I first learned about Mary the Neuroscientist in my college Civilization class, second semester of my freshman year.

The entire Civ course was interesting: the curriculum consisted of “great books,” songs, movie clips, philosophy, art, and discussion – all of which came together for a common goal that can only be described as “how to figure out what you think.” Questions were asked, and answers were proposed and argued by students, but no “right” conclusions were reached. In fact, no conclusions were “reached.” It was refreshing because there was no political goal or religious/non-religious bent. It was just college kids from around the world thinking out loud in response to the thoughts of great thinkers before us.

I think my favorite part of the class, though, was the writing assignments. Class was an interactive sounding board, but the essays were a place to coherently piece together where my mind was going. We could choose basically any topic, refer to or respond to any bit of reading or class conversation, and just explain. The writing could be as formal or informal and as long or short as necessary. We weren’t even forced to “pick a side and argue it,” like I have been instructed to do so many times before.

And – after the writing process (which was beneficial by itself) – the professor, Professor Valenza, would read the essay carefully and write a response. He commented on strong points or holes in reasoning and offered “devil’s advocate” viewpoints of the side not-taken. Professor Valenza is a favorite at the college, so I suppose I am not the only student whom he has affected deeply, but he also provided me with careful insights as to why I might think the way I do.

Now my close Christian friends may jump to say he is pushing some secular, intellectual, and liberal worldview. After all, didn’t teachers at my high school warn us that non-Christian, liberal arts schools on the coasts (mine, defined) all have an atheist agenda to push? But (maybe surprisingly) Professor Valenza seemed to do almost the opposite. He pointed out that my violent emotional response to anything religious is only a defense-mechanism aimed to protect myself from things/people that have almost nothing to do with what I hate. He pointed out that maybe I am running away from everything I am and want to be only to make a point. And that maybe I am only hurting myself with my strictly-enforced thinking patterns – thinking patterns that in many ways are more narrow and non-negotiable than the thoughts I had when I “was a Christian.” (Note: he didn’t use such straightforward and harsh words, but we talked many times and his good points can be summed up like that. I probably wouldn’t have listened to him if he had just told me straight-out. I am too stubborn to just take good advice as it is offered.)

You might be thinking, “What does Mary the Neuroscientist have to do with any of this?” Well, first of all, I am a neuroscience major. And I like to make myself think like a good neuroscientist (strictly physicalistic – believing that nothing exists that cannot be measured scientifically, including God and souls). So when I would say something particularly neuroscientist-like Professor Valenza would often make some reference to Mary the Neuroscientist, and how I am like her.

If you don’t know about Mary the Neuroscientist then you might not know that being like her isn’t actually a good thing. Mary is a pretend neuroscientist (a fictional character created by a philosopher) that grows up in a black and white room, where nothing is in color. But in this room she, supposedly, learns everything there is to know about the world and about neuroscience according to the strictly physical mindset. This would mean that she could understand what and how humans perceive everything, because this can be learned by studying neuroscience. But one day, Mary leaves the room and sees color. Instantly she learns that she can’t know everything by study. She can only understand the perception of color by experiencing color first-hand. All her life she was missing the first-person relationship with color.

It would seem silly that I would suddenly not believe in God, because there were times in my life when I truly [thought that I] experienced God first-hand. There were times when I knew that I had a spirit or a soul and that it was at odds with my mind and the physical world around me. It would seem silly that I would suddenly pretend I never had those experiences and that I would be so pompous and close-minded as to believe that nothing existed except for what I can test scientifically. But I have chosen that. And so I am like Mary the Neuroscientist, but worse. She was merely ignorant. I seem to be stupid instead.

Now that my stupidity has been pointed out to me, and (more importantly) now that I am acknowledging that my worldview might be flawed – however comfortable – I feel hard-pressed to look at the world around me with a broader scope. After all, narrow-minded religiousness pisses me off… why shouldn’t narrow-minded physicalism do the same?

Labels: mary the neuroscientist, philosophy, religion