When the discussion reaches this point, we are dealing with a modern subject; for although theorising about architecture has its roots deep in Western culture, the writings cited up to this point contain at most only partial thoughts about normative and ontological aspects. Only with the development of aesthetics as an independent branch of academic philosophy — for which the way was opened in the eighteenth century — did conceptual sources rise to the measure of comprehensive philosophical accounts of architecture. One may even, in a sense, count the publication of Roger Scruton's The Aesthetics of Architecture as the start of this discussion, for until then philosophical discussion was limited and the information generally incomplete, whereas Scruton's work is a thorough investigation of the aesthetic experience of architecture, entering into parts of analytical and Continental philosophy.
One use of reading Scruton's work is the search for an answer to the question of how the critical experience of architecture takes place — that is, the following of the Kantian approach, by which the general form of the philosophical question is: "How is such-and-such possible?" Scruton openly praises Kant, and in particular values the account of aesthetic experience in the Critique of Judgment, although his view differs fundamentally from Kant's. Yet, before turning to it, and in order to weigh his work properly and the point at which he separates from a wholly Kantian aesthetics, we must return to antiquity and look at some of the principal pre-Kantian outlooks that have nourished thought.
In Book IX, Vitruvius, in giving an account of the geometric discoveries of Plato and Pythagoras, discusses the wisdom of antiquity. After setting forth the famous theorem of the Pythagorean triangle, he says: "When Pythagoras discovered this truth, he confidently held that the gods, the patrons of science and art, had bestowed it as a gift … and it is said that he sacrificed in thanksgiving for it." (1914 : 252) Although Vitruvius is concerned with the practical applications of the theorem, the reference to Pythagoras and the mysterious nature of his discovery bears witness to the general view that behind sensible forms there exists a transcendent abstract order expressible by number.
So when Vitruvius, Alberti, Palladio, Wotton and others speak of the importance of proportion, they prepare a metaphysical theory of regularity. From this view, beauty is the result of designing combinations in which the choice of suitable units or modules, and the carrying out of various operations (and modulations) upon them, gives rise to right symmetria and eurythmia. The principal Pythagorean view, to which Plato and the Neoplatonists after him gave a fresh form, is that empirical order is the result of applying abstract principles to a medium, or of expressing those principles through a medium — which, in our subject, is matter. In some cases the number of modules and the patterns of their combination is small and all combinations rest on these; in other cases the modules vary according to the nature of the subject. Each system rests on its own units and modulations. But these variations are of little weight against the wide and continuous agreement that the place of beauty is right composition, and that the rightness of composition follows a cosmic law.
Although Vitruvius was not printed until the fifteenth century, many manuscripts have come down to us from the Middle Ages, and from these manuscripts and other evidence it is clear that throughout antiquity and the Middle Ages, theory and practice of design drew upon the Greco-Roman metaphysics of architecture. Here arises the question: if the source of the change of European architecture from Greek to Roman, and then to Gothic, was a philosophical change, what was that change? In its place, the medieval builders inherited a Christianised form of Platonic thought that treated symmetry and proportion as a divine ordainment. These views were also blended with elements of Scripture, and architecture became a powerful instrument for the symbolic reflection of transcendent reality. The use of geometry in the detail and the whole of the building, as before, dominated the work of design; but the growing tendency to natural forms and to the variety in them gradually enriched the forms of architecture.
Erwin Panofsky, in his Gothic Architecture and Scholasticism (1951), put forward an interesting — and, of course, debatable — view about a general parallel between the rise of the great Gothic cathedrals and the rise of scholastic philosophical and theological treatises (such as Aquinas's Summa Theologiae); he held that both reached out for "totality, clarity and coherence." What the architectural works themselves attest is the integration of theology, ethics, nature and history in the plan, the elevation and the fittings of the great cathedrals — to interpret and to understand which calls for more (not less) than the power of perception and aesthetic enjoyment.
When we understand what assumptions the people of the ancient and medieval worlds held about the real value of form in architecture, it no longer surprises us that they identified beauty with a single quality and treated aesthetic experience as an encounter with properties whose nature is independent of our experience of them. Aquinas's definition of beauty (Summa Theologiae 1.39.8) — which involves wholeness (integritas), due proportion (proportio sive consonantia) and clarity (claritas) — is an important post-Platonic statement of this way of thinking, although his last condition brings in relativity, since "showing forth in clarity" is a relative attribute that depends on the capacity of the knower.
The thought of relativity led to the issue of the hierarchy of the knower's nature, which conditioned the experience of beauty — and also the extension of the very domain of beauty. The dispute between Claude Perrault and François Blondel, two French architects of the classical school, that took place exactly on these matters in the seventeenth century is well known. Perrault (1674), citing his own edition of Vitruvius (1673), questioned the prevailing view that the object of aesthetic experience is "the harmonic unity arising from right order and proportion." In its place he set up the categories of compelling (convaincantes) and arbitrary (arbitraires) beauty: the first kind is always pleasing; the second is subject to subjective factors such as custom, prior familiarity and chance correspondences. Hence he held that beauty is not purely objective, but the product of agreement between minds. Blondel (1675), in his answer to him, while discussing the importance of architecture as a bridge between painting and sculpture, defended the objectivity of harmonic unity in proportional orders. Boullée later strongly supported Blondel's view and expressed his certainty that proportion arises from the symmetry present in nature: "The fundamental law that governs the principles of architecture springs from order." (Boullée 1790)
This dispute was in part the result of misunderstanding, since Blondel — like Aquinas — accepted the relativity of the natural human faculties for the analysis of beauty (just as Boullée and Perrault acknowledged the objectivity of some properties of beauty). In any event, a new round in which philosophers and non-philosophers turned to non-objectivist theories of aesthetics began here. For example, Edmund Burke, in his work entitled A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful (1757), gives various psychological explanations of the qualities of architecture and of the reasons of our pleasure — and, among other things, claims that if we find Stonehenge "great", it is because, in seeing it, we imagine the difficulty of its erection.