Objective or Subjective?

The question of whether beauty is objective or subjective has occupied philosophers, artists, scientists, and ordinary observers for centuries. When we stand before a radiant sunset or listen to a soaring symphony, we often feel compelled to declare it “truly beautiful.” Yet the familiar adage “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” suggests that such judgments are entirely personal, varying from one individual to another with no higher authority to settle the matter. Is there an objective standard that makes a sunset or a Beethoven symphony inherently beautiful, or is beauty nothing more than a private, subjective experience?

Historical Arguments for Subjectivity

The subjective view has strong historical roots. In the 18th century, David Hume famously argued that beauty “is no quality in things themselves: it exists merely in the mind which contemplates them; and each mind perceives a different beauty.” For Hume and later empiricist thinkers, aesthetic judgments arise from sentiment rather than reason. One person may be moved to tears by a sunset’s vivid colors, while another finds the same scene garish or indifferent. Cultural variation reinforces this position: standards of physical attractiveness, architectural beauty, and musical preference differ dramatically across societies and epochs. What one culture reveres as the pinnacle of elegance (say, the large lip plates worn by Mursi women in Ethiopia) another may regard as unremarkable or even unattractive.

If beauty were objective, we would expect far greater consensus. Instead, tastes evolve, and individuals within the same culture often disagree profoundly. The radical subjectivity thesis concludes that calling something “truly beautiful” is ultimately misleading; we are really saying “I find this beautiful,” nothing more.

Arguments for Objectivity

The objective view has equally distinguished defenders. Ancient Greek philosophers located beauty in the objects themselves. Plato saw beauty as an eternal Form, an ideal reality reflected imperfectly in the physical world. Aristotle identified it with order, symmetry, and definiteness. In the Renaissance, artists and theorists revived these ideas, developing mathematical principles of proportion, such as the golden ratio, that supposedly underpin beautiful forms from the Parthenon to Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man.

Modern science has lent support to the idea of objective elements. Evolutionary psychologists argue that certain preferences (symmetrical faces, lush landscapes resembling savannas, clear water) are hardwired because they signaled health, fertility, or safety to our ancestors. Neuroscientific studies reveal consistent brain activity in reward centers when people view images rated as beautiful across cultures. Experiments show remarkable cross-cultural agreement on facial attractiveness and landscape preferences, suggesting universal standards beneath cultural variation.

A symphony like Beethoven’s Ninth may move listeners not merely because of personal association but because its harmonic resolutions, rhythmic vitality, and structural complexity tap into deep cognitive and emotional patterns shared by humans. The sunset’s beauty may similarly stem from objective features: the scattering of light creating gradients of color, the vast scale evoking awe, and the transitional moment mirroring life’s impermanence.

A Middle Path: Intersubjectivity and Contextual Objectivity

Few philosophers today defend extreme versions of either position. Pure objectivity falters on the reality of genuine disagreement and cultural variation; pure subjectivity struggles to explain widespread convergence and the sense that some artworks or natural scenes possess an undeniable power to move nearly everyone.

A more plausible middle ground emerges: beauty is neither wholly in the object nor entirely in the subject, but arises from an interaction between the two. Certain formal properties (symmetry, complexity balanced with coherence, and rhythmic flow) tend to elicit aesthetic pleasure in human perceivers because of our shared biology and cognitive architecture. These properties can be considered objectively beauty-conducive without claiming that beauty is a simple physical property like mass or color.

At the same time, personal history, mood, cultural conditioning, and context profoundly shape the experience. The same symphony may overwhelm one listener in a concert hall yet leave another unmoved when heard as background music. A sunset viewed after personal loss may appear poignantly beautiful in a way it never could otherwise.

We can reasonably say that a sunset or symphony is truly beautiful when it possesses qualities that reliably elicit aesthetic appreciation in normally equipped human observers under suitable conditions. This is not the stark objectivity of mathematics, but a grounded intersubjectivity: beauty exists in the relation between object and perceiver, rooted in shared human nature yet modulated by individual and cultural difference.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” captures an important truth, but it is not the final word. Some beholders are better positioned, through attention, knowledge, or sensitivity, to discern beauty that is genuinely there to be seen and heard. The sunset and the symphony can indeed be truly beautiful, not merely in our private minds, but in the meeting place between world and human consciousness.