprehensions of divine wrath, and dreadful fears of everlasting damnation, differing in nature and degree from the former sorts of troubles; though in these Satan observes much-what the same general method which he used in spiritual troubles last mentioned. For which cause, and also that these are not so common as the other, I shall speak of them with greater brevity. Herein I shall shew—1. Their nature; 2. Satan’s method in working them: 3. Their weight and burden.

1. The nature of spiritual distresses will be best discovered by a consideration of those ingredients of which they are made up, and of the different degrees thereof.

(1.) As to the ingredients, there are several things that do concur for the begetting of these violent distresses. As,

[1.] There is usually a complication of several kinds of troubles. Sometimes there are outward troubles and inward discomposures of spirit arising from thence; sometimes affrightments of blasphemous thoughts long continued, and usually spiritual troubles, in which their state or condition have been called to question, have gone before. Heman, who is as famous an instance in this case as any we meet withal in Scripture, in Ps. lxxxviii., seems not obscurely to tell us so much; his ‘soul was full of troubles,’ ver. 3; and in ver. 7 he complains that God had afflicted him ‘with all his waves.’ And that these were not all of the same kind, though all concurred to the same end, he himself explains, ver. 8, 18, where he bemoans himself for the unkindness of his friends: ‘Thou hast put away mine acquaintance; lover and friend hast thou put far from me.’

[2.] These troubles drive at a further end than any of the former; for their design was only against the present quietness and peace of God’s children, but these design the ruin of their hopes for the future. They are troubled, not for that they are not converted, but for that they expect never to be converted. This is a trouble of a high nature, making them believe that they are eternally reprobated, cut off from God for ever, and under an impossibility of salvation.

[3.] These troubles have the consent and belief of the party. In some other troubles Satan disquieted the Lord’s servants by imposing upon them his own cursed suggestions, violently bearing in upon them temptations to sin and blasphemy, or objections against their state of regeneration, while in the meantime they opposed and refused to give consent; but in these Satan prevails with them to believe that their case is really such as their fears represent it to be.

[4.] They are troubles of a far higher degree than the former; the deepest sorrows, the sharpest fears, the greatest agonies. Heman, Ps. lxxxviii. 15, 16, calls them ‘terrors even to distraction:’ ‘While I suffer thy terrors, I am distracted; thy fierce wrath goeth over me, thy terrors have cut me off.‘

[5.] There is also God’s deserting of them in a greater measure than ordinary, by withdrawing his aids and comforts. And, as Mr Perkins notes, ‘If the withdrawing of grace be joined with the feeling of God’s anger, thence ariseth the bitterest conflict that the soul of a poor creature undergoes.’[348]

(2.) As to the different degrees of spiritual distresses, we must observe—That according to the concurrence of all or fewer of these ingredients, for they do not always meet together, though most frequently they do; and according to the higher or lower degrees in which these are urged upon the conscience, or apprehended and believed by the troubled party, these agonies are more or less; and accordingly we may distinguish them variously. As,

[1.] Some are desperate terrors of cursed reprobates under desperation. These terrors in them are, in the greatest extremity, the very pit of misery, of the same nature with those of the damned in hell, ‘where the worm that never dies,’ is nothing else but the dreadful vexation and torment of an accusing conscience.[349] They are commonly accompanied with blaspheming of God, and an utter rejection of all means for remedy; and though they sometimes turn to a kind of secure desperation,—by which, when they see it will be no better, they harden themselves in their misery, and seek to divert their thoughts—as Cain did, betaking himself to the building of cities; and Esau, when he had sold his birthright, despised it, and gave himself up to the pursuit of a worldly interest;—yet sometimes these terrors end in self-murder, as in Judas, who being smitten with dread of conscience, went and hanged himself. We have many sad instances of these desperate terrors. Cain is the first we read of; and though the account the Scriptures give of him be but short, yet it is sufficient to let us see what his condition was—Gen. iv. 11-16. First, He was cursed from the earth. Of this part of his curse there were two branches: 1. That his labour and toil in tillage should be great and greatly unsuccessful; for thus God himself explains it, ver. 12, ‘When thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength,’ The earth was cursed with barrenness before to Adam, but now to Cain it hath a double curse. 2. That he should be a man of uncertain abode in any place: ‘A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth;’ not being able to stay long in a place by reason of the terrors of his conscience. His own interpretation of it, ver. 14, shews that herein lay a great part of his misery: ‘Thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth.’ By which it appears that he was to be as one that was chased out of all society, and as one that thought himself safe in no place. Secondly, He was ‘hid from the face of God’—that is, he was doomed to carry the inward feeling of God’s wrath, without any expectation of mercy. Thirdly, His mind being terrified under the apprehension of that wrath, he cries out that his ‘sin was greater than it could be pardoned,’ or that his ‘punishment was greater than he could bear; ‘for the word in the original signifies both sin and punishment, עון. Take it which way you will, it expresseth a deep horror of heart. If in the former sense, then it signifies a conviction of the greatness of his sin to desperation; if in the latter sense, then it is no less than a blasphemous reflection upon God, as unjustly cruel. Fourthly, This horror was so great, that he was afraid of all he met with, suspecting everything to be armed with divine vengeance against him: ‘Every one that findeth me shall slay me,’ Or if that speech was a desire that any one that found him might kill him, as some interpret,[350] it shews that he preferred death before that life of misery. It seems, then, that God smote him with such terror and consternation of mind, and with such affrightful trembling of body, for his bloody fact, that he was weary of himself, and afraid of all men, and could not stay long in a place. By these tokens, or some other way, God sets his mark upon him, as upon a cursed miscreant, to be noted and abhorred of all. Such another instance was Lamech, of whom the same chapter speaks: 1. The sting of conscience was so great, that he is forced to confess his fault—the interpretations of those that take it interrogatively, ‘Have I slain?’ or, ‘If I have, what is that to you?’ &c., are upon many accounts improper, much more are those so that take it negatively—which, whether it were the abomination of polygamy, as some think, by which example he had destroyed more than Cain did; or if it were murder in a proper sense, as the words and context plainly carry it, it is not very material to our purpose. However, God smote him with horror, that he might be a witness against himself. 2. He accuseth himself for a more grievous sinner and more desperate wretch by far than Cain: ‘If Cain,’ ver. 24, ‘shall be avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech seventy and sevenfold.’ Which is as much as to say, that there was as much difference betwixt his sin and Cain’s, as betwixt seven and seventy-seven. 3. It seems also, by his discourse to his wives, that he was grievously perplexed with inward fears, suspecting, it may be, his very wives as well as others might have private combinations against him; for the prevention whereof, he tells them by Cain’s example of God’s avenging him. These two early examples of desperation the beginning of the world affords; and there have been many more since, as Esau and Judas. Of late years we have the memorable instance of Francis Spira, one of the clearest and most remarkable examples of spiritual horror that the latter ages of the world were ever acquainted with. Yet I shall not dare to be confident of his reprobation, as of Cain’s and Judas’s; because the Scripture hath determined their case, but we have no such certain authority to determine his.

[2.] There are also distresses from melancholy; which may be further differenced according to the intenseness or remissness of the distemper upon which they depend. For sometimes the imagination is so exceedingly depraved, the fears of heart so great, and the sorrows so deep, that the melancholy person, crying out of himself that he is damned, under the curse of God, &c., appears to be wholly besides himself, and his anguish to be nothing else but a delirious, irrational disturbance. There are too many sad instances of this. Some I have known that for many years together have laboured under such apprehensions of hell and damnation, that they have at last proceeded to curse and blaspheme God in a most dreadful manner, so that they have been a terror to all their friends and acquaintance. And though sometimes they would fall into fits of obstinate silence, yet being urged to speak, they would amaze all that were about them with the confident averment of their damnation, with horrible outcries of their supposed misery and torments, and with terrible rage against heaven. Some in this distemper will fancy themselves to be in hell already, and will discourse as if they saw the devils about them and felt their torture. Such as these give plain discovery by their whole carriage under their trouble, and some concomitant false imaginations about other things—as when they fancy themselves to be in prison or sentenced to death, and that torments or fire are provided for them by the magistrate, &c.—that it is only melancholy perverting their understanding that is the cause of all their sorrow. Others there are who are not altogether irrational, because in most other things their understanding is right; yet being driven into melancholy upon the occasion of crosses or other outward afflictions, they at last fix all their thoughts upon their souls; and now their fancy becoming irregular in part, the whole of the irregularity appears only in that wherein they chiefly concern themselves. Hence they misjudge themselves, and condemn themselves to everlasting destruction; sometimes without any apparent cause; and sometimes they accuse themselves of such things as they never did. They fear and cry out they are damned, but they cannot give a particular reason why they should entertain these fears, neither can they shew any cause why they should refuse the comforts of the promises that are offered; but they say they know or are persuaded it is so, upon no better account than this, It is so, because it is so. Or if they give reasons of their imagination, they are commonly either feigned or frivolous; and yet in all other matters they are rational, and speak or act like men in their right minds. Of both these kinds of desperation I shall speak nothing further. It is enough to have noted that such there are, because the cure of the former is impossible, and the cure of the latter doth wholly depend upon physic.

Quest. Some may possibly question, Whether all extraordinary agonies of soul, upon the apprehension of eternal damnation, be not the fruits of melancholy? And if not, then what may the difference be betwixt those that proceed from melancholy, and those that are properly the terrors of conscience?

Ans. As to the first part of the question, I answer, First, That all spiritual distresses are not to be ascribed to melancholy. For,

[1.] There are some melancholy persons who are never more free from spiritual troubles—though frequently accustomed to them at other times—than when, upon the occasion of some special trouble, or sickness threatening death, there is greatest cause to fear such onsets upon the increase of melancholy. Some such I have known.

[2.] Sometimes these distresses come suddenly, their conscience smiting them in the very act of sin; and these persons sometimes such as are not of a melancholic constitution. Spira was suddenly thunderstruck with terrors of conscience upon his recantation of some truths which he held; and so were some of the martyrs.

[3.] Sometimes terrors that have continued long, and have been very fierce, are removed in a moment. Now it is not rational to say that melancholy only occasioned all such troubles, wherein bodies that are not naturally of that complexion—and some such have been surprised with terrors of conscience; if we will take a liberty to suppose an accidental melancholy we must of necessity allow some time; and, usually, some precedaneous[351] occasion to mould them into such a distemper. Neither do the fears of melancholy cease on a sudden, but abate gradually, according to the gradual abatement of the humour. To say that Cain’s or Judas’s despair were the invasions of strong melancholy, is not only beyond all proof, but also probability. Neither is it likely that David, whose ruddy countenance and inclination to music are tokens of a sanguine complexion, was always melancholic under his frequent complaints of spiritual trouble.

[4.] They that read the story of Spira, and observe his rational serious replies to the discourses that were offered him for his comfort and his carriage all along, will have no cause to conclude his trouble to be only melancholy; neither did the sober judicious bystanders ascribe his distress to any such cause.

[5.] The agony of Christ upon the cross, under the sense of divine wrath for our sins, though it were without desperation, is an undeniable proof that there may be deep sense of God’s displeasure upon the soul of man, which cannot be ascribed to melancholy.

Second, I answer, That it is not to be denied but that God may make use of that humour as his instrument, for the increase and continuance of terrors upon the consciences of those whom he thinks fit to punish, for any provocation, with spiritual desertion, as he made use of that distemper to punish Saul and Nebuchadnezzar. I speak not here of those distresses which are nothing else but melancholy, such as those before mentioned, of which physicians have given us frequent histories,[352] though in this case the secret ways of God’s providences are to be adored with humble silence; but of those terrors of conscience which have a mixture of melancholy to help them forward, yet so as that the judgment and reason are not thereby perverted. Spira, when his case was hastily concluded by an injudicious friend to be a strong melancholy, made this reply, Well, be it so, seeing you will needs have it so; for thus also is God’s wrath manifested against me. Which shews, [1.] That he believed God doth sometimes manifest his wrath against man by melancholy. And [2.] That he denied this to be his condition; for he still concluded that God sent the terrors of his wrath immediately upon his conscience, as the sentence of his just condemnation for denying Christ. Now when God doth make use of melancholy, as his instrument in Satan’s hand, to make the soul of man more apprehensive of his sin and God’s wrath—though he doth not always make use of this means, as hath been said—while he still preserves the understanding from false imaginations, the distress is still rational, and we have no cause to make any great difference betwixt these troubles that have such a mixture of melancholy, and such as have not. Neither must we say that then it is in the power of the physician to remove or mitigate such spiritual distresses. For if God see it fit to make use of melancholy for such a purpose, he can suspend the power of physic, so that it shall not do its work till God hath performed all his purpose. And the unsuccessfulness of remedies in this distemper, while it seems to be wonderfully stubborn in resisting all that can be done for cure, is more to be ascribed, in some cases, to God’s design, than every physician doth imagine.

As to the latter part of the question, How the terrors of melancholy and those of conscience are to be distinguished? I shall only say this; that, as I said, we are not much concerned to make any distinction where the distressed party acts rationally. It is true something may be observed from these mixtures of melancholy; and thence may some indications be taken by the friends of the distressed, which may be of use to the afflicted party. Physic in this case is not to be neglected, because, though God may permit that distemper in order to the terror of the conscience, we are not of God’s counsel, to know how high he would have it to go, nor how long to continue; but it is our duty, with submission to him, to use all means for help. However, seeing the physician is the only proper judge of the bodily distemper, it were improper to speak of the signs of melancholy in these mixed cases, to those that cannot make use of them. And as for these distresses of melancholy that are irrational, they are of themselves so notorious, that I need not give any account of them. There is usually a constitution inclining that way, and often the parents or friends of the party have been handled in the same manner before; or if their natural temper do not lead them that way, there is usually some cross, trouble, disappointment, or the like outward affliction, that hath first pressed them heavily, and by degrees hath wrought them into melancholy, and then afterward they come to concern themselves for their souls; as that woman in Plater’s observations, who being long grieved with jealousy upon grounds too just, at last fell into grievous despair, crying out that God would not pardon her, that she was damned, that she felt hell already and the torments of it, &c.[353] Or there are some concomitant deliriums, imaginations apparently absurd or false, &c., all which give plain discoveries of irrational distresses. And if there remained any doubt concerning them, the consideration of all circumstances together, by such as are sober and judicious, would easily afford a satisfaction.

(3.) Having now confined the discourse to the spiritual distresses of God’s children, that are not so oppressed with melancholy as to be misled with false imaginations, I must next, concerning these distresses, offer another observable distinction, which is this: That they are either made up of all the five forementioned ingredients, or only of some of them, and so may be called total or partial, though in each of these there may be great differences of degrees.

[1.] Sometimes then the children of God may be brought into total distresses of conscience, even with desperation, and, that which is more hideous, with blasphemy, if Mr Perkins his observation hold true, who tells us, ‘that they may be so overcharged with sorrow as to cry out they are damned, and to blaspheme God:’[354] and we have no reason to contradict it, when we observe how far David went in his haste more than once. And whatever may be the private differences betwixt these and the reprobates in their agonies—as differences there are, both in God’s design, and their hearts, though not visible—yet if we compare the fears, troubles, and speeches of the one and the other together, there appears little or no difference which bystanders can certainly fix upon. If it seems harsh to any that so horrid a thing as despair should be charged upon the elect of God, in the worst of their distresses, it will readily be answered: First, That if we suppose not this, we must suppose that which is worse. If we like not to say that God’s children may fall into despair, we must conclude, very uncharitably, that they that fall into despair are not God’s children. Second, It is easy to imagine a difference betwixt partial and total despair, betwixt imaginary and real. The children of God, under strong perturbation of spirit, may imagine themselves to do what they do not, and so may bear false witness against themselves—professing that all their hope of salvation is lost, when yet the root of their hope may still remain in their hearts undiscovered. The habit may be there when all visible acts of it are at present suspended, or so disguised in a crowd of confused expressions that they cannot be known; or, if they have real distrust of their salvation, yet every fit of real diffidence is not utter desperateness; neither will it denominate a man to be totally desperate, any more than every error, even about fundamentals, will denominate a man a heretic.[355] For as it must be a pertinacious error in fundamentals that makes a heretic, so it must be a pertinacious diffidence that makes a man truly desperate. Third, But sometimes the children of God have only partial distresses. That is, they may have a great measure of some of the ingredients, without mixture of the rest. Particularly, they may have a great measure of the sense of divine wrath and desertion, without desperation. The possibility of this is evident, beyond exception, in the example of our blessed Saviour, when he cried out, ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ [Mat. xxvii. 46.] None can ascribe desperation to him without blasphemy; and if they should, the very words, ‘My God, my God’—expressing his full and certain hope—do expressly contradict them. Such an instance of spiritual distress without desperation I take Heman to be. How high his troubles were is abundantly testified in Ps. lxxxviii.; and yet that his hope was not lost appears not only by his prayer for relief in the general—for hope is not utterly destroyed where the appointed means for help are carefully used—but by the particular avouchment of his hope in God, in the first verses of that psalm, ‘O Lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee.’

(4.) The last difference of spiritual distresses which I shall observe is this, that some are more transient fits and flashes of terror under a present temptation, which endure not long; others are more fixed and permanent. The less durable distresses may be violent and sharp while they hold. Temptations of diffidence may strongly possess a child of God, and at first may not be repelled; and then before their faith can recover itself, they vent their present sad apprehensions of their estate, as Jonah did, chap. ii. 4, ‘I said, I am cast out of thy sight,’ Many such fits David had, and in them complained at this rate, ‘Why hast thou forsaken me? why castest thou off my soul?’ Ps. xxxi. 22, ‘I said in my haste, I am cut off from before thine eyes.’ Ps. cxvi. 11, ‘I said in my haste, All men are liars;’ which was a great height of distrust, and too boldly reflecting upon God’s faithfulness, considering the special promises that God had made to him. Such sharp fits were those of Bainham and Bilney, martyrs, whose consciences were so sorely wounded for recanting the truth which they professed, that they seemed to feel a very hell within them.

The more fixed distresses, as they are of longer continuance, so they are often accompanied with the very worst symptoms; for when in these agonies, no sun nor star of comfort appears to them for many days, all hope that they shall be saved seems to be taken away, [Acts xxvii. 20;] and being tired out with complaints and importunities, without any answer, they at last reject the use of means. Some have lain many years—as the paralytic man at the pool of Bethesda—without cure; some from their youth up, as Heman complains. Some carry their distresses to their death-bed, and it may be are not eased till their souls are ready to depart out of their bodies, and then they often end suddenly and comfortably. Some I could tell you of, who on their death-bed, after grievous terrors, and many outcries concerning their miseries of ‘blackness and darkness for ever,’ lay long silent; and then on a sudden brake out into raptures of joy and adoring admiration of the goodness of God, using that speech of the apostle, Rom. xi. 33, ‘Oh the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!’ Others go out of the world in darkness, without any appearance of comfort. Such an instance was Mr Chambers, as the story of his death testifies, mentioned by Mr Perkins, in his treatise ‘Of Desertions,’ of whom this account is given: that in great agonies he cried out, ‘he was damned,’ and so died. The case of such is surely very sad to themselves, and appears no less to others; yet we must take heed of judging rashly concerning such. Nay, if their former course of life hath been uniformly good—for who will reject a fine web of cloth, as one speaks, for a little coarse list[356] at the end—especially if there be any obscure appearance of hope—as that expression of Mr Chambers, ‘Oh that I had but one drop of faith!’ is by Mr Perkins supposed to be—we ought to judge the best of them. We have seen the nature of spiritual distresses in the ingredients and differences thereof. We are now to consider,

2. Satan’s method in procuring them: which consists, (1.) In the occasions which he lays hold on for that end. (2.) In the arguments which he useth. (3.) In the working up of their fears, by which he confirms men in them.

(1.) As to the occasions, he follows much the same course which hath been described before in spiritual troubles; so that I need not say much, only I shall note two things:—

[1.] That it makes much for Satan’s purpose, if the party against whom he designs have fallen into some grievous sins. Sins of common magnitude do not lay a foundation suitable to the superstructure which he intends. He cannot plausibly argue reprobation or damnation from every ordinary sin; but if he finds them guilty of something extraordinary, then he falls to work with his accusations. The most usual sins which he takes advantage from, are, as Mr Perkins observes, those against the third, sixth, and seventh command; sometimes those against the ninth. Murder, adultery, perjury, and the wilful denial of truth against conscience, are the crimes upon which he grounds his charge, but most usually the last. Upon this, the distressed Spira, and some of the martyrs. As for the other, the more private they are, Satan hath oft the more advantage against them, because God’s secret and just judgment will by this means ‘bring to light the hidden things of darkness,’ [1 Cor. iv. 5,] and force their consciences to accuse them of that which no man could lay to their charge, that he might manifest himself to be ‘the searcher of the hearts, and trier of the reins,’ [Rev. ii. 23.] Thus have many been forced to disclose private murders, secret adulteries, and to vomit up, though with much pain and torture, that which they have by perjury or guile extorted from others.

[2.] Where Satan hath not these particular advantages, he doth endeavour to prepare men for distresses, by other troubles long continued. All men that are brought to despair of their happiness, must not be supposed to be greater sinners than others. Some are distressed with fears of eternal damnation, that are in a good measure able to make Job’s protestation in these cases, chap. xxxi. 9, &c., that their ‘heart hath not been deceived by a woman;’ that they have not laid wait at their neighbour’s door; that they have not lift up their hand against the fatherless, when they saw their help in the gate; that their land doth not cry against them, nor the furrows thereof complain; that when they saw the sun when it shined, or the moon walking in brightness, their heart hath not been secretly enticed, nor their mouth kissed their hand; that they rejoiced not in the destruction of him that hated them, nor lift up themselves when evil found him, &c. Notwithstanding all which, their fears are upon and prevail against them. But then before Satan can bring them to consent to such dismal conclusions against themselves, they must be extraordinarily fitted to take the impression; either tired out under great afflictions, or long exercised with fears about their spiritual estates, without intermixture of comfort or ease, or their faculties broken and weakened by melancholy. Any of these give him an advantage equivalent to that of great sins. For though he cannot say to these, Your sins are so enormous, that they are, considered themselves together with their circumstances, sad signs of reprobation; yet he will plead that God’s carriage towards them doth plainly discover that he hath wholly cast them off, and left them to themselves, without hope of mercy.

(2.) As for the arguments which he useth, they are much-what from the same topics which he maketh choice of in bringing on spiritual troubles. Only as he aims at the proof of a great deal more against God’s children, than that they are not converted; so accordingly he screws up his mediums for proof to a higher pin. His arguments are,

[1.] From scriptures wrested or misapplied. His choice of scriptures for this purpose, is of such places as either seem to speak most sadly the dangerous and fearful estate of men, according to the first view and literal representation of them, through the unskilfulness of those that are to be concerned; or of such places as do really signify the miserable unhappiness of some persons, who through their own fault have been cut off from all hope, and the possibility of the like to some others for the future. So that, in framing arguments from Scripture, the devil useth a twofold cunning. First, There are some scriptures which have the word damnation in them, applied to some particular acts and miscarriages of men, when yet their intendment is not such as the word seems to sound, or as he would make them to believe. Now when he catcheth a child of God in such acts as are there specified, if he finds that his ignorance or timorousness is such as may render the temptation feasible, he presently applies damnation to them, by the authority of those texts. For instance, that text of Rom. xiv. 23, hath been frequently abused to that end, ‘He that doubteth, is damned if he eat.’ The word ‘damned’ there, strikes deep with a weak, troubled Christian that is not skilful in the word of righteousness. For whether Satan apply it to sacramental eating, as sometimes he doth to the ignorant, though contrary to the purpose of the text, or to doubting in the general, he makes this conclusion out of it: ‘Thou doubtest, or thou hast eaten the sacrament doubtingly, therefore there is no hope for thee; thou art damned.’ Whereas all this while, the devil doth but play the sophister in the abuse of the signification of words. For that scripture evidently relates to the difference that then was in the church, about eating those meats that were unclean by Moses’s law; in which case the apostle doth positively declare, that the difference betwixt clean and unclean meats is taken away; so that a Christian might with all freedom imaginable eat those meats that were formerly unclean, with this proviso, that he were ‘fully persuaded in his own mind,’ [Rom. xiv. 5.] The necessity of which satisfaction, he proves from this, that otherwise he should offend his own conscience, which in that case must needs condemn him, and that is the damnation that is there spoken of; as is more evident by comparing this verse with the next foregoing, ‘Happy is he that condemneth not himself.’ But he that doubteth, doth condemn himself, because ‘he eats not of faith,’—that is, from full persuasion of the lawfulness of the thing. This scripture then hath nothing at all in it to the purpose for which Satan brings it. It doth not speak of any final sentence of condemnation passed upon a man for such an act; all and the utmost that it saith, is only this, that it is a sin to go against the persuasion of conscience, and consequently it puts no man further off salvation than any other sin may do; for which, upon repentance, the sinner may be pardoned.

Another text which Satan hath frequently abused, to the very great prejudice of many, is that of 1 Cor. xi. 29, ‘He that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself.’ With this scripture he insults over the humble, fearful Christian, who is sensible of his unworthiness of so great a privilege. Sometimes he keeps him off long from the sacrament of the Lord’s supper, upon this very score that such an unworthy wretch ought not to make such near and familiar approaches to Christ. And if at last he is persuaded to partake of this ordinance, then, taking advantage of the party’s consciousness of his great vileness, and the very low thoughts which he entertains of himself, he endeavours to persuade him that now he hath destroyed himself for ever, and run upon his own irrecoverable damnation. Thus he pleads it, Can anything be more plain than that thou hast eaten and drunken unworthily? Thy own conscience tells thee so; and can anything be more positively asserted than this, that he that doth so, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself? What then canst thou think of thyself, but that thou art a damned wretch? Neither do I speak barely what may be supposed Satan would say in this matter, but what may be proved by many instances he hath said and urged upon the consciences of the weak, who have from hence concluded, to the great distress of their souls, that by unworthy receiving of the sacrament they have sealed up their own condemnation; and all this by abusing and perverting the sense of this text. For the unworthy receiving doth relate to the miscarriages which he had taxed before, and it implies a careless, profane eating; such as might plainly express the small or unworthy esteem that they had in their hearts for that ordinance. And the damnation there threatened is not final and irrevocable damnation, but temporal judgment; as the apostle himself doth explain it in the next verses; ‘For this cause many are sickly.... And if we would judge ourselves we should not be judged.’ That is, as he further explains it, we should not be thus chastened or afflicted; and the word translated ‘damnation’ doth signify judgment—κρῖμα. At the furthest, if we should take it for the condemnation of hell, all that is threatened would be no more than this: that such have deserved, and God in justice might inflict the condemnation of hell for such an offence; which is not only true of this sin but of all others, which still do admit of the exception of repentance. All this while this is nothing to the poor humbled sinner, that judgeth himself unworthy in his most serious examination and greatest diligence. Satan here plays upon the unexactness of the translation, and the ignorance of the party in criticisms; for it is not every one that can readily answer such captious arguments.

[2.] But he hath another piece of cunning, which is this: He doth by a singular kind of art, threap upon men some scripture that really speaks of eternal condemnation, without any sufficient evidence in matter of fact for the due application of them, only because they cannot prove the contrary. His proceeding herein is to this purpose. First, After he hath prepared his way, by forming their minds to a fearful suspicion of their estate, he sets before them such scriptures as these: God hardened the heart of Pharaoh: he hath prepared ‘vessels of wrath, fitted for destruction.’ Christ prayed not ‘for the world:’ and that concerning the Jews, ‘He hath blinded their eyes, and hardened their hearts.’ Secondly, He confidently affirms that they are such. Thirdly, He puts them to prove the contrary, and herein he sends them to the search of God’s eternal decrees; in which art Satan, like an ignis fatuus, leads them out of the way. And though he cannot possibly determine what he affirms, he shifts off the positive proof from himself, and leaves it upon them to make out, that they are not thus determined of by God’s unchangeable purpose. And because the tempted, under so great a cloud, have no such persuasion of their present graces as may enable them to make sure their election by the fruits of their vocation, they are beaten off from their hold, and are brought to believe that the argument is unanswerable. Because they cannot say they are converted, they conclude they must be damned, overlooking the true answer that they might make, by keeping close to the possibility or probability that they may be converted, and so escape the damnation of hell. This general hope being of such high concern to the distressed, for it is the first thing that must relieve them till better evidence come in, it is Satan’s great policy to cheat them of it, which he often doth by this method now declared.

(2.) Satan doth mainly endeavour to misrepresent God to troubled souls, and from thence he draweth out arguments against them. In the former case of spiritual troubles, he misrepresents God, in that he represents only some attributes of his, not only distinct from, but in opposition to others, by which he labours to conceal the sweet and beautiful harmony that is among them; and also to make one attribute an argument against the comfortable supporting considerations which another would afford. He insists upon God’s justice without respect of mercy, upon his holiness without any regard of his gracious condescensions to the infirmities of the weak. But when it is his business to bring any under spiritual distresses, he then misrepresents God at a higher rate, and sticks not to asperse him with abominable falsehoods. There are two lies which he commonly urgeth at this time:—

[1.] He represents God as a cruel tyrant, of a rigorous, unmerciful disposition, that delights himself in the ruin and misery of men. To this purpose he rakes together the harshest passages of the Scripture, that speak of God’s just severity against the wilful obstinate sinners, that stubbornly contemn his offers of grace. God indeed hath cleared himself of this aspersion, by solemn oath, Ezek. xxxiii. 11, ‘As I live, saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live.’ Yet the tempted will sooner believe Satan’s suggestion than God’s oath; partly because the sense of their vileness doth secretly sway them to think there is reason that he should be so; partly because their fears incline them to suspect the worst; and partly the uneasy tossings of their mind long continued reviveth the natural frowardness of the spirit against God. Which, how apt it is, when fretted with vexation, to entertain harsh thoughts of God, may be seen in the answer of the slothful servant to his lord, who returned his talent back again unimproved, with a reflection importing that his master was such as none could please; so severe that he was discouraged from making any attempt of serving him acceptably: Mat. xxv. 24, he said, ‘Lord, I knew thee that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hast not sown, and gathering where thou hast not strawed.’

[2.] He belies God further, by representing him as designing the ruin and misery of the tempted person in particular. He would make him believe that God had a particular spleen, as it were, against him above other men, and that in all his dealings with, or concerning him, he is but as a ‘bear lying in wait, and as a lion in secret places,’ [Lam. iii. 10,] ready to take any advantage to cut him off. And accordingly he gives no other interpretation of all the ways of God but such as make them look like tokens of final rejection of those that are concerned in them. If there be upon them outward afflictions, he tells them these are but the forerunners of hell; if they lie under inward sense of wrath, he calls that the first-fruits of everlasting vengeance; if any particular threatening be impressed upon their consciences by the Spirit of God, in order to their humiliation and repentance, he represents it as God’s final sentence and absolute determination against them. If for caution God see it fit to set before them the examples of his wrath, as it is very frequent for him to do, lest we ‘should fall after the same example of unbelief,’ 1 Pet. ii. 6; 1 Cor. x. 6, Satan perverts this to that which God never intended, for he boldly asserts that these examples prognosticate their misery, and that God signifies by them a prediction of certain unavoidable unhappiness.

This must be observed here, that these misrepresentations of God are none of Satan’s primary arguments; he useth them only as fresh reserves to second others. For where he finds any wing of his battalions ready to be beaten, he comes up with these supplies to relieve them. For indeed these considerations of God’s severity in the general, or of his special resolve against any in particular, are not of force sufficient to attack a soul that is within the trenches of present peace; they are not of themselves proper mediums to produce such a conclusion. Though we suppose God severe, except we should imagine him to be a hater of mankind universally, we cannot thence infer the final ruin of this or that individual person. And besides that these are unjustifiable falsehoods, they cannot make the final damnation of any one so much as probable till the heart be first weakened in its hopes by fears or doubtings, raised up in it upon other grounds. Then indeed men are staggered, either by the deep sense of their unworthiness, or some sad continuing calamity, and the seeming neglect of their prayers. If Satan then tell them of God’s severity, or that, all his providences considered, he hath set them up as a ‘mark for the arrows of his indignation,’ they are ready to believe his report, it being so suitable to their present sense and feeling.

[3.] Satan also fetcheth arguments from the sins of God’s children, but his great art in this is by unjust aggravations to make them look like those offences which by special exception in Scripture are excluded from pardon. The apostle, 1 John v. 16, tells us of a ‘sin that is unto death;’ that is, a sin which, if a man commits, he cannot escape eternal death, and therefore he would not have such a sinner prayed for. That the popish distinction of venial and mortal sins is not here intended, some of the papists themselves do confess.[357] What he means by that sin he doth not tell us, it being a thing known sufficiently from other scriptures. The note of unpardonableness is indeed affixed to sins under several denominations; the sin against the Holy Ghost Christ pronounceth unpardonable, Mat. xii. 31. Total apostasy from the truth of the gospel hath no less said of it by the apostle when he calls it ‘a drawing back to perdition,’ Heb. x. 39. Whether these be all one, or whether there is any other species of sin irremissible besides that against the Holy Ghost, it is not to our purpose to make inquiry. Whatever they are in themselves, Satan in this matter makes use of the texts that speak of them distinctly, as we shall presently see. But, besides these, the Scriptures speak of some that were ‘given up to vile affections, and to a reprobate mind,’ Rom. i. 26, 28. And of others that were given up ‘to hardness of heart,’ Mat. xiii. 14; Acts xxviii. 26. Now whosoever they are of whom these things may be justly affirmed, they are certainly miserable, hopeless wretches. Here then is Satan’s cunning, if he can make any child of God believe that he hath done any such act, or acts of sin, as may bring him within the compass of these scriptures, then he insults over them, and tells them over and over again that they are cut off for ever.

To this purpose he aggravates all their sins. And,

First, If he find them guilty of any great iniquity, he fixeth upon that, and labours all he can to make it look most desperately, that so he may call it the sin against the Holy Ghost; and in this he hath a mighty advantage, that most men are in the dark about that sin, all men being not yet agreed whether it be a distinct species of sin, or a higher degree of wilfulness relating to any particular sin. Upon this score Satan can lay the charge of this sin upon those that apostatize from the truth, and through weakness have recanted it. Thus he dealt with Spira, with Bilney, with Bainham, and several others. There is so near a resemblance in these sins of denying truths to what is said of the unpardonable sin, that these men, though they were scholars and men of good abilities, yet they were not able to answer the argument that the devil urged against them, but it prevailed to distress them. Upon others also hath Satan the advantage to fix this accusation; for let the species of the sin be what it will, if they have anything of that notion, that the sin against the Holy Ghost is a presumptuous act of sin under temptation, they will call any notorious crime the sin against the Holy Ghost, because of the more remarkable aggravating circumstances that have accompanied such a fact.

Second, He aggravates the sins of God’s children from the wilfulness of their sinning. It is a thing often too true that a child of God may be carried by a violent impetus, or strong inclination of affection, to some particular iniquity, where the forwardness of desires that way, by a sudden haste, do stifle those reluctancies of mind which may be expected from one endowed with the Spirit of God, whose power upon them doth ordinarily sway them ‘to lust against the flesh.’ But it is more ordinary to find a temptation to prevail, notwithstanding that an enlightened mind doth make some resistance; which, because it is too feeble, is easily borne down by the strong importunities of Satan, working upon the inclinations of the flesh. Both these cases are improved against them over whom Satan hath got any advantage of doubting of their estate. If they have resisted but ineffectually, or not resisted at all, he chargeth them with the highest wilfulness, and will so aggravate the matter that they shall be put in fear, not only that there can be no grace—where sin hath so much power as either to control so much light and endeavours, or hath so subjected the heart to its dominion that it can command without a contradiction—but that they can have no hope; that they that sin with so high a hand should ever enter into God’s rest. And to this purpose he commonly sets before them that text of Heb. x. 26, ‘If we sin wilfully after that we have received the knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sins.’ Or that of Heb. vi. 4, ‘It is impossible for those who were once enlightened, ... if they fall away, to renew them again to repentance.’ Both which places speak indeed, at least, such a difficulty as in common use of speech is called an impossibility, if not an utter absolute impossibility, of repentance and pardon. But then the sinning wilfully or falling away there mentioned, is only that of total apostasy; when men that have embraced the gospel, and by it have met with such impressions of power and delight upon their hearts, which we usually call common grace, do notwithstanding reject that gospel as false and fabulous, and so rise up against it with scorn and utmost contempt, as Julian the apostate did. If now the true intendment of those scriptures were considered by those that are distressed with them, they might presently see that they were put into fear, where no such cause of fear was. But all men have not this knowledge, nor do they so duly attend to the matter of the apostle’s discourse as to be able to put a right interpretation upon it. Upon such Satan imposeth his deceitful gloss, and tells them: Wilful sinners cannot be restored to repentance; but you have sinned wilfully; when sin was before you, you rushed into it without any consideration, as the horse into the battle; or when God stood in your way with commands and advice to the contrary, when your consciences warned you not to do so great wickedness, yet you would do it. You were as those that break the yoke and burst the bonds. Upon this supposition, that these texts speak of wilful sinning in the general, how little can be said against Satan’s argument! How many have I known that have been tortured with these texts, judging their estate fearful, because of their wilfulness in sinning! who upon the breaking of the snare of Satan’s misrepresentation, have escaped as a bird unto the hill.

Third, When either of the two former ways will not serve the turn—that is, when he meets with such against whom he hath nothing of notorious wickedness to object, or such as have a better discerning of Scripture than so to be imposed upon—he labours to make a charge against them, from the number of their miscarriages. Here he takes up all the filth he can, and lays it upon one heap at their door. It is indeed an easy thing for Satan to set the sins of a child of God in order before him, and to bring to mind innumerable evils, especially to one that is already awakened with a true discovery of the corruption of nature and the vileness of sin. In which case the more a man considers, the more he will discover; and sins thus set in battle array, though they be not more than ordinary heinous, yet being many, have a very dismal appearance. Satan’s design in this is to bring men under the affrightments which seem most proper to be raised from a perverse aspect of the third rank of scriptures, which a little before I pointed at. For the word of God, speaking of the final estate of men, doth not only discover the hopeless condition of some as to eternal life from some particular acts of sin, but also the sad estate of others from the manner, degrees, and frequency of sinning. The heathens, because they improved not the knowledge of God, which they had from the works of creation, neither making those inferences in matters relating to his worship, which those discoveries did direct them unto, nor behaving themselves in full compliance to those rules of virtuous conversation which they might have drawn from these principles, and unto which in point of gratitude they were obliged: Rom. i. 21, ‘They glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; therefore God gave them to a reprobate mind.’ And generally, concerning all others, the Scripture teacheth us that a return to a profane fleshly life, after some reformation, hath a greater hazard in it than ordinary, as appears by the parable in Mat. xii. 45, ‘Seven more wicked spirits re-enter;’ where one that was cast out is received again; and ‘the last state of that man is worse than the first.’ So also 2 Pet. ii. 20. To this purpose is that of Solomon concerning the danger of continuance in sin, after many reproofs: Prov. xxix. 1, ‘He that being often reproved hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy.’ These, and many such like scriptures, Satan hath in readiness, which he plies home upon the consciences of those that are troubled with the sense of sin; telling them that their hearts and ways being continually evil, notwithstanding all the courses that God hath taken to reclaim them; that they having so long neglected so great salvation, or that after having seemed to entertain it, became more sinful than before—which they will easily believe, because they are now more sensible of sin, and more observant of their miscarriages than formerly—there can be no question but they are given up to vile affections; and like the ground that bears nothing but ‘briars and thorns, they are rejected, and nigh unto cursing, whose end is to be burned,’ [Heb. vi. 8.] The wound that is made with this weapon is not so easily healed as some others already mentioned; because though Satan do unduly wrest these passages to such failures in the children of God as have little or no affinity with them, for they only speak of falling into open profaneness with contumacy, yet they that have deep convictions, accompanied with great fears, do usually think that there are none worse than they are. And though they will grant that some others have more flagitious lives, yet they think they have hearts so desperately wicked, that they must needs be under as great hazards as those whose lives seem to be worse.

[4.] There is but one argument more that carries any probability of proof for everlasting condemnation, and that is from a hard and impenitent heart. How Satan will manage himself to make a child of God believe that he hath such a heart, is our last observation relating to his sophistry. And it is this: he unjustly aggravates the discomposures of the spirits of those that are troubled for sin, and from thence draws his arguments of irrecoverable damnation, pleading that their hearts are seared, hardened, uncapable of repentance, and consequently of heaven. That final impenitency will conclude damnation is certain; and that some have been given up to such a judicial hardness long before death, that they could not repent, may not only be evidenced from the threatening of God to that purpose, Mat. xiii. 15, ‘Make the heart of this people fat,’ &c., but also from the sad instances of Pharaoh, of whom it is said, that ‘God hardened his heart;’ and the Jews who were blinded, Rom. xi. 8, ‘God hath given them the spirit of slumber, eyes that they should not see, and ears that they should not hear.’ But still the art lieth in this, How to make a child of God believe that it is so with him. For this purpose he must take him at some advantage, he cannot terrify him with this argument at all times. While he is acting repentance with an undisturbed settled frame of heart, it is not possible to make him believe he doth not, or cannot repent; for this were to force him contrary to sense and experience. But he must take him at some season which may, with some probability, admit of his plea, and nothing is more proper for that design than a troubled heart; so that he hath in this case two things to do:

First, He disquiets the soul into as great a height of confusion as he can. That, second, when he hath melted it into heaviness, and torn it into pieces, he may work upon its distractions.

There are many things that fall out in the case of great anxiety of mind, that are capable of improvement for the accomplishment of this design. As, 1. Distracting troubles bring the heart under the stupidity of amazement. Their thoughts are so broken and disjointed, that they cannot unite them to a composed, settled resolution in anything; they can scarce join them together to make out so much as might spell out their distinct desires or endeavours; they scarce know what they are doing, or what they would do. 2. They also poison the thoughts with harsh apprehensions against God. Great distresses make the thoughts sometimes recoil against the holy Lord with unseemly questionings of his goodness and compassion; and this puts men into a bad sullen humour of untowardness, from whence, through Satan’s improvement, arise the greatest plunges of despair. 3. Most usually in this case the greatest endeavours are fruitless and dissatisfactory. Satan, though he be no friend to duty, doth unseasonably urge them to repent and pray; but it is because they cannot do either with any satisfaction, and then their failures are matter of argument against them. For if they resolve to put themselves upon a more severe course of repentance, and accordingly begin to think of their sins, to number them, or to aggravate them, they are usually affrighted from the undertaking by the heinous appearance of them. They cannot, they dare not think of them; the remotest glimpse of them is terrible to an affrighted conscience; the raising of them up again in the memory, like the rising of a ghost from the grave, is far more astonishing than the first prospect of them after commission. So true is that of Luther, ‘If a man could see sin perfectly, it would be a perfect hell.’ If they set themselves to beg their pardon by earnest prayer, they are so distracted and confused in prayer, that their prayers please them not; they come off from the duty more wounded than when they began. Or if in any measure they overcome these difficulties, so that they do pray and confess their iniquities, then they urge and force a sorrow or compunction upon themselves, but still to a greater dissatisfaction. For it may be—and this usually happens in greater distresses—they cannot weep, nor force a tear, or if they do, still they judge their sorrow is not deep enough, nor any way suitable to the greatness of their sin. 4. To all these Satan sometimes makes a further addition of trouble, by injecting blasphemous thoughts. Here he sets the stock, with an intention to graft upon it afterward. When all these things are thus in readiness, then comes he to set fire to the train, and thus he endeavours to blow up the mine. Is not thy heart hardened to everlasting destruction? How canst thou deny this? Art thou not grown stupid, and senseless of all the hazards that are before thee? Here he insists upon the amazement and confusion of their spirit; and it is very natural for those that are drunk with the terrors of the Almighty, to think themselves stupid, because of the distraction of their thoughts. I have known several that have pleaded that very argument to that purpose. Satan goes on: What greater evidence can there be of a hardened heart than impenitency? Thou canst not mourn enough. Thou hast not a tear for thy sins, though thou couldst weep enough formerly upon every petty occasion; nay, thou canst not so much as pray for pardon. Is not this not only a heart that doth not, but that cannot repent? Besides, saith he, thou knowest the secret thoughts that thy heart is privy to; do they not boil up in thy breast against God? Art thou not ready to tax him for dealing thus with thee? What is this untowardness, but desperate obdurateness? And if with all these there be blasphemous injections, then he tells him it is a clear case that he is judicially hardened; in that he acts the part of the damned in hell already. By all, or some of these deceits, the devil doth often prevail so far with men, that they conclude their heart to be so obstinate, so stupid, that it is impossible that it should be ever mollified or brought into a penitential frame, and consequently that there is no hope of their salvation.

(3.) There is but one thing more, besides the occasions which he takes, and the arguments which he makes use of, relating to Satan’s method for the procurement of spiritual distresses, and that is his endeavour to strengthen these arguments by the increase of fears in their hearts.

What Satan can do in raising up misgiving, tormenting fears, hath been said; and how serviceable this is to his design, I shall shew in a few particulars, having only first noted this in the general, that as his design in these distresses is raised to express his utmost height of malice against men—in pushing them forward to the greatest mischief, by excluding them totally from the lowest degree of the hope of happiness, and by persuading them of the inevitable certainty of their eternal misery—so he doth endeavour, by the strongest impressions of fear, to terrify them to the utmost degree of affrightful amazement, and consequently the effects of that fear are most powerful; for,

[1.] By this means the spirits of men are formed and moulded into a frame most suitable for the belief and entertainment of the most dismal impressions that Satan can put upon them. For strong fears, like fire, do assimilate everything to their own nature, making them naturally incline to receive the blackest, the most disadvantageous interpretations of all things against themselves, so that they have no capacity to put any other sense upon what lies in their way, but the very worst. Hence are they possessed with no other thoughts but that they are remediless wretches, desperate miscreants, utterly forsaken of God. They are brought into such a woeful partiality against their own peace, that they cannot judge aright of any accusation, plea, or argument that Satan brings for a proof of their unhappiness; but being filled with strong prejudices of hell, they think every sophism a strong argument, every supposition a truth, and every accusation conclusive of no less than their eternal damnation; insomuch that their fears do more to discomfit them than all Satan’s forces. ‘A dreadful sound being in their ears,’ [Job xv. 21,] their strength fails them at the appearance of any opposition; as when fear comes upon an army they throw away their weapons, and, by an easy victory, give their backs sometimes to an inconsiderable enemy.

[2.] Men thus possessed with fear do not only receive into their own bowels every weapon which Satan directs on purpose to the wounding and slaying of their hopes, but by a strange kind of belief they imagine everything to be the sword of an enemy. All they hear or meet with turns into poison to them, for they think everything is against them—promises as well as threatenings, mercies as well as judgments, and that by all these, one as well as another, God, as with a flaming sword turning every way, doth hinder their access to the tree of life. Bilney the martyr, as Latimer in his sermons reports of him, after his denial of the truth, was under such horrors of conscience, that his friends were forced to stay with him night and day. No comforts would serve. If any comfortable place of Scripture was offered to him, it was as if a man should cut him through with a sword. Nothing did him good; he thought that all scriptures made against him, and sounded to his condemnation. Neither is it so rare a thing for fears to form the imagination into such misshapen apprehensions, as that we should think such instances to be only singular and unusual; but it is a common effect of terror, which few or none escape that are under spiritual distresses. The blackness of their thoughts make the whole Scripture seem black to them. The unfit medium through which they look doth discolour every object. So that the book of life, as Mrs Kath. Bretterge in the like case expressed herself concerning the Bible, seems to be nothing else but a book of death to them.[358]

[3.] From hence it follows that no counsel or advice can take place with them. Excessive fears do remove their souls so far from peace, that they will not believe there is any hope for them, though it be told them. The most compassionate, serious admonitions of friends, the strongest arguments against despair, the clearest discoveries of the hopes that are before them, &c., effect but little. While they are spoken, it may be, they seem to relieve them a little; but the comfort abides not with them, it is soon gone. Though they cannot answer the arguments brought for them, yet they cannot believe them; as if their souls were now deprived of all power to believe anything for their good: suitable to that expression of Spira, in answer to his friends that laboured to comfort him, ‘I would believe comfort, but cannot; I can believe nothing but what is contrary to my comfort,’ Nay, when they are told that many others have been under the like dreadful apprehensions of everlasting misery who have at last been comforted—and by manifold experience we find that it is the greatest ease to distressed souls to hear, especially to speak with some that have been in the like case, for this will oft administer some hope that they also may be at last comforted, when the most comfortable promises of the Scripture are a terror to them;—yet this doth [not] effect the least ease for them sometimes, because some are so wholly possessed with unalterable prejudice against themselves, that they think none are or ever were like them. They compare themselves to Judas and Cain, and think their iniquity to be aggravated by many circumstances far beyond the pitch of them. Thus Spira judged of himself: ‘I tell you,’ saith he, ‘my case is mine own, it is singular, none like it.’

[4.] Though fears make the soul unactive to anything of comfort, because they wholly destroy its inclination and alter its bias to hope, yet, on the contrary, they make it very nimble and active to pursue the conclusions of misery which they have helped to frame, for the spring of all the faculties of the soul are bent that way. Hence it is that those who are possessed with these agonies will eagerly plead against themselves, and with an admirable subtlety will frame arguments against their peace, coin distinctions, and make strange evasions to escape the force of any consolation that may be offered to them. Their understandings are, as it were, whetted by their fears to an unimaginable quickness. Who would not wonder to hear the replies that some will give to the arguings of their friends that labour to comfort them! What strange answers Spira gave to those that pleaded with him! How easily he seemed to turn off the example of Peter denying Christ, and those scriptures that speak of God’s love to mankind, &c., may be seen at large in his narrative.

[5.] Fears by a strange kind of witchcraft do not only make them believe that they shall be unhappy, but also will at last persuade them that they feel and see their misery already. How astonishingly doth Spira speak to this purpose: ‘I find he daily more and more hardens me; I feel it.’ Answerable to this, I remember, was the case of one who was long imprisoned in deep distresses. He told me that he verily believed that scripture of Isa. lxvi. 23, 24 was fulfilled upon him, ‘From one sabbath to another shall all flesh come to worship before me, and they shall go forth and look upon the carcases of the men that have transgressed against me; for their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched, and they shall be an abhorring to all flesh.’ To his own feeling he had the torments of conscience, and the sense of divine wrath was as a burning fire within him, and to his apprehension every look from others was a gazing upon him as a monster of misery, ‘abhorred of all flesh.’

The nature of spiritual distresses, and Satan’s method in working them, being explained, the last thing promised is now to be opened. This is,

3. The burden and weight of these distresses, which how grievous, how intolerable it is, may be sufficiently seen in what hath been already said, and may be further evidenced in the particulars following:—

[1.] Those that are wounded with these fiery darts do at first usually conceal their wound and smother their grief, being ashamed to declare it, partly because some great transgression, it may be, hath kindled all this fire in their bosoms, and this they are unwilling to declare to others; partly because they suspect—though no one remarkable sin hath occasioned these troubles—that the discovery of their case will expose them to the wonder and censures of all that shall hear of them. By this means the fire burns with greater vehemency. Their sore runs continually, and having none to speak a word in season for the least relief, it becomes more painful and dangerous; as bodily distempers, concealed by a foolish modesty from the physician, increase the trouble and hazard of the patient. Here have they many strugglings within themselves, many attempts to overcome their fears, but all in vain. They sit alone and keep silence, they flee the company and society of men, they labour after solitary places where they may weep with freedom, if their tears be not yet dried up, or at least where they may pour out their complaints against themselves. They meditate nothing but their misery, they can fix their thoughts upon nothing else, they ‘chatter as a crane or swallow, they mourn as a dove,’ they are as ‘a pelican in the wilderness, as an owl in the desert,’ but still without ease. They are but as those that are ‘snared in dens and prison-houses,’ who the longer they lie there have the less patience to bear the present unhappiness, and the less hope to be delivered from it.

[2.] When they are tired out with private conflicts, and have no rest or intermission of trouble, then at last they are forced to speak; and having once begun to open their troubles, they care not who knows it. If there be any heinous sin at the bottom, their consciences are forced to confess it. Wickedness, that was once sweet in his mouth, ‘is turned in his bowels, it is the gall of asps within him,’ Job xx. 14, 15. Thus doth God make men to vomit up what they had swallowed down. Terrors chase away all shame, they can now freely speak against their sin with the highest aggravations. And if their consciences have not a heinous crime to accuse them of in particular, yet in the general they will judge and condemn themselves as the most stubborn, sinful, or hardened wretches, justly branded with indelible characters of the wrath of God. However, the distress becomes greater; if they truly accuse themselves of any particular sin, that vomit is not without a violence offered to nature which otherwise would cover its shame. It cannot be done without sickness, straining, and torture; and when it is done, they take it for granted that every one passeth the same judgment upon them which they do upon themselves; and the frequent speaking doth confirm their minds in their fearful expectations. For what men do accustom themselves to assert, that they do more confidently believe. If they only complain of themselves in the general, with any intentions of procurement of pity, as is usual for the distressed to do, yet while they cry out to others, ‘Is this nothing to you, all you that pass by? Is there any sorrow like to my sorrow?’ &c., [Lam. i. 12,] still they think their ‘stroke is heavier than their groaning,’ [Job xxiii. 2;] and their cry to others doth strongly fix this apprehension in themselves, that none can be more miserable than they. Thus are they brought to Job’s condition: chap. xvi. 6, ‘Though I speak, my grief is not assuaged; and though I forbear, what am I eased?’

[3.] All this while they are under an expressible[359] sense of divine wrath. Heman speaks his apprehensions of it under the similitude of the most hideous and dismal comfortless imprisonment: Ps. lxxxviii. 6, ‘Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the deeps.’ David, in Ps. cxvi. 3, compares it to the ‘sorrows of death,’ and—the highest that human thoughts can reach—‘the pains of hell.’ ‘The sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me; I found trouble and sorrow.’ Well might they thus judge, all things considered; for sin, that then lies heavy upon them, is a great weight, ‘a burden,’ saith David, ‘greater than I can bear,’ especially when it is pressed on by a heavy hand: ‘Thy hand presseth me sore.’ Sin makes the greatest wound, considering the conscience, which is wounded by it, is the tenderest part, and of exquisite sense. Hence the grief of it is compared to the pain of a running, fretting ulcer, that distempers the whole body: ‘My wounds stink and are corrupted; my sore ran in the night, and ceased not.’ Or to the pain of broken and shattered bones: Ps. xxxviii. 3, ‘There is no soundness in my flesh, because of thine anger; neither is there any rest in my bones, because of my sin.’ The instrument also that makes the wound is sharp, and cuts deep: ‘It is sharper than a two-edged sword,’ [Heb. iv. 12;] but when the weapon is poisoned,—and Satan hath a way to do that,—then it burns, making painful, malignant inflammations. The wrath of God, expressed to the conscience, brings the greatest terror: ‘Who knows the power of thine anger?’ Ps. xc. 11. It is impossible for the most trembling conscience, or most jealous fears, to go to the utmost bounds of it; neither can we apprehend any torture greater. The rack, tortures, fire, gibbets, &c., are all nothing to it. Hence it is that those who were afraid of suffering for truth, when by this means they were brought under these distresses, could then be willing to suffer any torment on the body; yea, and heartily wish to suffer much more, so that these tortures might be ended. Thus it was with Bainham martyr,[360] who, in the public congregation, bewailed his abjuration of the truth; and prayed all his hearers ‘rather to die by and by, than do as he had done.’ But that of Spira seems almost beyond belief. Thus speaks he to Vergerius, ‘If I could conceive but the least spark of hope of a better estate hereafter, I would not refuse to endure the most heavy weight of the wrath of that great God, yea, for twenty thousand years, so that I might at length attain to the end of that misery.’ What dreadful agonies were these that put him to these wishes! But it is less wonder, if you observe what apprehensions he had of his present trouble, he judged it worse than hell itself. And if you would have a lively exposition of David’s expression, ‘The pains of hell,’ &c., you may fetch it from this instance: ‘My present estate,’ saith he, ‘I now account worse than if my soul, separated from my body, were with Judas and the rest of the damned; and therefore I desire rather to be there than thus to live in the body.’ So that if you imagine a man crushed under the greatest weight, wounded in the most tender parts, and those wounds provoked by the sharpest corrosives, his bones all disjointed and broken, pined also with hunger and thirst, and in that case put under the highest tortures; yet you have but a very shadow of divine wrath. Add to all these, according to Spira’s wish, twenty thousand years of hell itself, yet all is nothing to that which a distressed mind supposeth; while the word eternity presents the soul with the total sum of utmost misery all at once. Oh, unexpressible burden of a distressed mind! who can understand it truly, but he that feels it? How terribly is the mind of man shaken with terrors, as the wilderness by a mighty wind! which not only produceth violent motions, but also hideous noise, murmur, and howling.

[4.] This burden upon the mind forceth the tongue to vent its sorrow in the saddest accent of most doleful outcries. Their whole language is lamentation; but when the pangs of their agonies come upon them, for their distresses have their fits, then they speak in the bitterness of their souls. Oh, said Bainham, I would not for all the world’s good feel such a hell in my conscience again. One, formerly mentioned, in these distresses cries out, ‘Woe, woe, woe, a woeful, a wretched, a forsaken woman!’[361] It would surely have made a man’s hair to stand upright for dread to have heard Spira roaring out that terrible sentence, ‘How dreadful is it to fall into the hands of the living God!’ [Heb. x. 31.] Or to have heard his reply to him that told of his being at Venice: ‘O cursed day!’ saith he, ‘O cursed day! Oh that I had never gone thither, would God I had then died!’ &c. The like outcries had David often: Ps. xxi. 1, ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?’ And Heman, Ps. lxxxviii. 14, ‘Lord, why castest thou off my soul, why hidest thou thy face from me?’ It is true David’s and Heman’s words have a better complexion than those others last mentioned; but their disquiet of heart seems, at some times, to have urged their expressions with impetuous violence; as those passages seem to say, Ps. xxxviii. 8, ‘I have roared by reason of the disquietness of my heart;’ Ps. xxxii. 3, ‘My bones waxed old through my roaring all the day long;’ Job iii. 24, ‘My roarings are poured out like water,’ If their lamentations were turned into roarings, and those roarings were like the breaking in of a flood, and that flood of so long continuance that it dried up the marrow of the bones, we may safely imagine that they were not so much at leisure to order their words, but that their tongues might speak in that dialect which is proper to astonishment and distress.

[5.] Though the mind be the principal seat of these troubles, yet the body cannot be exempted from a co-partnership in these sorrows. Notwithstanding, this is so far from abating the trouble, that it increaseth it by a circulation. The pains of the body, contracted by the trouble of the mind, are communicated again to the fountain from whence they came, and reciprocally augment the disquiet of the mind. The body is weakened, their ‘strength poured out like water;’ they are ‘withered like grass,’ pined as ‘a skin,’ become as a ‘bottle in the smoke.’ Thus David frequently complains: Ps. xxii. 14, he describes himself as reduced to a skeleton, ‘I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels. My strength is dried up like a potsherd; my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me to the dust of death.’ Neither is this his peculiar case, but the common effect of spiritual distresses: Ps. xxxix. 11, ‘When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest his beauty to consume away like a moth.’

[6.] Being thus distressed for their souls, they cast off all care of their bodies, estates, families, and all their outward concerns whatsoever. And no wonder, for being persuaded that they have made shipwreck of their souls, they judge the rest are not worth the saving.

[7.] Giving all for lost, they usually cast about for some ease to their minds, by seeking after the lower degrees of misery, hearing or supposing that all are not tormented alike, they endeavour to persuade themselves of a cooler hell. This, if they could reach it, were but poor comfort, and little to their satisfaction; but, as poor as it is, it is usually denied to them, for while they judge themselves to be the greatest sinners, they cannot but adjudge themselves to the greatest torments; and these endeavours being frustrated, they return back to themselves, as now hopeless of the least case, worse than before. Now they fix themselves upon the deep contemplations of their misery. Oh, think they, how great had our happiness been if we had been made toads, serpents, worms, or anything but men; for then should we never have known this unhappiness; and this begets a thousand vain wishes. Oh that we had never been born! or that death could annihilate us! or that as soon as we had been born, we had died! as Job speaks: chap. iii. 11, 12, ‘Why died I not from the womb? why did I not give up the ghost when I came out of the belly?’ for then had we not contracted so much guilt. ‘Or that the mountains and hills could fall upon us, and cover us from the face of our judge,’ [Rev. vi. 16.]

[8.] When all their hopes are thus dashed, and, like a shipwrecked man on a plank, they are still knocked down with new waves, all their endeavours being still frustrated, they seem to themselves to be able to hold out no longer; then they give over all further inquiries, and the use of means, they refuse to pray, read, hear. They perceive, as Spira said, that they pray to their own condemnation, and that all is to no purpose. They are ‘weary of their groanings,’ Ps. vi. 6; their ‘eyes fail with looking up;’ their ‘knees are feeble;’ their hands hang down; and as Heman: Ps. lxxxviii. 4, 5, ‘They count themselves with those that go down to the pit, free among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, whom God remembereth no more.’ Thus they lie down under their burden, and while they find it so hard to be borne, it is usual for them to come to the utmost point of desperateness, Satan suggesting and forwarding them. Sometimes they open their mouths with complaints against God, and blaspheme. And, as the last part of the tragedy, being weary of themselves, they seek to put an end to their present misery, by putting an end to their lives.

I have presented you with Satan’s stratagems against the peace of God’s children. The remedies against these and other subtleties of our grand enemy I shall not offer you, because many others have done that already, to whose writings I must refer you. Some principal directions I have pointed at in the way, and in the general, have done this for the help of the tempted, that I have endeavoured to shew them the methods of [the] tempter, which is no small help to preserve men from being thus imposed upon, and to recover out of his snare those that are. It is a great preservative from sickness, and no mean advantage to the cure, to have a discovery of the disease, and the causes of it. I shall conclude these discoveries with a caution or two.

[1.] Let none think worse of the serious practice of holy strictness in religion, because these spiritual distresses do sometimes befall those that are conscientiously careful in the ways of God, while the profane and negligent professors are strangers to such trials. These troubles are indeed very sad, but a senseless, careless state is far worse. These troubles often end very comfortably, whereas the other end—except God make them sensible by conviction of their sin and danger—in that real misery, the fears whereof occasion these sorrows to God’s children. And the danger of spiritual troubles is not so great as is that of a hardened heart; nay, God frequently makes use of them to prevent eternal ruin—for one that goes roaring to the pit, there are thousands that go laughing to hell.

[2.] Let none slight or scoff at these tremendous judgments. It is too common with men, either to ascribe spiritual troubles to melancholy, as if none were ever thus concerned, but such, as by too much seriousness in religion, are become mad—a fair pretence for carelessness—or to a whining dissimulation. To the former I have said something before, and as for the latter I shall only reply, in the words of Spira, to one that objected hypocrisy to him: ‘I am a castaway, a vessel of wrath; yet dare you call it dissembling and frenzy, and can mock at the formidable example of the heavy wrath of God that should teach you fear and terror. But it is natural to the flesh to speak, either out of malice or ignorance, perversely of the work of God,’

[3.] Let none be afraid of this Goliath, let no man’s heart faint because of him. A fear of caution and diligence to avoid his snares is a necessary duty—‘Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil,’ &c., [1 Pet. v. 8]—but a discouraging, distrustful fear is a dishonourable reflection upon God’s power and promises to help us, and upon the captain of our salvation, who goeth out before us. Let us hold on in the practice of holiness, and not be afraid. ‘The God of peace shall tread down Satan under our feet shortly,’ [Rom. xvi. 20.] Amen.

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NOTE.

Agreeably to Note at beginning, there will be found below the more specific title page of Part III.—G.

DÆMONOLOGIA SACRA:
OR, A
TREATISE
OF
Satans Temptations.

The Third Part.

CONTAINING

An Account of the Combate betwixt Christ and Satan, in Matth. 4. Wherein the deep Subtilty of Satan, in managing those Temptations, is laid open, as the grand Instance of the Sum of his Policy in all his Assaults upon Men; Leading to a consideration of many Temptations in particular, and of special directions for Resistance.

By R. G.

Heb. 4. 15.
—He was Tempted in all points like as we are, yet without Sin.

London, Printed by J. D. for Richard Randel, and Peter Maplisden,
Booksellers in New-Castle upon Tine, 1677.

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