a. from "A Burning and a Shining Light" by Jeffery, Eerdman's, Pg. 458 "from the Memoir of the Early Life of William Cowper, Esq. Written by Himself"
From Memoir of the Early Life of William Cowper, Esq. Written by Himself
In this vivid narrative, of which only an excerpt can be included here, Cowper describes his earliest memories, his unhappy, bullied years at Westminster School, his indolence during several years of unproductive study of law at the Inner Temple, and his resulting insecurity at being called to the bar in 1754. He then relates, in painful detail, the fits of depression which overtook him upon his conviction that he was not in fact qualified for the government position he had acquired by family influence and party patronage. The depression culminated in three unsuccessful attempts at suicideΓÇöone by an overdose of the drug laudanum, another a thwarted attempt to throw himself from a London bridge, and the third an attempted hanging in his roomΓÇöfollowed in turn by loss of his job and a complete breakdown requiring his removal to a private hospital for the mentally ill. We pick up Cowper's story at a point just after his efforts at suicide.
My sins were now set in array against me and I began to see and feel that I had lived without God in the world. As I walked to an fro in my chamber, I said within myself, "There never was so abandoned a wretch, so great a sinner." All my worldly sorrows seemed as though they had never been, the terrors which succeeded them seeming so great and so much more afflicting. One moment I thought myself shut out from mercy by one chapter; the next, by another. The sword of the Spirit seemed to guard the tree of life from my touch, and to flame against me in every avenue by which I attempted to approach it. I particularly remember that the parable of the barren fig-tree was to me an inconceivable source of anguish; I applied it to myself with a strong persuasion in my mind that when the Savior pronounced a curse upon it, He had me in his eye and pointed that curse directly at me.
I turned over all Archbishop Tillotson's sermons in hopes of finding one upon the subject, and consulted my brother upon the true meaning of itΓÇödesirous, if possible, to obtain a different interpretation of the matter than my evil conscience would suffer me to fasten on it. "O Lord, thou didst vex me with all they storms, all thy billows went over me; thou didst run upon me like a giant in the night season, thou didst scare me with visions in the night season."
In every book I opened, I found something that struck me to the heart. I remember taking up a volume of Beaumont and Fletcher,(Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, late Elizabethan dramatists, whose plays had been revived and republished during the Restoration period.) which lay upon the table in my kinsman's lodgings, and the first sentence which I saw was this: "The justice of the gods is in it." My heart instantly replied, "It is a truth," and I cannot but observe that as I found something in every author to condemn me, so it was the first sentence, in general, I pitched upon. Everything preached to me, and everything preached the curse of the law.
I was now strongly tempted to use laudanum not as a poison but as an opiate to compose my spirits, to stupefy my awakened and feeling mind which was harassed with sleepless nights and days of uninterrupted misery. But God forbade it, who would have nothing to interfere with the quickening work He had begun in me. Neither the lack of rest nor continued agony of mind could bring me to the use of it; I hated and abhorred the very smell of it.
I never went into the street but I thought the people stood and laughed at me and held me in contempt, and I could hardly persuade myself other than that the voice of my conscience was loud enough for everyone to hear it. They who knew me seemed to avoid me, and if they spoke to me seemed to do it in scorn. I bought a ballad of one who was singing it in the street because I thought it was written about me.
I dined alone, either at the tavern where I went in the dark or at the chop-house where I always took care to hide myself in the darkest corner of the room. I slept generally an hour in the evening, but it was only to be terrified in dreams. When I awoke it was some time before I could walk steadily through the passage into the dining room. I reeled and staggered like a drunk man. The eyes of man I could not bear, but when I thought that the eyes of God were upon me (which I felt assured of) it gave me the most intolerable anguish. If, for a moment, a book or a companion stole away my attention from myself, a flash from hell seemed to be thrown into my mind immediately, and I said within myself, "What are these things to me, who am damned?" In a word, I saw myself a sinner altogether, and every way a sinner, but I saw not yet a glimpse of the mercy of God in Jesus Christ.
The capital engine in all the artillery of Satan had not yet been employed against me; already overwhelmed with despair, I was not yet sunk into the bottom of the gulf. This was a fit season for the use of it, and accordingly I was set to inquire whether I had not been guilty of the unpardonable sin, and was presently persuaded that I had.
A failure to respond to the mercies of God at Southampton, on the occasion above mentioned,(Earlier in the narrative, Cowper records that standing on a beach, weighted down with depression, he had been transformed in spirit by the sun suddenly breaking through, which he took at once to be a sign of God's mercy toward him. Later, however, he passed off this incident as nothing more than coincidence. Now he has begun to fear that this rejection of his initial response may have amounted to a deliberate refusal of grace.) was represented to me as the sin against the Holy Ghost. No favorable construction of my conduct in that instance, no argument of my brother (who was now with me), nothing he could suggest in extenuation of my offenses, could gain a moment's admission. Satan furnished me so readily with weapons against myself that neither scripture nor reason could undeceive me. Life appeared to me now preferable to death only because it was a barrier between me and everlasting burnings.
My thoughts in the day became still more gloomy, and my night visions more dreadful. One morning, as I lay between sleeping and waking, I seemed to myself to be walking in Westminster Abbey, waiting till prayers should begin. Presently I thought I heard the minister's voice, and hastened towards the choir. But just as I was upon the point of entering, the iron gate under the organ was flung in my face with a jar that made the Abbey ring; the noise awoke me, and a sentence of excommunication from all the churches upon earth could not have been so dreadful to me as the interpretation which I could not avoid putting upon this dream.
Another time I seemed to pronounce to myself, "Evil be thou my good," I verily thought that I had adopted that hellish sentiment, it seemed to come so directly from my heart. I rose from bed to look for my prayer book and having found it endeavored to pray, but immediately experienced the impossibility of drawing nigh to God unless He first drew nigh to us. I made many passionate attempts towards prayer, but failed in all.
Having an obscure notion about the efficacy of faith, I resolved upon an experiment to prove whether I had faith or not. For this purpose I resolved to repeat the Creed. When I came to the second statement of it (i.e., the section beginning, "And in one Lord Jesus Christ…") all traces of the former were struck from my memory, nor could I recollect one syllable of the matter. While I endeavored to recover it, and when just upon the point, I perceived a sensation in my brain like a tremulous vibration in all the fibers of it. By this means, I lost the words in the very instant when I thought to have laid hold of them. This threw me into an agony, but growing a little calmer I made an attempt for the third time, here again I failed in the same manner as before.
I considered it as a supernatural interposition to inform me that, having sinned against the Holy Ghost, I had no longer any interest in Christ or in the gifts of the Spirit. Being assured of this with the most rooted conviction, I gave myself up to despair. I felt a sense of burning in my heart like that of real fire, and concluded it was an earnest of those eternal flames which would soon receive me. I laid myself down howling with horror while my knees smote against each other.
In this condition my brother found me, and the first words I spoke to him were, "Oh, brother, I am damned! Think of eternity, and then think what it is to be damned!" I had, indeed, a sense of eternity impressed upon my mind, which seemed almost to amount to a full comprehension of it.
My brother, pierced to the heart with the sight of my misery, tried to comfort me, but all to no purpose. I refused comfort, and my mind appeared to me in such colors that to administer comfort to me was only to exasperate me and to mock my fears.
At length, I remembered my friend Martin Madan, and sent for him. I used to think him an enthusiast, but now seemed convinced that if there was any balm in Gilead, he must administer it to me. On former occasions, when my spiritual concerns had at any time occurred to me, I thought likewise on the necessity of repentance. I knew that many persons had spoken of shedding tears for sin, but when I asked myself whether the time would ever come when I should weep for mine, it seemed to me that a stone might sooner do it.
Not knowing that Christ was exalted to give repentance, I despaired of ever attaining it. My friend came to me; we sat on the bedside together and he began to declare to me the Gospel. He spoke of original sin, and the corruption of every man born into the world, whereby everyone is a child of wrath. I perceived something like hope dawning in my heart. This doctrine set me more on a level with the rest of mankind, and made my condition appear less desperate.
Next he insisted on the all-atoning efficacy of the blood of Jesus and his righteousness for our justification. While I heard this part of his discourse, and the scriptures upon which he founded it, my heart began to burn within me; my soul was pierced with a sense of my bitter ingratitude to so merciful a SaviorΓÇöand those tears which I thought impossible burst forth freely. I saw clearly that my case required such a remedy, and had not the least doubt within me but that this was the Gospel of salvation.
Lastly, he urged the necessity of a lively faith in Jesus Christ, not an assent only of the understanding but a faith of application, an actual laying hold of it and embracing it as a salvation wrought out for me personally. Here I failed, and deplored my want of such a faith. He told me it was the gift of God which he trusted He would bestow upon me. I could only reply, "I wish He would"ΓÇöa very irreverent petition, but a very sincere one, and such as the blessed God in his due time was pleased to answer.
My brother, finding that I had received consolation from Mr. Madan, was very anxious that I should take the earliest opportunity of conversing with him again, and for this purpose pressed me to go to him immediately. I was for putting it off, but my brother seemed impatient of delay, and at length prevailed on me to set out. I mention this, to the honor of his candor and humanity, which would suffer no difference of sentiments to interfere with them. My welfare was his only object, and all prejudices fled before his zeal to procure it. May he receive, for his recompense, all that happiness the Gospel which I then first became acquainted with is alone able to impart.
Easier, indeed, I was, but far from easy. The wounded spirit within me was less in pain, but by no means healed. What I had experienced was but the beginning of sorrows, and a long train of still greater terrors was at hand. I slept my three hours well and then awoke with ten times a stronger alienation for God than ever. Satan plied me closely with horrible visions and more horrible voices. My ears rang with the sound of torments that seemed to await me. Then did the pains of hell get hold on me, and before daybreak the very sorrows of death encompassed me. A numbness seized upon the extremities of my body, and life seemed to retreat before it; my hands and feet became cold and stiff, a cold sweat stood upon my forehead, my heart seemed to every pulse to beat its last, and my soul to cling to my lips as if on the very brink of departure. No convicted criminal ever feared death more, or was more assured of dying.
At eleven o'clock, my brother called upon me, and in about an hour after his arrival that distemper of mind which I had so ardently wished for actually seized me.
While I traversed the apartment in the most horrible dismay of soul, expecting every moment that the earth would open her mouth and swallow me, my conscience scaring me, the avenger of blood pursuing me, and the city of refuge out of reach and out of sight, a strange and horrible darkness fell upon me. If it were possible that a heavy blow could light on the brain without touching the skull, such was the sensation I felt. I clapped my hand to my forehead and cried aloud through the pain it gave me. At every stroke, my thoughts and expressions became more wild and incoherent; all that remained clear was the sense of sin and the expectation of punishment. These kept undisturbed possession all through my illness without interruption or abatement.
My brother instantly observed the change, and consulted with my friends on the best manner to dispose of me. It was agreed among them that I should be carried to St. Alban's where Dr. Cotton kept a house for the reception of such patients and with whom I was known to have a slight acquaintance. Not only his skill as a physician recommended him to their choice but his well-known humanity and sweetness of temperament. It will be proper to draw a veil over the secrets of my prison-house; let it suffice to say that the low state of body and mind to which I was reduced was perfectly well calculated to humble the natural vainglory and pride of my heart.
These are the efficacious means which Infinite Wisdom thought meet to make use of for that purpose. A sense of self-loathing and abhorrence ran through all my insanity. Conviction of sin, and expectation of instant judgment never left me from the 7th of December, 1763, until the middle of the July following. The accuser of the brethren was ever busy with me night and day, bringing to my recollection in dreams the commission of long-forgotten sins and charging upon my conscience things of an indifferent nature as atrocious crimes.
All that passed in this long interval of eight months may be classed under two headings, conviction of sin and despair of mercy. But , blessed be the God of my salvation for every sigh I drew, for every tear I shed, since it please Him thus to judge me here that I might not be judged hereafter.
After five months of continual expectation that the divine vengeance would plunge me into the bottomless pit, I became so familiar with despair as to have contracted a sort of hardiness and indifference as to the event. I began to persuade myself that while the execution of the sentence was suspended, it would be in my interest to indulge a less horrible train of ideas than I had been accustomed to muse upon. "Eat and drink, for tomorrow thou shalt be in hell" was the maxim on which I proceeded. By this means, I entered into conversation with the Doctor, laughed at his stories and told him some of my own to match them, still, however, carrying a sentence of irrevocable doom in my heart.
He observed the seeming alteration with pleasure. Believing, as well he might, that my smiles were sincere, he thought my recovery well night completed. But these were, in reality, like the green surface of a morass, pleasant to the eye but a cover for nothing but rottenness and filth. The only thing that could promote and effectuate my cure was yet wantingΓÇöand experimental knowledge of the redemption which is in Christ Jesus.
I remember, about this time, a diabolical species of regret that found harbor in my wretched heart. I was sincerely sorry that I had not seized every opportunity of giving scope to my wicked appetites, and even envied those who, being departed to their own place before me, had the consolation to reflect that they had well earned their miserable inheritance, by indulging their sensuality without restraint. Oh, merciful God! What a tophet of pollution is the human soul and wherein do we differ from the devils, unless thy grace prevent us!
In about three months more (July 25, 1764), my brother came from Cambridge to visit me. Dr. C. having told him that he thought me greatly amended, he was rather disappointed at finding me almost as silent and reserved as ever, for the first sight of him struck me with many painful sensations both of sorrow for my own remediless condition and envy of his happiness.
As soon as we were left alone, he asked me how I found myself. I answered, "as much better as despair can make me." We went together into the garden. Here, on expressing a settled assurance of sudden judgment, he protested to me that it was all a delusion, and protested so strongly that I could not help giving some attention to him. I burst into tears and cried out, "if it be a delusion, then am I the happiest of beings." Something like a ray of hope was shot into my heart, but still I was afraid to indulge it. We dined together and I spent the afternoon in a more cheerful manner. Something seemed to whisper to me every moment, "still there is mercy."
Even after he left me, this change of sentiment gathered ground continually, yet my mind was in such a fluctuating state that I can only call it a vague presage of better things at hand, without being able to assign a reason for it. The servant observed a sudden alteration in me for the better, and the man, whom I have ever since retained in my service, expressed great joy on the occasion.
I went to bed and slept well. In the morning, I dreamed that the sweetest boy I ever saw came dancing up to my bedside; he seemed just out of leading-strings, yet I took particular notice of the firmness and steadiness of his tread. The sight affected me with pleasure, and served at least to harmonize my spirits so that I awoke for the first time with a sensation of delight on my mind. Still, however, I knew not where to look for the establishment of the comfort I felt; my joy was as much a mystery to myself as to those about me. The blessed God was preparing me for the clearer light of his countenance by this first dawning of that light upon me.
Within a few days of my first arrival at St. Alban's, I had thrown aside the Word of God, as a book in which I had no longer any interest or portion. The only instance in which I can recollect reading a single chapter was about two months before my recovery. Having found a Bible on the bench in the garden, (This passage evokes the powerful parallel of St. Augustine's conversion, described in Book 8 of his Confessions, where he too comes upon a Bible on a bench in a garden, picks it up and recognizes that the work of redemption in Christ applies to him.) I opened upon the 11th of St. John, where Lazarus is raised from the dead, and saw so much benevolence, mercy, goodness and sympathy with miserable man in our Savior's conduct that I almost shed tears even after the relation, little thinking that is was an exact type of the mercy which Jesus was on the point of extending towards myself. I sighed, and said, "Oh that I had not rejected so good a Redeemer, that I had not forfeited all his favors!" Thus was my heart softened, though not yet enlightened. I closed the book, without intending to open it again.
Having risen with somewhat of a more cheerful feeling, I repaired to my room, where breakfast waited for me. While I sat at table, I found the cloud of horror which had so long hung over me was every moment passing away, and every moment came fraught with hope. I was continually more and more persuaded that I was not utterly doomed to destruction. The way of salvation was still, however, hid from my eyes, nor did I see it at all clearer than before my illness. I only thought that if it would please God to spare me, I would lead a better life, and that I would yet escape hell if a religious observance of my duty would secure me from it.
Thus may the terror of the Lord make a Pharisee, but only the sweet voice of mercy in the Gospel can make a Christian.
But the happy period which was to shake off my fetters and afford me a clear opening of the free mercy of God in Christ Jesus was now arrived. I flung myself into a chair near the window and, seeing a Bible there, ventured once more to apply to it for comfort and instruction. The first verse I saw was the 25th of the third chapter of Romans: "Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God."
Immediately I received strength to believe it, and the full beams of the Sun of Righteousness shone upon me. I saw the sufficiency of the atonement He had made, my pardon sealed in his blood, and all the fullness and completeness of his justification. In a moment I believed, and received, the Gospel. Whatever my friend Madan had said to me long before revived in all its clearness, with demonstration of the Spirit and with power. Unless the Almighty arm had been under me, I think I should have died with gratitude and joy. My eyes filled with tears, and my voice choked with transport, I could only look up to heaven in silent fear, overwhelmed with love and wonder. But the work of the Holy Ghost is best described in his own words; it is "joy unspeakable, and full of glory." Thus was my heavenly Father in Christ Jesus pleased to give me the full assurance of faith, and out of a strong, stony, unbelieving heart, to raise up a child unto Abraham. How glad should I now have been to have spent every moment in prayer and thanksgiving!
I lost no opportunity of repairing to a throne of grace, but flew to it with an earnestness irresistible and never to be satisfied. Could I help it? Could I do otherwise than love and rejoice in my reconciled Father in Christ Jesus? The Lord had enlarged my heart, and I ran in the way of his commandments. For many succeeding weeks, tears were ready to flow if I did but speak of the Gospel or mention the name of Jesus. To rejoice day and night was all my employment. Too happy to sleep much, I thought it was but lost time that was spent in slumber. Oh that the ardor of my first love had continued! But I have known many a lifeless and unhallowed hour since, long intervals of darkness interrupted by short returns of peace and joy in believing.
My physician, ever watchful and apprehensive for my welfare, was now alarmed lest the sudden transition from despair to joy should terminate in a fatal frenzy. But "the Lord was my strength and my song, and was become my salvation." I said, "I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord; he has chastened me sore, but not given me over unto death. O give thanks unto the Lord, for his mercy endureth forever."
In a short time, Dr. C. became satisfied, and acquiesced in the soundness of my cure, and much sweet communion I had with him concerning the things of our salvation. He visited me every morning while I stayed with him, which was nearly twelve months after my recovery, and the Gospel was the delightful theme of our conversation.
No trial has befallen me since except what might be expected in a state of warfare. Satan, indeed, has changed his battery. Before my conversion, sensual gratification was the weapon with which he sought to destroy me. Being naturally of an easy, quiet disposition, I was seldom tempted to anger; yet it is that passion which now gives me the most disturbance, and occasions the sharpest conflicts But Jesus being my strength, I fight against it, and if I am not conqueror, yet I am not overcome….