Now, whatever indulgence may be granted to amiable people for
pleasing themselves in this innocent way, it is beyond question,
that to seclude themselves from the rough duties of life, merely
to write religious romances, or, as in most cases, merely to dream
them, without taking so much trouble as is implied in writing,
ought not to be received as an act of heroic virtue. But, observe,
even in admitting thus much, I have assumed that the fancies are
just and beautiful, though fictitious. Now, what right have any of
us to assume that our own fancies will assuredly be either the one
or the other? That they delight us, and appear lovely to us, is no
real proof of its not being wasted time to form them: and we may
surely be led somewhat to distrust our judgment of them by
observing what ignoble imaginations have sometimes sufficiently,
or even enthusiastically, occupied the hearts of others. The
principal source of the spirit of religious contemplation is the
East; now I have here in my hand a Byzantine image of Christ,
which, if you will look at it seriously, may, I think, at once and
forever render you cautious in the indulgence of a merely
contemplative habit of mind. Observe, it is the fashion to look at
such a thing only as a piece of barbarous art; that is the
smallest part of its interest.
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