Much in the same sense that it's easier to pick out a familiar face in a crowd than it is to find an unfamiliar one, so it's easier to keep track of something if you know how it behaves. See here, for example. So it helps to know its dynamics. That's as true in shopping at the supermarket as elsewhere -- you need to know how things are done and you need to understand the social setting in which the events take place. Let's look again at tennis, for example.

First off, the tennis court alone isn't tennis. An empty court is just a slab of concrete (or some such material) with a net of a specific kind strung across its midsection. And if no people are around, it’s not even that much (a "court" is a human percept -- it's a product of perception. So without perception there is no tennis).

To have tennis you need players, and you need tennis rackets and a tennis ball. Not just any racket and ball will do. You wouldn’t think of playing tennis with a badminton racket, for instance, or with a baseball bat. And certainly not with a kitchen spoon -- even a large one. The badminton racket is too light to hit a tennis ball properly over the net. A bat is entirely inappropriate. And a kitchen spoon is ridiculous.

The point is, the components of the context have to fit together and have to match the interpretation of the sport. You need people using the rackets to hit the ball back and forth across the net in accordance with the written and unwritten rules of the game. The tennis context is the social entity that includes the court and the equipment and the rules and the players. It is an arrangement (like many others, such as football or baseball) created by us to engage in a specific form of recreation and competition.

The context of tennis means nothing to your neighborhood cat or dog. It means nothing even to the cat lying asleep in the middle of the service zone. It matters only to those of us, humans alike, who wish to participate in this form of recreation and "friendly" competition.

Because of its inherent nature (as specified by humans), the tennis context, like any other (formal or informal) arrangement, imposes various conditions on its participants – self-imposed, culturally acceptable conditions. The setting allows for a variety of tennis possibilities and also imposes constraints on what is allowed to occur. The size of the court, its shape and surface texture, and the size and shape of the net strung across its middle admit to only a certain kind of action. The size, shape, structure, and weight of the rackets and the ball contribute to the possibilities and constraints. And so too do the height, reach, and speed of each of the players, as well as the player’s physiological structure (which cats or dogs don’t share).

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Perceiving the context isn't just a matter of looking at it. By itself, looking (listening, …) is only a search, not a solution. For instance, you might listen to people, but not hear what they say -- you hear only when recognition and understanding occur (there may be too much background noise, the language may be foreign to you, or you simply may not grasp the ideas).

You can look at stock market prices and not see beyond a jumble of numbers. A quarterback can study his opponent and not see the defensive strategy in place. A mother can listen to her baby crying and not hear the call for help. So, roo, you might look at the ball and not see what it's doing.

Even a cat can look, or at least direct its gaze -- say at what we recognize as the "words in a book." But its "investigation of the book," if that's what it is, falls well short of success. Perceptual skill of a special kind is needed to see the words and book for what they are to us, to see them as specific objects and have the meaning they have. The effort calls for suitable neural structures. The words have to be interpreted -- i.e., constructed as words. It takes a kind of understanding that a typical pet doesn't have. The pet doesn’t have the neural equipment to pattern its world in a way that generates relevant book or tennis information. The cat is "outside" the human world in this respect, as we are "outside" of the cat’s world.

Just like the pet, we can't perceive anything from the outside. We have to be embedded in the world we view. We slide into it, as it were, from one physical, social, cultural arena to another, and become part of it. We continue to process data without interruption as we move, but the data is continually changing. For example, we may leave the context of our automobile and engage the context of a tennis court. If and when we do, we come to be in the tennis context, and of it. We are affected by the observations even as we modify what we observe to make it meaningful. A great deal happens in the exchange, most of which we know very little about, except that much of the brain is dedicated to the task.

In the first place, our perception is structurally different from the (presumed) "energy" or stimulus that actually impinges on our retinas (the mass of sensory cells at the back of the eyes). The stuff that we in fact see -- the emotionally loaded, 3D environmental of people, houses, cars, etc. -- is significantly different from the geometric configuration on our retinas as stimulus. For one thing, the retinal images are strictly two-dimensional – i.e., topologically flat -- whereas our observed world is three-dimensional. Secondly, the stimulus can’t be patterned (at least not for us), since we put the patterns together in the processing. And thirdly, that patterning is in perspective. In perception we interpret the retinal images and produce solid perceptual objects in space-time. That way we create our perceived worlds – our virtual realities, which is to say our "representation" of the world.

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For observations to be possible, we have to become part of the setting we observe. There is no viewing from the outside, from isolation -- we have to penetrate the bubble, so to speak. We interpret the setting (with ourselves more or less at its center) and participate in it, making it our own. Check this against your own experience -- you are always "here" and everybody else is always "out there." And all of you, together, make up the experience. In the sensing process, our interpretation changes us. And the interpretation itself changes with increased knowledge and understanding. Perception is a highly interactive study -- out there affecting in here, and in here affecting out there.

By its very nature, learning is creative. As I learn the rules of tennis, say, and develop skills to track the ball, to intercept and hit it, my view of the court changes -- something new occurs. Learning, itself, is a skill; it can be good and take you from a less desired to a more desired state, or it can be bad and go the other way. Alteration of your view alters the problem situation. Learning can take you from a state in which you see a problem one way to a state in which you see the problem in a different way. As a tennis beginner I may, for instance, find it difficult to judge where to intercept and hit the ball. I may lack the skill to solve the problem. I could fail to judge the type of shot being hit or incorrectly evaluate the location and speed of the ball. So I could end up too close to the ball and crowd my shot. Or I could arrive too late and have to stretch too far to hit the ball properly, if I manage to make contact with it at all. Learning can change that, but much thought and practice are required.

As time passes and I gain experience I may begin to interpret distances more precisely. Or I might be able more accurately to see the trajectory pattern from its beginnings and track the ball more effectively. The game could thus get easier to play and the problems less difficult or strenuous, amenable now to more simple solutions, or at least making difficult problems easier; though new competition could create other and more difficult problems.

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In tennis in this learning process I may discover a variety of new shots to take, new problems, new skills, new solutions. Each time I do this, I learn something about the context and its geometry. New segments of the court could suddenly become accessible as target areas -- zones I might not have been aware of earlier or that required too finely tuned racket strikes to reach. A new geometrical element of the space could unfold. You need to be able to see a situation more keenly before it can make sense to hit the ball with more subtlety. The increased refinement can only come from learning, by developing more astute distinctions.

It's safe to say that a cat will never understand what it means to play the game, and it certainly will never actually be able to participate -- a paw can't even hold the racket, let alone swing it and possibly hit a moving ball. Its biological structure goes against the tennis possibility. Any perception of tennis is out of the cat’s realm of possibility. In short, the cat may be able to slide its gaze from the parking lot to the physical tennis structure, but it can never recognize it as such or enter into the tennis court arena (though it may be able to play "catch" with a tennis ball).

Meanwhile, however, the absolute novice, unlike the cat, stands a very good chance of developing a rich and competent tennis game. By actively attending to the rules of play, studying the required skills, and practicing regularly, the beginner can learn the game, learn to track the ball effectively, and acquire the necessary motor skills. The beginner's perception of the playing arena will change, as will his perception of the ball. New shots and tactical and strategic possibilities will open up and reveal themselves in perception. The player will suddenly see what to do in a given court situation and act appropriately. Read and react! Lots of space. Wide open geometry….No problem!

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