The Pixels of Life

I had an interesting conversation with my dad about simulated reality (like in the Matrix).  He said jokingly that as far as we are concerned, we could be living in a dream and everything around us could be just an illusion that the dream maker (or evil genius) created.  He suggested I check out the concept of cogito ergo sum.

So I did, Descartes, answers the question of how we know that we exist by stating that if one is capable of doubting one's own existence, it means that something must exist in order to have this doubt…a pretty interesting argument.   But even Descartes, fails to prove that the world around us is the way we perceive it?

Some time ago, a county fair came to my town.  I seized the opportunity, grabbed my new camera, and ran to take some shots.

I remember how beautiful and inviting the fairgrounds looked from the distance: colorful lights and signs, large tents with flags flying in the breeze, spinning Ferris wheels, organ music, the smell of popcorn and an ocean of of people everywhere.

It’s a kid’s heaven: cotton candy in hands and large brimming smiles,  parents and grandparents standing in line for carousel rides or waving to little ones as they zoom by on the mini rollercoaster.

 

It all seemed so picturesque and magical. After some time of walking around and taking pictures, I finally got tired and went home.  I took out the camera memory card and put it aside.
Today, I got around to checking out my photo session.  As I was examining some of the photographs (I use Photoshop and Bridge), I zoomed in on the shots and discovered an entire world hidden inside the small pixels; a world that for some reason, I missed when I was looking through the viewfinder. 
The imperfect pixels showed families stuck for hours playing at the coin pushing machines throwing in hundreds of quarters and waiting in vain for the big windfall that never came.

 

Endless lines of rigged claw machines (see wiring below) with a one-way mirror view that allowed the operators to control who won and when.



This begs the question: how much of what we get to see around us that is bright and cheery is really nothing more than a thin coat of veneer?  Does every picture we take to contain these imperfections?
Perhaps this is the answer to Descartes’ question. How do we know that we don’t really live in a dream? A well-made dream would not have all these imperfect pixels. They make us doubt the world around us. But, on the other hand, maybe that is exactly how the dream maker would make the dream more believable.