Essays on Taste

In Short

This collection gathers the critical musings of John Gilbert Cooper and John Armstrong, two eighteenth-century writers grappling with the definition of "taste." Rather than viewing aesthetics as a rigid set of academic rules, they argue that taste is an internal sense—a natural, immediate, and emotional response to the order of the universe. By balancing classical rationalism with the emerging, individualistic spirit of the Enlightenment, these essays provide a fascinating window into how a society began to shift from judging art by objective moral standards to valuing subjective, deeply felt personal experience.

The Story

The inquiry begins with a fundamental philosophical assertion: that the universe is governed by an inherent harmony of truth, beauty, and utility. According to this worldview, the human mind is "attuned" to this cosmic order, much like the strings of a musical instrument. When we encounter something truly beautiful—whether in architecture, poetry, or a virtuous character—we do not merely observe it; we feel a "glow of pleasure" that vibrates within our own internal frame.

The argument proceeds by dismantling the idea that taste is a product of rote memorization or the mimicry of "connoisseurs." Critics who rely on formal rules are dismissed as pedants who "worm their sense out but ne'er taste their spirit." Instead, the authors champion the "natural man"—the individual who trusts his own immediate emotional reactions over the dictates of institutional authorities. They argue that a simple farmer, unburdened by the pretension of academic cliques, is often better equipped to perceive beauty than a learned scholar who has lost his connection to natural feeling.

As the discussion deepens, the authors address the inevitable friction between high art and the "false taste" of the public. They observe that popular opinion is often swayed by vanity, party intrigue, and the influence of loud, self-important critics. A work of genuine genius, they warn, may be ignored or ridiculed if it does not conform to the current, often shallow, fashions of the day. They suggest that the "sickly wane" of the eighteenth century is prone to favoring tinsel over genuine gold, and they lament that authors who chase this popular approval are destined for obscurity, as their work lacks the solid foundation of natural truth.

The arc of the argument concludes with a call for intellectual independence. Rather than blindly following the crowd or the "illustrious pedant," the reader is encouraged to cultivate their own sensibility through regular exposure to the best writers of the past. The authors contend that taste, while partly an innate gift, must be refined by experience—much like one’s palate for food or wine. Ultimately, they maintain that taste is inextricably linked to one's moral character. A person with a corrupt heart cannot possess true taste, because they lack the "polish of soul" required to receive and reflect the images of beauty without distortion. Thus, the quest for aesthetic discernment becomes, in effect, a quest for moral clarity, urging the reader to reject the "Gothic" ignorance of the past and the flashy distractions of the present in favor of a quiet, sincere appreciation for the enduring graces of nature and art.

How It Unfolds

The internal resonance The authors define taste as a sensory and emotional "internal sense" that vibrates in response to natural order. This response precedes rational analysis, marking the initial, unmediated impact of beauty upon the human spirit.

The folly of the connoisseur The narrative shifts to a critique of the social performance of taste, mocking those who treat aesthetic judgment as a way to project status. Here, the "connoisseur" is exposed as a shallow imitator who learns rules by rote but feels nothing genuine.

The moral foundation The argument asserts that aesthetic beauty and moral virtue are two sides of the same coin, both stemming from the same "fountain of perfection." Because of this, a failure of taste is treated as a moral failing, reflecting a lack of internal harmony.

The struggle for recognition The discourse highlights the tragedy of genuine genius being ignored while mediocre, trendy works are celebrated by the masses. The authors warn that any author who humbles their talent to satisfy a "false taste" will eventually be forgotten by history.

The call to self-reliance The conclusion demands that the reader reject "stale dictator's rules" and cultivate an individual, exquisite perception. By prioritizing the "great masters" and trusting one's own heart, the reader moves beyond the corruption of popularity toward true, timeless discrimination.

The People

The text is driven by the contrast between the True Man of Taste and the Pedant. The True Man of Taste, modeled on figures like the ideal reader or the sincere artist, values authenticity and possesses a "polished soul" that mirrors the beauty of nature. He is guided by his own internal compass, feeling beauty with an almost physical intensity. Standing directly in his way is the Pedant—a "drowsy blockhead" or "mumbling ape of taste" who relies on academic jargon and social posturing. The Pedant fears the direct, emotional encounter with art and instead hides behind "leagues of Dutch morass" of commentary. Finally, there is the Public, or the "mobility," who are easily manipulated by vanity and fashion. While the Public is often fickle and susceptible to "tawdry glare," the authors hold out hope that individuals within that mass can awaken their own sensibility. By the end, the True Man of Taste is encouraged to isolate himself from the noise of the "Gothic" crowd, finding solace in the company of the classics and his own refined judgment.

In Its Own Voice

"Taste is a Herald for the whole human System, in it's three different Parts, the refined Faculties of Perception, the gross Organs of Sense, and the intermediate Powers of Imagination."

This definition explains the physical and mental scope of taste, which the author describes as a vital messenger within our nature.

"A Taste worth cultivating is to be improved and preserved by reading only the best writers."

In offering practical advice, the author emphasizes that the quality of one's inner life is directly shaped by the quality of the literature one consumes.

"There is a standard of right and wrong in the nature of things, of beauty and deformity, both in the natural and moral world."

This claim serves as the philosophical bedrock for the entire work, linking aesthetic pleasure to an objective, cosmic reality.

What It's Really About

At its core, this work explores the bridge between the individual's subjective emotional life and the objective reality of moral truth. It asks: How do we know what is beautiful? The answer offered is that beauty is not a set of instructions, but an echo of the divine order found in the natural world. The work investigates why society so often prefers the "flashy" to the "genuine," framing this as a conflict between the integrity of the soul and the distractions of the world. It is a defense of the individual’s right to feel, to judge, and to appreciate—without seeking permission from the cultural elite or the popular trends of the day.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy intellectual history or the philosophy of art will find these essays remarkably spirited. Despite being written in the mid-eighteenth century, the prose is direct and often quite sharp, particularly when the authors are venting their frustrations with the "pert" critics of their time. The writing feels like a conversation with an older, slightly cynical, but deeply passionate mentor.

The text does present challenges, particularly in its dense, period-specific references and its habit of embedding arguments within long, rambling letters. A reader might occasionally stumble over the terminology of "internal sense" or the specific literary feuds that are now long forgotten. However, the core message—that we should trust our own gut feelings over the noise of popular opinion—is as relevant today as it was in 1757. It is a bracing reminder to seek out what is "exquisite" rather than what is merely "specious." Reading it feels like stepping into a library where the air is thick with the scent of old paper and the intense, earnest desire to protect the beauty of the human spirit from the encroaching, "drowsy" influence of the mundane. It leaves you feeling emboldened to look at art, and the world, with a more critical and deeply personal eye.