If, then, it appear from what I have advanced, that taste does not consist in the mere power of receiving pleasure from the beauties of nature or of art, that this power may exist without taste, and that none are more likely to be deceived, than those who blindly trust to their own immediate feelings, it will naturally be asked, how are we to acquire that perception of beauty in which taste consists; and when acquired, what means have we of ascertaining that it is more correct than the perceptions of those who differ with us in opinion? The discussion of this question will form the subject of the ensuing chapter.

CHAP. III.

On the Standard of Taste.

THE standard of taste, or the discovery of some unerring criterion to which we might refer all our disputes on matters of taste, and from which there could be no ultimate appeal, has long exercised and baffled the researches of philosophy, and the acumen of genius. It is, however, certain, that if this standard could be discovered, it would be of as little use as the standard of truth. We all acknowledge that truth consists in representing the proper and distinct nature of things; but the difficulty still remains of finding out this proper nature. It is so with taste: we must all acknowledge, that the common feeling of mankind is the ultimate tribunal to which we should appeal; but the same difficulty still presents itself that impedes the progress of our researches after truth; namely, the difficulty of finding out this common feeling. The proper subject of our inquiries should therefore be, what faculties of our nature

should be exercised, in forming such a judgment of the beauty or ugliness of any particular object, as would agree with the common feeling of mankind. If we mistake the proper course which ought to be pursued, in acquiring this knowledge, or discriminating perception, we can scarcely flatter ourselves with the hope of ever attaining it. Here, however, a great diversity of sentiment prevails, some maintaining one opinion, and some another. This diversity of sentiment seems to have entirely arisen from two fundamental errors, which, if they be errors, must have a very considerable influence in determining the theories that have been adopted, on an assumption of their truth. The first is that mistaken idea of the nature and office of taste which I have endeavoured to correct, in the first chapter of this work; the second, an erroneous idea of the proper nature of reason, when employed on subjects of taste, and in considering it, as forming all its conclusions from abstract premises, without any previous reference to feeling or sentiment. No writer has taken a more profound and philosophic view of the nature of taste than D'Alembert; and his Essay on the subject proves him not only a profound thinker, but a refined and elegant writer, who possessed, in a very eminent degree, that discriminating perception in which taste consists. I cannot, however, help

thinking, that his philosophy, or, rather, a want of closer attention to his subject, has led him to a wrong conclusion, in determining the question now before us; namely, "whether," as he himself states it," in judging concerning a work of taste, sentiment or feeling is to be preferred before reasoning and discussion?" To this question he replies by observing, that feeling is undoubtedly the natural judge, for the first moment, and discussion for the second; and the second judge will almost always confirm the decisions of the first, in those persons who, with a quick and delicate sense of beauty, are so happy as to possess a just and accurate discernment. But the difficulty, it will be alleged, still remains; for as sentiment and discussion will not always be agreed, what must be done when they differ? Is it not best, in all cases, to follow sentiment for our guide, and hold always by its decision? Is it not a miserable occupation, will many ask, to be disputing against our agreeable sensations? And what obligations shall we lie under to philosophy, if it manifestly tend to diminish our pleasures? We cannot answer this latter question without the utmost regret, because we are obliged to acknowledge the effect of philosophy to be, in reality, what it is here represented to be."

With this conclusion of D'Alembert, I find

myself reluctantly obliged to differ. In the first place, if philosophy tend to diminish our pleasures, it is certain, that if the pleasures which it diminishes are not proper to be indulged, so far from regretting, we should rather congratulate ourselves on the redemption which it affords us from illicit gratifications. If, on the other hand, these pleasures be laudable in themselves, and designed by nature to impart happiness to man, it is equally certain, that the philosophy which would explode them, is a spurious philosophy, founded on erroneous principles, and drawing its conclusions from a mistaken view of the proper nature of man. I know it is usual to dignify false learning with the name of philosophy, and to veil the grossest errors under its protecting ægis; but the moment it is proved to be false, the moment it is allowed to subvert the original intention and designs of nature, its most zealous advocates must surely grant, that it is a mere excrescence which has been surreptitiously engrafted on the trunk of philosophy; in a word, that it belongs not to the original stock, and forms no part of that wisdom in which true philosophy consists. To be illumined by such a light, is to walk always in darkness; and to admit the excellence of philosophy, while it is admitted to lead us into error, and to deprive us of that happiness, and those pleasures