Free On Being Blue: A Philosophical Inquiry by William H. Gass Page A

Schopenhauer suggested, sadness in things as readily as smoky violet or moist verdigris.

    Nevertheless, what we saw, Aristotle had to say, was not quite the color as it was embedded in its bronze. It was instead a color generalized, the species bluegreenbrownishness, expressed, to be sure, in an individuating medium of its own, yet like the particular twangs of native speech, easily replaced with Oxford's universal intonations by any listener fastidious enough to care. Furthermore, these qualities, although slightly general in their character, were neither essential nor universal enough to figure importantly in knowledge. The shapes of things, wrapped like cigars in their shades, were informative sometimes, but perception mainly permitted us to establish the behavior patterns of plants, animals, and things, and having sequences, discover causes, hence general laws and universal schemes. In short: without color we could not perceive, nor, I suspect, remember, but the production of these qualities is never part of the basic activity of Being, and therefore an account of them is never a significant part of natural science.
    Will the Bishop do better by blue? After all, he appeals to common sense and to the experience of ordinary men. Yet It is an opinion strangely prevailing amongst men, that houses, mountains, rivers, and in a word all sensible objects have an existence natural or real, distinct from their being perceived by the understanding.
    No one betrays perception more promptly than the empiricist.
    First he appeals to common sense, which he flouts; then to experience, which he misrepresents. How far must we search to find the reason for this strangely prevailing opinion? As it happens, the cover of my copy of Berkeley's New Theory of Vision is blue, and when I shelve it so the sides slide between Bergson and Bradley, do they cease to be blue or bluish or even any color? Do I ever feel the likelihood of that, or wonder at the possibility?
    No doubt Berkeley was right to remind us that all our state-ments about the qualities of things are reducible to the general prediction that if we carry out certain operations properly, we will have certain perceptions; but it does not follow from this that to be is to be perceived; rather we must be content to argue on-ly that to be known to be is to be perceived, for there is no other way to 'know' perceptible qualities except by perceiving them.
    Am I then wrong to believe that my copy of Berkeley remains blue though it rests in my briefcase throughout the night? Am I deceived if I think that the blue belongs to the book, not to me, though the book has my name on its flyleaf and lives on my shelves quite contentedly? Am I mistaken to maintain that this blue is a public property, as much as a park, for all to see, though my leather case and library are as private before the law as the penis behind my pants? Have I been fooled if I feel that this blue, though only a color, will suffer fading and staining, a circuit of changes like everything else on its way to oblivion? Suppose I shelve my book backward so that its raw ends stick out. How do I know that the binding has not fled with the blue I can't see, like Peter Pan to the land of lost children, and the pages are held between Bradley and Bergson like a rosary between praying palms?
    Don't prate to me of divinity, dear Bishop, but of blue, the godlike hue, because it's contrary to experience to assume that anything alters itself without cause; consequently I can feel certain that my Berkeley will remain blue so long as I can be confi-dent that there is no plot afoot to dye, bleach, or rebind it. The L a w of Inertia will serve us all more reliably than the allegedly omniscient though in truth often watery gaze of God.
    Thomas Reid, a Scot who not only believed in common sense but used it, wrote with some exasperation once that Ever)' man feels that perception gives him an invincible belief of the existence of that which he perceives;