to what are
called particularly our organs of taste is the one most resembling an
instinct: we have less to do for its improvement than in any other
instance. Men being here, then, upon an equality, with a faculty given
to all by nature, and improved particularly by none, those who differ
from the majority are likely to differ not from excellence but from
defect: not because they have a more advanced reason, but because they
have a less healthy instinct, than their neighbours. Thus, in those
matters which relate to the sense of taste--I am obliged to take this
almost trivial instance, because it so well illustrates the principle of
the whole question--we hold the consent of men in general to be a good
rule. If any one were to choose to feed upon what this common taste had
pronounced to be disgusting, we should not hesitate to say that such an
appetite was diseased and monstrous.

Now, let us take our senses of sight and hearing, and we shall find that
just in the proportion in which these less resemble instincts than the
sense of taste, so is common consent a less certain rule. Up to a
certain point they are instincts: there are certain sounds which, I
suppose, are naturally disagreeable to the ear; while, on the other
hand, bright and rich colours are, perhaps, naturally attractive to the
eye. But, then, sight and hearing are so connected with our minds that
they are susceptible of very great cultivation, and thus differ greatly
from instincts. As the mind opens, outward sights and sounds become
connected with a great number of associations, and thus we learn to
think the one or the other beautiful, for reasons which really depend
very much on the range of our own ideas. Consider, for a moment, the
beautiful in architecture. If the model of the leaning tower of Pisa
were generally adopted in our public buildings, all men's common sense
would cry out against it as a deformity, because a leaning wall would
convey to every mind the notion of insecurity, and every body would feel
that it was unpleasant to see a building look exactly as if it were
going to fall down. Now, what I have called common sense is, in a
manner, the instinct of our reason: it is that uniform level of reason
which all sane persons reach to, and the wisest in matters within its
province do not surpass. But go beyond this, and architecture is no
longer a matter of mere common sense, but of science, and of cultivated
taste. Here the standard of beauty