My aunt sometimes has difficulty distinguishing between the blue and black numbers. To help her with this problem, I bought a package of small stickers to put on the tiles with black numbers so she could tell them apart from the blue numbers. The stickers, from the school supply section of Staples, are in the shape of tiny stars, and have a reflective surface that glitters different colors depending on the angle of the light. The shiny stickers add a festive air to the drab numbers.
Recently, as we were playing, I noticed that on one row of tiles I laid down, the stickers appeared to glow a shimmering blue; a short distance away, however, another row looked orange. I knew intellectually that all the stickers were the same color -- or rather the same shiny material -- so the fact that I saw different colors struck me as interesting in a mildly humorous way. The more I thought about it, though, the odder it seemed that I could see two different shades. I began ruminating about the phenomenon to the detriment of my concentration on the game, and my aunt beat me soundly. Good for her!
However, I'm still thinking about the colors of those stickers, and trying to decide whether I should say they were blue or orange or whatever the original color of the material was. Then again, what would the original color of the material be? If viewed from different angles, it would appear as different colors, so how could it be described as being one certain color, since the color perceived depends on the angle of light?
My tendency is to think that the stickers have an objective color, but how could they when every angle presents a different color, and every viewer would report a different sensation? If my aunt were to describe the stickers as one color, from my position, I would see a different one. If I were to sit in her seat, and look at the tiles from the same angle she had been looking at them, I would see the same color she had described, but that would mean she would have moved and so would now be looking at the tiles from a different angle, and would still see a different color. So no matter what we did, we could never see the same color at the same time. Even if I were to stand behind her and peer over her shoulder, there would still be a slight difference in the position of our eyes, so that, though we might describe the color identically, it would have more to do with the finite number of names of colors versus the infinite gradations of the spectrum. In fact, to get even pickier, my left eye sees from a different position than my right; such a spacial difference in our visual receptors makes the apprehension of three dimensions possible, but it gives rise to differing views of the world even within the same person.
All of which reminds me of a puzzle of physics: all matter in the universe is made of molecules; all molecules are made of atoms; all atoms are made of quarks. On the quantum level -- the level of subatomic particles such as atoms and quarks -- a scientist can know either the location of a particle or its momentum, but never both. That's because in order for the observer to receive the information about the object, there must be some medium which carries that information from the object to the observer. And the interaction of that same, indispensable medium (for instance, a photon of light) with the object (in this case, a subatomic particle) affects the object so that merely by interacting with the object, the state of the object is changed. When the particle is struck by the photon -- analogous to the striking of the eight ball by the cue ball -- its position and momentum both are changed.
Which seems to lead to the conclusion that we can never, ever, even in theory, share another person's perception of the universe. And further, that we can never, ever, even in theory, possess knowledge of the ultimate state of the universe ourselves. We can guess, we can estimate, we can hypothesize, but by the time we've taken measurements on which to base our guess -- in the time it takes for the light to reach our eyes -- the universe has changed, even if only on the subatomic level.
A serious question which confronts not only philosophers and nuclear physicists but everyone, is whether that makes any difference. Maybe not. If a tree falls in the forest, the forest is still a forest; on some level, it might not be the same forest, but it's still a forest. If a hundred thousand trees fall, though, then the forest has ceased to be a forest.
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