For those not immediately tipped of by the title, this is a takeoff on Frank Jackson’s famous thought experiment commonly known as ‘Mary’s Room’. It is one of the most well-known arguments thought to argue against physicalism, by postulating the existence of knowledge that is not contained within a purely physical description of the universe. It goes like this:
Mary has spent all her life imprisoned in a black-and-white room; she has never once seen colour (she’s probably wearing a black-and-white full body suit, as well, so she can’t see her own colour, and there are no mirrors, or just picture her permanently equipped with a pair of black-and-white VR goggles, it really doesn’t matter). But, she is a determined scientist of near-unlimited genius, and so, through careful research, she has availed herself of all physical facts about colour and colour perception in the human brain (not just all the knowledge we have now, but all the knowledge it’s possible to attain on the subject). Then, at some point, her captors show mercy, and release her from her room (or take off her goggles, whatever you like better). Outside, for the first time ever, she actually sees colour. The question is now, has she learned something new? For, if she has (or so the ostensibly unavoidable conclusion goes), there are facts about the world not contained within a purely physical description of it, and one of them is the subjective experience of colour.
Now, to most people, myself included, it is immediately obvious that Mary will learn something when first perceiving colour; how could she not? Even if she knew what colour, physically, is, and what the neural correlates of colour perception are, how could she have known what it was to her to experience those correlates? But, as I shall argue, I don’t think this disqualifies physicalism; I believe there is a hidden assumption in the argument that invalidates its conclusion, which I shall attempt to show with an analogous example.
Meet Marty. He has thrust upon him a fate similar to Mary’s – like her, he is permanently confined to his room, and like her, he’s a scientific genius determined to find out the answer to a certain question. However, his task, on first glance, seems much simpler than Mary’s – all he has to find out is which of his hands is his right (and therefore, which one is his left – more precisely, he has to find a difference between left and right, the naming is merely convention after all). To do this, he has access to a universal question answering machine – he can ask every question he wants, and the machine will answer truthfully, with one exception: everything within the room is ‘hidden’ from the answerer’s view, so he can’t just say things like ‘when you’re facing the answering machine, the wall the sofa’s standing against is to your right’ (also, by some strange quirk of nature, his own body is perfectly left-right symmetric, so that, for instance, his heart is perfectly in the centre etc.). Can he now in any way determine the answer to his problem?
I don’t believe he can. But that doesn’t imply that this answer isn’t to be found in a physical description of the universe – it’s a surprisingly hard question to answer, even then, though. As far as I know, the only manifest difference in the physical world between left and right is exhibited by parity violation in weak interactions; nevertheless, it’s a straight-forward experiment to find out the difference between the two.
Now, I believe most people would point out that Marty’s failure at distinguishing between left and right is solely a consequence of me artificially limiting his modes of inquiry – if he had a screen capable of displaying even rudimentary pictures, the task would have been trivial; even just something printing out text could simply produce the sentence ‘where you started to read this is left’. And that’s exactly right: all I’ve shown is that the information about the difference between left and right can’t be communicated in a certain way.
However, that is precisely where I believe the hidden assumption in the original thought experiment lies: when we imagine Mary researching her question, we picture her maybe reading books, or articles on the internet, looking at (black-and-white) pictures and whatnot, and we assume that through these channels, she is in fact able to gather all the relevant information. But, if some channels of information are unable to communicate some kinds of information which nevertheless is perfectly physical (as I think Marty’s example shows), then that assumption is completely unwarranted! It may well be the case that the information about the subjective experience of colour can’t be communicated via the channels we imagine Mary accessing, and yet, for it to be completely physical in nature. Hence, I believe the ostensible conclusion does not follow.
For another way to see this, imagine in Mary’s place a computer faced with the task of merely displaying colour on its screen. This computer possesses an extremely sophisticated text-parsing program, to the point as to enable a reasonable semblance of communication with it (however, it is explicitly not a conscious entity). You can ask it to display pictures, and it will comply – draw you a cat, a dog, a house, a car, even abstract shapes, limited only by your ability of describing them. However, ask it for a red rose, and it is stymied; while it ‘knows’ which commands to send to the screen to make it display arbitrary shapes, it has no knowledge of how to get it to display colour. Could you, with any amounts of explanation, now tell the computer how to display colour? Again, I don’t believe you can (after all, how would you explain ‘red’ to a blind person?), and again, I believe that this limitation is merely inherent in the channel of communication used to try to convey this information – natural language. If you, for instance, now outfit it with a colour camera, it will display the colours easily, and it would not be hard to create the architecture in such a way as to enable it to ‘learn’ from those pictures the commands needed to get the screen to display colours – if you for instance tell it that the roof of the house is red, it will then be able to draw you a red rose.
However, with such a computer, there is another possibility to get it to perform the task of displaying colour: you simply code the required commands into it, in such a way that the term ‘red’ correlates with the sequence of commands needed to display red pixels on the screen. (The computer’s self-programming capabilities are, by the way, limited – you couldn’t just tell it to program itself to be able to display colours, even if you could explain how the whole process works; it must ‘experience’ it – by displaying colour pictures – to know how to do it. This may seem like to arbitrary a limitation, but we generally don’t have easy access to our brain’s ‘programming’, either, yet we can influence it by generating the right experiences; so I think the model is reasonable in a first-approximation kind of way.) Thus, there exists a channel of communication apart from direct ‘experience’ able to convey the needed information, something which might conceivably also exist in Mary’s case, despite our (current) ignorance of such a possibility (however, even if there isn’t such a channel, I don’t believe this is of any significance to my conclusions).
I think everybody agrees that, despite the computer’s failure to learn how to display colour except after ‘experiencing’ it directly, there is no strangely non-physical quality to the ‘knowledge’ the computer needs to be able to do so; after all, you can also hack it in ‘by hand’. That it is hard – or even, as in Mary’s case, appears impossible – to communicate this knowledge has no bearing on the nature of the knowledge; it merely tells us something about the nature of certain channels of communication.