in physiology, a peculiar sensation excited by means of the organs of taste, viz. the papillae on the tongue. See Anatomy, p. 304.

Intellectual Taste. The external sense, with which nature has furnished us, and by which we distinguish and relish the various kinds of nourishment that are adapted to health and pleasure, has in all languages given occasion to the metaphorical word taste, by which we express our perception of beauty, deformity, or defect in the several arts. Taste then, in general, is a quick discernment, a sudden perception, which, like the sensation of the palate, anticipates reflection; like the palate, it relishes what is good with an exquisite and voluptuous sensibility, and rejects the contrary with loathing and disgust; like the palate also, it is often doubtful, and, as it were, bewildered, not knowing whether it should relish or reject certain objects, and frequently requires the influence of habit to give it a fixed and uniform determination.

To have a taste, supposes something more than merely to perceive and to discern with accuracy the beauty of any work or object. This beauty must be felt, as well as perceived; the mind must be touched and affected by it in a lively and sensible manner. This feeling however, in order to constitute true taste, must not be a vague and confused sensation; but must be attended with a distinct view, a quick and comprehensive discernment of the various qualities, in their several relations and connections, which enter into the composition of the object we contemplate. And in this we see another striking resemblance between the intellectual taste and the sensual one: for as a nice palate perceives immediately the mixture of different wines, so the man of taste will quickly discern the motley mixture of different styles in the same production; and, let the beauties and defects be ever so closely blended in an object, will always be capable of distinguishing the former from the latter.

As the corruption of the sensual taste discovers itself by a relish for only those delicate and high-seasoned dishes, in which all the refinements of art have been employed to excite a forced sensation of pleasure; so the depravity of the intellectual taste manifests itself by an attachment to far-fetched and studied ornaments, and by a want of relish for those beauties which are unaffected and natural. The corruption of the sensual taste, which makes us delight in such aliments as are disgusting to those whose organs are in a good state, is in reality a kind of disease; nor is that depravity of the intellectual taste which makes many prefer the burlesque to the sublime, and the laboured stiffness of art to the beautiful simplicity of nature, less a disease in our mental frame.

The intellectual taste is much more formed by education and culture, than the sensual one; for though the latter latter may be brought, by habit, to relish what at first excited loathing and disgust; yet it does not seem to have been the intention of nature, that the generality of mankind should acquire by custom and experience those sensations and perceptions which are necessary to their preservation. It is otherwise with the intellectual taste: its formation requires time, instruction, and experience. A young man uninstructed in the arts of music and painting, let his natural sensibility be ever so quick and lively, will not immediately distinguish, in a grand concert of music, the various parts whose connection and relation constitute the essence and charm of the composition; nor will he perceive in a picture the gradations of light and shade, that harmony of colours, that correctness of design, which characterise a finished piece; but in process of time, and also by degrees, he learns both to hear and to see in a more perfect manner. The same uninstructed person will find a variety of emotions arise in his mind the first time he is present at the representation of a fine tragedy: but he will neither perceive the dexterity of the author in maintaining the unities; nor that exquisite art by which the drama is so managed, that no person enters upon the scene nor quits it without an evident reason; nor yet that still more nice and difficult art of making the various subordinate interests terminate and centre in one, which absorbs them all. It is only by the force of habit and reflection, that he will distinguish these several objects of taste, and feel delightful sensations from circumstances of which formerly he had little or no idea.

Elegant and able artists may communicate their feelings and their discernment to others, and thus excite taste in a nation, which, without them, had never known its refined pleasures. By frequently contemplating the works of great and eminent masters in the various arts, the powers of nature arise into taste; and we imbibe, as it were, the spirit of those illustrious men, so as to come at length to look at a gallery of paintings with the eyes of a Le Brun, a Poussin, or a Le Sueur; nay, we even read works of learning and genius with a portion of that spirit that appears in their composition.

If, in the first periods of the culture of the arts and sciences, it has sometimes happened, that a whole nation have been unanimous in the praise of authors full of defects, and whom succeeding ages have beheld with indifference, and even with contempt; the reason is, that these authors had natural beauties which were perceived by all, while that just discernment that was necessary to distinguish their numerous defects, and which is less the gift of nature, than the result of time, habit, and reflection, was as yet acquired by none. Thus Lucilius, who had been in the highest reputation among the Romans, sunk into oblivion when Horace arose; and Regnier was universally admired by the French, until Boileau appeared; and if there are several ancient authors, who have maintained their credit, notwithstanding the absurdities that are to be found in every page of their writings, it must be the authors of those nations, among whom no judicious and correct writer has appeared to open their eyes, like Horace among the Romans, and Boileau among the French.

It is a common saying, that there is no disputing about tastes; and if by the taste here be understood the palate, which forths certain aliments and represses others, the maxim is just; because it is needless to dispute about what cannot be corrected, or to attempt reforming the constitution and mechanism of organs merely corporeal. But the maxim is false and pernicious, when applied to that intellectual taste which has for its objects the arts and sciences. As these objects have real charms, so there is in reality a good taste which perceives them, and a bad one which perceives them not; and there are certain methods by which we may often correct those mental defects which produce a depraved taste. But it must be granted, at the same time, that there are certain phlegmatic spirits, which nothing can inflame; and also certain distorted intellects, which it is impossible to rectify: with such therefore, it is in vain to dispute about tastes, because they have none at all.

In many things taste seems to be of an arbitrary nature, and without any fixed or uniform direction, such as in the choice of dress and equipage, and in everything that does not come within the circle of the finer arts. In this low sphere it should be distinguished by the name of fancy; for it is fancy, rather than taste, that produces such an endless variety of new and contradictory modes.

The taste of a nation may degenerate and become extremely depraved; and it almost always happens, that the period of its perfection is the forerunner of its decline. Artists, through the apprehension of being regarded as mere imitators, strike out into new and uncommon paths, and turn aside from the beautiful simplicity of nature, which their predecessors invariably kept in view. In these efforts there is a certain degree of merit, which arises from industry and emulation, and casts a veil over the defects which accompany their productions. The public, fond of novelty, applauds their invention; but this applause is soon succeeded by satiety and disgust. A new set of artists start up, invent new methods to please a capricious taste, and depart still further from nature than those who first ventured from its paths into the wilds of fancy. Thus the taste of a people degenerates into the grossest corruption. Overwhelmed with new inventions, which succeed and efface each other with incredible rapidity, they scarcely know where they are, and cast back their eager and anxious desires towards the period when true taste reigned under the empire of nature. But they implore its return in vein; that happy period cannot be recalled; it deposits, however, in the custody of certain choice spirits, the sublime pleasures of true taste, which they cherish and enjoy in their little circle, remote from the profane eye of the depraved and capricious multitude.

There are vast countries, where taste has not yet been able to penetrate. Such are those uncultivated wastes, where civil society has never been brought to any degree of perfection, where there is little intercourse between the sexes, and where all representations of living creatures in painting and sculpture are severely prohibited by the laws of religion. Nothing renders the mind so narrow, and so little, if we may use that expression, as the want of social intercourse; this confines its faculties, blunts the edge of genius, damps every noble passion, and leaves in a state of languor and inactivity every principle that could contribute to the formation of true taste. Besides, where several of the finer arts are wanting, the rest must necessarily languish and decay, since they are inseparably connected together, and mutually support each other. This is one reason, why the Asiatics have never excelled in any of the arts; and hence also it is that true taste has been confined to certain countries in Europe.