A short time may, perhaps, not be misapplied in endeavouring to explain this matter; in showing where, and for what reasons, the common opinion of our society is to be followed, where it is to be suspected, and where it is absolutely to be shunned or trampled under foot, as clearly and certainly evil.

I must begin with little things, in order to show the whole question plainly.  Take those tastes in us which most resemble the instincts of a brute; and you will find that in these, as with instinct, common consent becomes a sure rule.  When I speak of those tastes which most resemble instincts, I mean those in which nature, doing most for us at first, leaves least for us to learn for ourselves.  This seems the character of instinct:  it is far more complete than reason in its first stage, but it admits of no after improvement; the brute in the thousandth generation is no way advanced beyond the brute in the first.  Of our tastes, even of those belonging to our bodily senses, that which belongs 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,