ion in a comprehensive and pithy sentence: "This opinion
is only rhetoric turned into logic," (his Works, vol. iii. p. 2037, in
his Table-Talk.)]

The primitive Christians were possessed with an unconquerable repugnance
to the use and abuse of images; and this aversion may be ascribed to
their descent from the Jews, and their enmity to the Greeks. The Mosaic
law had severely proscribed all representations of the Deity; and that
precept was firmly established in the principles and practice of the
chosen people. The wit of the Christian apologists was pointed against
the foolish idolaters, who bowed before the workmanship of their own
hands; the images of brass and marble, which, had they been endowed with
sense and motion, should have started rather from the pedestal to adore
the creative powers of the artist. [2] Perhaps some recent and imperfect
converts of the Gnostic tribe might crown the statues of Christ and St.
Paul with the profane honors which they paid to those of Aristotle and
Pythagoras; [3] but the public religion of the Catholics was uniformly
simple and spiritual; and the first notice of the use of pictures is in
the censure of the council of Illiberis, three hundred years after the
Christian aera. Under the successors of Constantine, in the peace and
luxury of the triumphant church, the more prudent bishops condescended
to indulge a visible superstition, for the benefit of the multitude;
and, after the ruin of Paganism, they were no longer restrained by the
apprehension of an odious parallel. The first introduction of a symbolic
worship was in the veneration of the cross, and of relics. The saints
and martyrs, whose intercession was implored, were seated on the right
hand if God; but the gracious and often supernatural favors, which,
in the popular belief, were showered round their tomb, conveyed an
unquestionable sanction of the devout pilgrims, who visited, and
touched, and kissed these lifeless remains, the memorials of their
merits and sufferings. [4] But a memorial, more interesting than the
skull or the sandals of a departed worthy, is the faithful copy of his
person and features, delineated by the arts of painting or sculpture.
In every age, such copies, so congenial to human feelings, have been
cherished by the zeal of private friendship, or public esteem: the
images of the Roman emperors were adored with civil, and almost
religious, honors; a reverence less ostentatious, but more sincere, was
app