Welcome to the Voice of the Narrated Puritan Podcast. Today our subject is Christian experience and assurance, the Puritans, and the subject of the dark night of the soul, introversion, melancholy, and depression. In his book, Thoughts on Religious Experience, Archibald Alexander wrote, We now come to another pregnant cause of the great variety which is found in the exercises and comforts of real Christians, and that is the difference of temperament which is so familiar, and which so frequently modifies the characters as well as the feelings of men in other manners. There can be no doubt, I think, that the susceptibility of lively emotion is exceedingly different in men under the same circumstances. People of strong affections and ardent temperament, upon an unexpected bereavement of a beloved wife or child, are thrown into an agony of grief which is scarcely tolerable, while those of a cold phlegmatic temperament seem to suffer no exquisite anguish from this or any other cause. Not that they possess more fortitude or resignation, for the contrary may be the fact, but their susceptibilities are less acute. And this disparity appears in nothing more remarkably than in the tendency to entertain different degrees of hope or fear in similar circumstances. For while some will hope whenever there is the smallest ground for a favorable result, Others are sure to fear the worst which can possibly happen, and their apprehensions are proportioned to the magnitude of the interest at stake. By far, the most distressing cases of conscience with which the spiritual physician has to deal are owing to a morbid temperament, as most people are inclined to conceal their spiritual distresses. Few have any conception of the number of people who are habitually suffering under the frightful melody of melancholy, with some of these diseases not permanent but occasional. They have only periodical paroxysms of deep religious depression, and they may be said to have their compensation for the dark and cloudy day by being favored with one of peculiar brightness and quick succession. If their gloom was uninterrupted, it would be overwhelming, but after a dark night rises a lovely morning without the shadow of a cloud." in Pilgrim's Progress, the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Scarcely has the good fight been fought, the battle with Apollyon, when the horror of great darkness overcast the Vale, and gloomy terror thronged upon the Pilgrim's soul. and he walks that lived long night through a darkness that might be felt, and through spiritual antagonisms that intensified both the darkness and the danger. The whole scene, from the first assault of Apollyon to the sun rising in the valley, is a continued series of perils encountered, dangers avoided and difficulties overcome that seemed insufferable. the shadow of death. This must be understood as a season of rising doubts and returning convictions and dark surmisings as to one's spiritual state. It may be called Satan's hour in the power of darkness. Apollyon, foiled in his direct personal assault upon the pilgrim, now summons to his aid his legion of evil spirits. John Bunyan wrote, I saw in my dream. The dreamer now sees a pilgrim already entered on the dark valley. He treads delicately a very narrow path, with danger pressing sore upon him on either side. Here are no stepping-stones, is in a slough of despond. Yea, even a good man fallen in here finds no foothold. All help and promise, all hope and rescue must here be found in Christ, in Christ alone, he that is able. must pluck them out. The words from the book, Pilgrim's Progress. Now at the end of this valley was another, called the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and Christian must needs go through it because a way to the Celestial City lay through the midst of it. Now, this valley is a very solitary place. The prophet Jeremiah thus describes it, a wilderness, a land of deserts and of pits, a land of drought and of the shadow of death, a land no man but a Christian passed through, and where no man dwelt. Now here Christian was worse put to it than in his fight with Apollyon, as by the sequel you shall see. I saw then in my dream that when Christian was got to the borders of the shadow of death, there met him two men, children of them that brought up an evil report of the good land. Number 13. Making haste to go back. To whom Christian spake as follows. Where are you going?" the men said. Back, back, and we would have you do so too if either life or peace is prized by you. Why? What's the matter? said Christian. Matter, said they. We were going that way as you were going. and went as far as we durst, and indeed we were almost past coming back, for had we gone a little further we had not been here to bring the news to you. But what have you met with?" said Christian. Why, we were almost in the valley of the shadow of death, but that by good hap we looked afore us and sawed the danger before we came to it." The following is taken from a Presbyterian journal about the year 1858. Quote, 28 years ago, we became acquainted with two young ladies who were cousins in an eastern city where we were temporarily laboring. These young ladies were well-educated and highly intelligent. They had been very gay and worldly. On a visit to Philadelphia, they became interested on the subject of religion and returned home joyful converts. One of them was exceedingly affectionate and amiable and of a remarkably cheerful disposition. The other was of a very ardent temperament and her nervous system was uncommonly weak. Both were very lovely Christians and we took occasion frequently to visit and converse with them. For several weeks their happiness continued unabated. But soon, the sky of the one of heart and temperament became suddenly overcast. Her delightful emotions disappeared and were succeeded by painful depression. She became much alarmed and concluded that all her recent happiness was a delusion, that she was not really converted. And her conscience was dreadfully troubled because she had made a public profession of religion. She had approached the Lord's table and had ate and drunk, as she thought, unworthily. She read her Bible. She prayed and struggled to get her happy feelings back again. But the more she struggled, the worse her condition appeared, until she became convinced that she had no feeling and was perfectly hardened. She was on the borders of despair. She confined herself to her room, refusing to see company, and felt that she dared not pray for anyone but herself. This dreadful darkness continued so long, and her mental anguish was so great, and constantly increasing, that we became alarmed lest she should become a deranged or sink into hopeless disease. We had no doubt of the genuineness of her conversion, but no presentation of the gospel or its promises that we could make availed anything to her. She exhibiting singular skill, as persons under the influence of melancholy generally do, and showing that the promises did not apply to her case, at length We one day called to see her to make one more effort to relieve her mind. She would scarcely consent to come into the room, and when she did, her countenance was a picture of despair. With as much apparent cheerfulness as possible, we took a seat by her and entered into a conversation and said to her, if you should find a little boy running about these streets weeping, and asking everyone that he met if they had seen his father, refusing to be comforted unless he could find him. Would you denounce him as a hard-hearted wretch and tell him to go about his business? She replied with some surprise at the question. Certainly. Would you regard his distress at his father's absence and his earnest desire to find him as affording evidence of filial adhesion? Yes, I would, she said. Well, we answered, you have been these two weeks seeking for your father and have been greatly troubled that you cannot find him. You now feel that if you could find him you would be happy and yet, you suppose that you do not love him? The effect of this illustration was surprising. She had once saw, in her deep distress, the evidence of her love to God. A crushing weight was suddenly lifted from her heart. Her countenance put on a cheerful aspect. She put on her bonnet and walked with us to the prayer meeting. In this case, the melancholy arose not from disease, nor from any affliction. It was simply the result of nervous exhaustion. Her mind had been intensely interested for weeks, first, under conviction of sin, and then, in the possession of the joy of a young convert. The physical system was exhausted, and the result was sudden depression of the animal spirit. This is mistaken for the lack of religious affection, and all the efforts to produce a desired feeling simply increased the exhaustion and consequently rendered the depression more painful. A day or two of quiet and rest in the beginning of the trouble. would have relieved the mind and saved the young woman from an immense amount of suffering. Such troubles, though generally not so great, are not uncommon to young converts, especially in seasons of general religious interest." Archibald Alexander wrote, There is reason to fear that among Christians of the present time there is less deep spiritual exercise than in former days. And as little is said on this subject in public discourses, there may be greater concealment of the troubles of this kind than if these subjects were more frequently discussed. It is observable that all those who have experienced this sore affliction and have been mercifully delivered from it are very solicitous to administer relief and comfort to others who are still exposed to the peltings of the pitiless storm. And these are the people who feel the tenderest sympathy with afflicted consciences, and know how to bear with the infirmities and waywardness which accompany a state of religious melancholy. It is also remarkable that very generally those who have been recovered from such diseases attribute no small part of their troubles to a morbid temperament of body, and accordingly in their counsels to the melancholy, they lay particular stress on the regular healthy state of the body. About the close of the 17th century, Timothy Rogers, who lived from 1658 to 1728, a pious and able minister of London, fell into a state of deep melancholy. And such was the distressing darkness of his mind that he gave up all hope of the mercy of God and believed himself to be a vessel of wrath designed for destruction for the praise of the glorious justice of the Almighty. His sad condition was known to many pious ministers and people throughout the country, who it is believed were earnest and incessant in their supplications in his behalf, and his intercessions were not ineffectual, for it pleased God to grant a complete deliverance to his suffering servant. In having received comfort of the Lord, he was exceedingly desirous to be instrumental in administering the same comfort to others with which he himself had been comforted. He therefore wrote several treatises with this object in view, which are well calculated to be of service to those laboring under spiritual distress. One of these titles is entitled Recovery from Sickness. Another, Consolation for the Afflicted. And a third, A Discourse on Trouble of Mind and the Disease of Melancholy. I want to give this advice, but I want to dive deeper into the description of the disease. Benjamin Fawcett, who compiled a number of abridged works of Richard Baxter writes on the symptoms of melancholy. This book came out in the year 1798. Quote, Man is fearfully and wonderfully made, and preserved and, in many instances, is wonderfully afflicted. Melancholy is one of those diseases in which the dispensations of unerring providence are dark and unaccountable. There is, says an ingenious physician, a disease which sometimes affects the body, and afterwards communicates its baneful influence to the mind, over which it hangs such a cloud of whores as renders life absolutely insupportable. In this dreadful state, Every pleasing idea is banished and all the sources of comfort in life poisoned. Neither fortune, honors, friends, nor family can afford the smallest satisfaction, hope. The last pillar of the wretched falls to the ground. The spear lays hold of the abandoned sufferer. Then all reasoning becomes vain. Even arguments of religion have no weight. Another eminent physician expressly mentions melancholy among the variety of nervous diseases. I am no more desirous to avail myself of the judgment of the best writers in medicine because it is very difficult to convince persons afflicted with melancholy that their distemper arises from the body, and is there, and from there communicated to the mind. Because the friends of such are so prone to mistake the case, it's either to pronounce it nothing but the effect of imagination, and so to despise it, or as unreasonably in the other extreme to conclude it as madness, and therefore nothing is to be done but to treat their friends accordingly, if the symptoms of this bodily and nervous disease be duly attended to. Both the patients themselves and their friends may be led to judge and act with less confidence and precipitation, with greater caution and tenderness. The principle signed by which we may judge, when the indisposition is chiefly or wholly of the body, It says that the person accuses himself highly in general, without being able to give any instance in particular, that he is very apprehensive of he does not well know what, and fearful, yet can give no reason why. It is a kind of delirium without any fever. It seizes the spirits, interrupts the sleep. and unfits the person for regular thought and action." In a sermon that was prepared for the services of crippled elite in England, Richard Baxter wrote a sermon called The Causes and Cure of Melancholy. Here is part of that. Question. What are the causes and cures of it? Answer. With very many, there is a great part of the cause in distemper, weakness, and diseasedness of the body, and by it, the soul is greatly disabled to any comfortable sense. But the more it arises from such natural necessity, it is the less sinful and less dangerous to the soul, but nevertheless troublesome. but the more. Three diseases cause overmuch sorrow. Number one, those that consist in such violent pain as natural strength is unable to bear, but this being usually not very long, is not now to be chiefly spoken of. Number two, a national passionateness and weakness of that reason that should quiet passion. It is too frequent a case with aged persons that are much debilitated to be very apt to offense, and children cannot choose but cry when they are hurt, but it is most troublesome and hurtful to many women and some men who are so easily troubled and hardly quieted that they have very little power on themselves, even many who fear God. and a very sound understanding, and quick wits, have almost no power against troubling passions, anger, and grief, but especially fear, than they have of any other persons. Their very natural temper is a strong disease of troubling sorrow, fear, In displeasedness, they that are not melancholy are yet of so childish and sick and impatient a temper, that one thing or other is still either discontenting, grieving, or affrighting them. They are like an aspen leaf, still shaking with the least motion of the air. The wisest and most patient man cannot please and justify such an one. A word, yea, or even a look offends them. Every sad story, or every news report, or noise, affrights them. And as children must have all that they cry for before they will be quiet, so it is with too many such. The case is very sad to those about them, but much more to themselves. To dwell with the sick in the house of mourning is less uncomfortable. But yet, while reason is not overthrown, the case is not remedy-less. nor wholly excusable, but when the brain and imagination are impaired. and reason partly overthrown by the disease called melancholy. This makes the cure yet more difficult, for commonly it is aforesaid persons whose natural temper is timorous and passionate, and apt to discontent and grieve, who fall into infirmity and melancholy, and the conjunction of both the natural temper and the disease increases the misery. The signs of such disease and melancholy are these. 1. The trouble and disquiet of the mind of sin become a settled habit. They can see nothing but matter of fear and trouble. All that they hear or do feeds it. Danger is still before their eyes. All that they read and hear makes against them. They can delight in nothing. Fearful dreams trouble them when they sleep, and distracted thoughts keep them long awake. It offends them to see another laugh or be merry. They think that every beggar's case is happier than theirs. They can hardly believe that anyone else is in their case. With some two or three in a week or a day, they come to me in the same case. So like, that you would think it were the same person's case which they all express. They have no pleasure in their relations, in their friends, or their estate, or anything. They think that God has forsaken them and that their day of grace has passed. And there is no more hope. They say they cannot pray, but howl and groan. and yet God will not hear them. He will not believe that they have any sincerity and grace. They say they cannot repent, they cannot believe, but that their hearts are utterly hardened. Usually they are afraid, lest they have committed the unpardonable sin against the Holy Ghost. In a word, fears and troubles and almost despair are the constant temper of their minds. If you convince them that they have some evidences of sincerity, and that their fears are causeless and injurious to themselves and to God, and they have nothing to say against it. Yet either it takes off none of their trouble, or else it returns the next day, for the cause remains in their bodily disease. Quiet them a hundred times, and their fears a hundred times return. Their misery is, that what they think they cannot choose, but think. You may almost as well persuade a man not to shake in a fever, or not to feel when he is pained, is persuade them to cast away their self-troubling thoughts, or not to think all the enormous confounding thoughts as they do. They cannot get them out of their heads, night or day. Tell them that they must forbear long musings, which disturb them, and they cannot. Tell them that they must cast out false imaginations out of their minds when Satan casts them in, and must turn their thoughts to something else. They cannot do it. Their thoughts and troubles and fears are gone out of their power and amour by how much the more melancholy and impaired they are." So Timothy Rogers writes for Advice. Look upon your distressed friends as under one of the worst distempers to which this miserable life is exposed. Melancholy incapacitates them for thought or action. It confounds and disturbs all their thoughts and fills them with vexation and anguish. I verily believe that when this malignant state of mind is deeply fixed, and is spread as deleterious influence over every part, it is as vain to attempt to resist it by reasoning and rational motives as it is to oppose a fever, or to gout, or pleurisy. One of the very worst attendants of this disease is a lack of sleep. By which in other distresses men are relieved and refreshed, but in this disease aethersleeve thys far away, or is so disturbed that the poor sufferer, instead of being refreshed, buyeth. is still like one on the rack. The faculties of the soul are weakened and all their operations disturbed and clouded, and the poor body languishes and pines away at the same time. And that which renders this disease more formidable is its long continuance. It is long time off, and before it comes to its height, and it is usually as tedious in its declension. It is, in every respect, sad and overwhelming, a state of darkness that has no discernible beams of light. It generally begins in the body and then conveys its venom to the mind. I don't pretend to tell you what medicines will cure it, for I know of none. I leave you to advice with such as are skilled in medicine, and especially to such doctors as have experienced something of it themselves, for it is impossible to understand the nature of it any other way than by experience." A friend of mine is taking books that are in the public domain, that are part of the Text Creation Partnership, and he's putting them into Kindle format. And some of these are very rare. In fact, one of these I knew about from Archibald Alexander's book. And it goes all the way back to the year 1598, and the author, or the preacher, was Richard Greenham. And he had this treatise for an afflicted conscience upon this Bible verse. The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit, who can bear it? Proverbs 18, verse 14. Here's a quote. This scripture is not only worthy to be graven in steel with the pen of an adamant, and to be written in letters of gold, but also to be laid up and registered by the finger of God's Spirit in the tables of our hearts. Which sentence briefly speaks thus much to us? To what trouble befalls a man, his mind being unappalled, he will indifferently bear it out. But if the spirit of a man be once troubled and dismayed, he cannot tell how to be delivered. and no marvel. For if the mind of man be the fountain of consolation, which ministers comfort to him in all other troubles, if that becomes comfortless, what shall comfort it? If it be void of help, how shall it be helped? If the eye which is the light of the body be darkness, how great is that darkness? If the salt which savours all things be unsavoury, for what is it good? If the mind which sustains all troubles, itself be troubled. How intolerable is that trouble! To show this the better, I will first declare how great a punishment of God this wound of conscience is. Secondly, I will teach how this trouble of mind may be prevented and unavoided. Lastly, I will set down how God's children, falling in some measure into this affliction, a spirit may be recovered out of it. For the first, the grievousness of this malady is seen either by some due consideration of the persons that have felt it, or by some wise comparison made between this grief of mind and other outward griefs incident to man. Let us come to the children of God. to have in some degree felt this wound of mind, and it will appear both in the members and in the head of all burdens to be a thing most intolerable, to sustain a wounded conscience. And to begin, let us set in the first rank Job, that man of God commended to us by the Holy Ghost for a mirror of patience, who although for his riches he was the wealthiest man in the land of Huds, For his authority might have made afraid a great multitude, and for his substance was the greatest of all men in the East. Yet when the Sabaeans came violently it took away his cattle. when the fire of God falling from heaven burnt up his sheep and his servants, when the Chaldeans had taken away his camels, when a great wind smote down his house upon his children, although indeed he rent his garments, which was not so much for impatiency as to show that he was not senseless in these evils. Yet it is said that he, worshipping, blessed the name of the Lord, saying, naked, came out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return again. The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord. But behold, when at this strange conference of his comfortless friends his mind began to be aghast, which was not so in all of his former trial, when his conscience began to be troubled, when he saw the Lord fasten in him sharp arrows, and to set him up as a butt to shoot at. When he thought God caused him to possess the sins of his youth, this glorious pattern of patience could not bear his grief. He was heavy, and now many commend the image of a wounded spirit to all that come after. David, a man chosen according to the Lord's own heart. Hezekiah, a pure worshipper of God and a careful restorer of the true religion. Jeremiah, the prophet of the Lord, sanctified and ordained to that office before he was formed in his mother's womb, were great and singular in the graces and favor of God. Yet, When they felt this wound, piercing them with grief of heart, they were as sparrows mourning, as cranes chattering, as pelicans casting out fearful cries. They thought themselves as in the grave they wished to have dwelled solitarily. They were as bottles parched in the smoke. They were as doves mourning, not able without sides and groans to utter their words. Their hearts clave to the dust, and their tongues to the roof of their mouths." End quote, Richard Greenham. You can get all four volumes of Richard Greenham in Kindle format. Go to the Facebook page of monergism.com and do a search for his name. The following story is taken from the magazine The Presbyterian Examiner in the mid-1800s. Some years ago, a gentleman belonging to another church brought his sister-in-law to see us. She was in despair and had been for some time. She considered herself abandoned of God. In her condition, hopeless, uninquiring, she informed us that she had been much exercise in mind on the subject of religion, when at length, as she was listening to a discourse in our church, her feelings suddenly subsided. She could not regain them, and she concluded the spirit had forever forsaken her. She was not disposed to turn to the world and was not willing to live in sin. She earnestly desired to walk with God. Her trouble arose from confounding sensible emotions with religious desires and affections, a very common error. Dementor was explained, and her mind was at once relieved. In the same city of which we have just spoken resided a young lady of rare mental endowments, of amiable and affectionate disposition, of devoted piety, intimately acquainted with the benevolent operations of the Church and very active in doing good. She was possessed of a feeble constitution and of an ardent temperament. She was very subject to sick headaches and nervous depressions. In her seasons of depression, she often concluded she had been deceived and was really yet unconverted. On one of those occasions when the Lord's Supper was about to be administered in the church to which she belonged, she came to us in much trouble. when the following conversation occurred. The next Sabbath is the day of our communion, and I do not know what to do. I feel that I cannot approach the Lord's table. My heart is like a rock, and yet I fear my absenting myself will injure the cause, for my acquaintances in and out of the church are numerous, and then my parents and sisters are not professing Christians, and they will not understand it, not commune, and yet I fear my not doing so will injure the cause. What shall I do? Well, if you are an unconverted sinner, I do not see what you have to do with the cause. It is rather a singular kind of sinner that is much afraid of injuring the cause of Christ. Let the cause take care of itself. You cannot approach the Lord's table because you cannot feel that you think you should. Can you feel right when you read the Bible? No, she said, I cannot. Then stop reading it. Can you feel right when you pray? No, I cannot. Then stop praying. Now when you absent yourself from the Lord's Supper because you can't feel as you should, and quit reading the Bible and praying for the same reason, the devil will have gained the advantage he seeks. I cannot give up reading my Bible and praying. Well then, you had better do your whole duty, especially as you are not likely to be much concerned about the cause of Christ if you are really unconverted. The shortest way to get out of your troubles is to do your spiritual duty. She took our advice and was soon as cheerful and happy as ever. Mental depression is constantly mistaken for the lack of religious feeling, and Christians of feeble nervous systems who are disposed to melancholy are often seriously injured by neglecting their duties and privileges at such times. Frequently this disease alienates the mind entirely from religion, and the unhappy victim of it refuses to attend upon any religious duties or to be present where they are performed. Frequently it assumes a form of monomania, or a fixed misapprehension in regard to some one thing. The celebrated and excellent William Cooper labored for years under one of the most absurd hallucinations respecting a single point. And in that point, his belief, though invincible, was repugnant to the whole of his religious creed. I'm quoting Archibald Alexander, Thoughts on Religious Experience, Chapter 4. But to go on. He imagined, did he receive from the Almighty a command at a certain time, when in a fit of insanity to kill himself, and as a punishment for disobedience he had forfeited a seat in paradise. And so deep was his impression that he would attend on no religious worship, public or private, and yet at this very time took a lively interest in the advancement of Christ's kingdom. And his judgment was so sound on other manners that such men as John Newton and Thomas Scott were in the habit of consulting with him on all difficult points. The case of this man of piety and genius was used by the enemies of religion, and particularly by the enemies of Calvinism, as an argument against the creed which he had embraced, whereas his disease was at the worst before he had experienced anything of religion or had embraced the tenets of John Calvin. And let it be remembered that it was by turning his attention to the consolations of the gospel that this excellent physician was successful in restoring his mind to tranquility and comfort. And the world will one day learn that if all the remedies for this malady, the pure doctrines of grace are the most effectual to resuscitate the melancholy mind." If you want to find a good biography of this story, it was written by George Beryl Cheever, a pastor who also wrote a commentary on Pilgrim's Progress. You can look up the book at books.google.com. The book is called The Life, Genius, and Insanity of William Cooper. Let me recommend another book that has also been put in Kindle format called A Treatise on Spiritual Comfort by John Colquhoun. His last name is spelled C-O-L-Q-U-H-O-U-N. Minister of the Gospel in Leith, Scotland. 1814. In chapter 5 of this book, he deals with the nature and signs of melancholy, with direction for those believers who are afflicted with it. This is what he says. Melancholy, though it so weakens and disorders the mind, is to render a person unable to enjoy the comforts and to perform the duties of life, it is nevertheless seated in the body. But to say the body which accompanies this disease is acknowledged by the best physicians to be in general beyond the reach of their investigation. In other words, he is saying that the doctors of the day knew little about it or how to explain it. By this distemper the mind is so disordered that, like an inflamed eye, it becomes disqualified for discerning its objects clearly and justly. The disease is commonly attended with gloomy thoughts, heaviness, sorrow, and fear, without any apparent cause of them. Wicked men are as liable to be afflicted with it as good men are. In the case of some, through a bodily distemper, melancholy produces dejection of mind, and others, trouble of mind on spiritual accounts, especially if it is great, or of a long continuance, produces a disease of melancholy in the body. Melancholy also increases trouble of mind. And trouble of mind again increases melancholy. Where the woes exist together, they mutually increase and confirm each other. However great a believer's grief or sin is, and his dread of divine anger may be, he should not be called melancholy so long as he's appeared to be rational and his imagination appears to be sound. On the other hand, however small his measure of sadness and fear may be, If his imagination and mind are so distempered or impaired that he cannot assign a proper reason for his sadness and fear, nor express them in a rational manner, he is to be counted melancholy. Now when a good man is at any time afflicted with this grievous distemper, it will usually reveal itself by more or fewer of the following signs. What are the signs of melancholy, especially in a true Christian? A holy man, when he is under this mournful disease, commonly gives himself up to excessive grief. He often weeps without knowing why and thinks that he ought to do so. And if he but appears to smile at any time or to talk cheerfully, his heart strikes him for it, as if he had done something amiss. He is usually exceedingly temerous or full of groundless fears. Almost everything that he sees or hears of serves to increase his dread, especially of fear, as has often the case has been the primary cause of his melancholy. If to distemper is not deep, sadness and fear commonly seize him at intervals. He is seized with fits of them for a part of a day, or for a whole day, or even for several days together. And after some short abatement of them, they return to him, and he feels them again fastening on his spirit, without his knowing why. Through the distemper of his imagination, he is disposed to aggravate his sin or misery or danger. He is ready to speak with horror about every common infirmity or fault. as if it were an atrocious crime. Every ordinary affliction he considers is utterly destructive. Every small danger is a great one. Every possible danger is a probable one. And every probable danger is a certain one. He often thinks that his day of grace has passed and that now it is too late for him to believe, to repent, or expect mercy. For anyone to declare to him that redeeming grace is infinitely free, or that the riches of saving mercy in Christ are always overflowing, or that the offers and calls of the gospel are directed to him in particular, he would still affirm that now it is too late because his day of grace has undoubtedly passed. No arguments will convince them that concluding this day of grace is past, or that God will never show mercy nor give grace to him while God is yet continually beseeching him to accept his offers of grace, and so be reconciled to him. is an unbelieving suspicion that the God of Truth is not sincere in his offers, and it is a most sinful attempt to make him a liar. 1 John 5.10 The Christian, dejected as he is, should seriously consider how atrocious, how reproachful, how dreadful the sin of unbelief is. This person is perpetually apprehensive that he is utterly forsaken of God. and is always prone to despair, like someone who is forlorn and desolate. His continual thought is that he is undone, utterly undone. But he certainly ought to consider that sinners who are utterly forsaken by God are habitually willing to continue in their sinful state and frame, that they are lovers of sin, haters of holiness. And so far as they have power and opportunity, persecutors of all who would reform them, as if they were enemies to them, which is far indeed from being the case. He frequently takes occasion from the doctrine of predestination to despair of divine mercy. And so he abuses that great and fundamental doctrine, perceiving every object through a colored and distorted medium. He thinks that if the Lord has not elected him, it would be altogether in vain for him to ever attempt believing and repenting. And then he strongly imagines that he is not elected, and therefore it cannot be his duty to hope for the mercy of God. But he would do well to recollect that all whom God has predestined to the end, he has also predestined to the means to that end. That in choosing sinners to salvation, he has chosen them to faith and repentance, not only as means, but as necessary parts of salvation. and that it is his present duty on the warrant of the unlimited offer of the gospel to choose Christ for his Savior and God in him for his God and to immediately trust in him for all the parts of salvation. This would be a comfortable evidence to him in the meantime that God has chosen him to trust in the Lord Jesus for all of his salvation and to repent of all of his sins in the faith of the mercy offered and promised in the gospel. are the way to know that he has been elected to faith and repentance as well as to every other part of salvation. He always asserts that he cannot believe, and hence he concludes that he cannot be saved. If any Christian friend exhorts him to come as a sinner to the compassionate Savior, and to trust in him for salvation to himself in particular, he is ready to reply, alas, you don't seem to understand nothing of my doleful condition. Otherwise, he would not exhort such a violent, unworthy sinner as I am to trust that Holy One of God, whatever save Him. Indeed, it would be daring presumption in someone like me to ever attempt trusting in Him. I dare not. I will not. I cannot confide in him against whom I have so heinously sinned. His distemper, so far as it prevails, will not permit him to exercise faith. This is a dreadful chastisement for his having omitted the great duty of trusting at all times in the only Saviour, when his imagination was still sound. He is at the same time utterly unable to exercise joy or to take comfort in anything. He cannot comprehend or so much as think of anything which is suited to comfort him. When he reads or hears the dreadful threatenings of the violated law, it always is with application to himself. But when he reads or hears the precious promises of the blessed gospel, he either takes no notice of them or he says, these don't belong to me. The greater the mercy of God and the riches of his grace are, the more miserable I am who have no part in them. He looks upon his wife, children, friends, house, wealth, and all without the least comfort. It's a man with dew who is going to suffer the most tormenting death for his crimes. He is like a man in continual sickness or pain who cannot take pleasure in anything around him because a feeling of his incessant pain prevents him. He never reads or hears of any dreadful example of divine judgment. without quickly imagining that it will soon be his own case if he hears of Cain or Pharaoh given up to hardness of heart, or if he but reads as summer vessels of wrath fitted to destruction, or that they have eyes and do not see, ears. and do not hear, hearts, and do not understand, he thinks that this is his very case, or that it is all spoken of him. If he hears of any tremendous judgment inflicted on someone, he concludes it will also be executed on him. If he is told that some person has become distraught, or has died suddenly, or died in despair, he quickly thinks that it will be so with himself." If you're really familiar with the Puritans on this subject, you will see that a lot of John Calhoun's emphasis here is taken from Richard Baxter's works, especially Collected Works, Volume 9, on this very subject. But because it is so useful, let me close with a couple of paragraphs more. This person, this melancholy person, or person under extreme spiritual distress, if thoughts for the most part are turned inward upon himself, like millstones which grind on themselves when they have no grain between them, if thoughts are usually employed on themselves, He suspects that he has thought irregularly. He thinks again and again of what he has already been thinking. He doesn't usually meditate much on God, except on his terrible majesty, justice, and wrath. Let me put a footnote here. It's congenial with the melancholic spirit to think about those transcendent attributes of God. and not the eminent, not God near as a father, but God far off in his eternal decree and distant from us. In that case, you might as well be a deist. You have to have Christ eminent, Christ eminent in Christ as a mediator to receive comfort. But let me go on. He doesn't usually meditate much on God except on his terrible majesty, justice, and wrath. nor Christ, heaven, the state of the church, nor indeed on anything outside himself. His thoughts are all abstracted and turned inward upon himself, and are such that they tend not to alleviate, but rather to increase his perturbation. It is mentioned on himself as chiefly that he may receive the workings of Satan in himself, that he may find in the depravity or infirmity of his nature as much of the hateful image of that wicked one as he can, but the holy image of God in him he forwardly overlooks and will not acknowledge. Noble objects of thought raise the soul. Amiable objects kindle love in it. Cheering objects fill it with delight in God and Christ who possesses every excellence, elevates, perfects, and makes the soul happy. Whereas mean objects of thought debase it. Lotham objects fill it with disgust, and mournful objects impress it with sadness. Therefore, fixing his thoughts incessantly upon his depravity and misery, he cannot fail to increase the sadness of his spirit. He commonly gives himself up to idleness, either lying in bed or sitting unprofitably by himself. He is much averse from labor, especially from the work of his usual calling. At the same time, he is daily harassed with fears of want, poverty, and misery to himself and his family, and sometimes even of imprisonment or banishment. He is often afraid that somebody will murder him, and if he but perceives anyone whispering to another or winking an eye, he quickly suspects that they are plotting to take his life." In John Owen's exposition of Psalm 130, which became known as the forgiveness of sin, there is a paraphrase at the beginning of this, and it's worth meditating on. A paraphrase of Psalm 130, verses one and two. Oh Lord, through my manifold sins and provocations I have brought myself into great distresses. My iniquities are always before me, and I am ready to be overwhelmed with them as with a flood of waters, for they have brought me into depths wherein I am ready to be swallowed up. yet. Although my distress be great and perplexing, here's the key, here's what you gotta focus on. I do not, I dare not, utterly despond and cast away all hopes of relief or recovery, nor do I seek to any other remedy, way, or means of relief, but I apply myself to you, Jehovah, to you alone. And in this my application to you, the greatness and urgency of my troubles makes my soul urgent, earnest, and pressing in my supplications. While I have no rest, I can give you no rest. Oh, therefore, attend and hearken to the voice of my crying and supplications. It is true, Lord, you, God, are great and terrible, that if you should deal with me in this condition, with any man living, with the best of your saints, according to the strict and exact tenor of your law, which first represents itself to my guilty conscience and troubled soul, If you should take notice of, observe, and keep in remembrance mine, or their, or the iniquity of anyone, to the end that you might deal with them, and recompense to them according to the sentence of it, there would be, neither for me nor them, any, the least expectation of deliverance. All flesh must fail before you in the spirits which you have made, and that to eternity. For who can stand before you when you should execute your displeasure? Verse 4 But O LORD, this is not absolutely and universally the state of things between your majesty and poor sinners. You are in your nature infinitely good and gracious, ready and free in the purposes of your will to receive them. And there is such a blessed way made for the exercise of the holy inclinations and purposes of your heart towards them. and a mediation and blood of your dear son that they have assured foundations of concluding and believing that there is pardon and forgiveness with you for them in which in the way of your appointments they may be partakers of this way therefore will I with all that fear you persist in I will not give over, leave you, or turn from you through my fierce discouragements and despondencies, but will abide constantly in the observation of the worship which you have prescribed and the performance of the obedience which you require, having great encouragement so to do." John Owen. Thank you for tuning in to the Puritan Audiobook Podcast. A class on Christian experience and assurance, The Dark Knight of the Soul.