ith less method,
because less will serve, to explain and apply them.

We will take it for granted that reason is something invariable and fixed
in the nature of things; and without endeavouring to go back to an
account of first principles, which for ever will elude our search, we
will conclude that whatever goes under the name of taste, which we can
fairly bring under the dominion of reason, must be considered as equally
exempt from change. If therefore, in the course of this inquiry, we can
show that there are rules for the conduct of the artist which are fixed
and invariable, it implies, of course, that the art of the connoisseur,
or, in other words, taste, has likewise invariable principles.

Of the judgment which we make on the works of art, and the preference
that we give to one class of art over another, if a reason be demanded,
the question is perhaps evaded by answering, "I judge from my taste"; but
it does not follow that a better answer cannot be given, though for
common gazers this may be sufficient. Every man is not obliged to
investigate the causes of his approbation or dislike.

The arts would lie open for ever to caprice and casualty, if those who
are to judge of their excellences had no settled principles by which they
are to regulate their decisions, and the merit or defect of performances
were to be determined by unguided fancy. And indeed we may venture to
assert that whatever speculative knowledge is necessary to the artist, is
equally and indispensably necessary to the connoisseur.

The first idea that occurs in the consideration of what is fixed in art,
or in taste, is that presiding principle of which I have so frequently
spoken in former discourses, the general idea of nature. The beginning,
the middle, and the end of everything that is valuable in taste, is
comprised in the knowledge of what is truly nature; for whatever ideas
are not conformable to those of nature, or universal opinion, must be
considered as more or less capricious.

The idea of nature comprehending not only the forms which nature
produces, but also the nature and internal fabric and organisation, as I
may call it, of the human mind and imagination: general ideas, beauty, or
nature, are but different ways of expressing the same thing, whether we
apply these terms to statues, poetry, or picture. Deformity is not
nature, but an accidental deviation from her accustomed practice. This
general idea therefore ought to be ca