Philosophy: Causation; Hume, James, Goddu!

I started reading Mariel Goddu's Causal understanding is not a point of view, it’s a point of do (Aeon Essays) looking for criticism of David Hume's theory of causality.

Hume shows that experience does not tell us much. Of two events, A and B, we say that A causes B when the two always occur together, that is, are constantly conjoined. Whenever we find A, we also find B, and we have a certainty that this conjunction will continue to happen. Once we realize that “A must bring about B” is tantamount merely to “Due to their constant conjunction, we are psychologically certain that B will follow A”, then we are left with a very weak notion of necessity. This tenuous grasp on causal efficacy helps give rise to the Problem of Induction–that we are not reasonably justified in making any inductive inference about the world. Among Hume scholars it is a matter of debate how seriously Hume means us to take this conclusion and whether causation consists wholly in constant conjunction.

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The second of Hume’s influential causal arguments is known as the problem of induction, a skeptical argument that utilizes Hume’s insights about experience limiting our causal knowledge to constant conjunction. Though Hume gives a quick version of the Problem in the middle of his discussion of causation in the Treatise (T 1.3.6), it is laid out most clearly in Section IV of the Enquiry. An influential argument, the Problem’s skeptical conclusions have had a drastic impact on the field of epistemology. It should be noted, however, that not everyone agrees about what exactly the Problem consists in. Briefly, the typified version of the Problem as arguing for inductive skepticism can be described as follows:

Recall that proper reasoning involves only relations of ideas and matters of fact. Again, the key differentia distinguishing the two categories of knowledge is that asserting the negation of a true relation of ideas is to assert a contradiction, but this is not the case with genuine matters of fact. But in Section IV, Hume only pursues the justification for matters of fact, of which there are two categories:

(A)           Reports of direct experience, both past and present

(B)           Claims about states of affairs not directly observed

Matters of fact of category (A) would include sensory experience and memory, against which Hume never raises doubts, contra René Descartes. For Hume, (B) would include both predictions and the laws of nature upon which predictions rest. We cannot claim direct experience of predictions or of general laws, but knowledge of them must still be classified as matters of fact, since both they and their negations remain conceivable. In considering the foundations for predictions, however, we must remember that, for Hume, only the relation of cause and effect gives us predictive power, as it alone allows us to go beyond memory and the senses. All such predictions must therefore involve causality and must therefore be of category (B). But what justifies them?

It seems to be the laws governing cause and effect that provide support for predictions, as human reason tries to reduce particular natural phenomena “…to a greater simplicity, and to resolve the many particular effects into a few general causes….” (EHU 4.12; SBN 30)  But this simply sets back the question, for we must now wonder what justifies these “general causes.”  One possible answer is that they are justified a priori as relations of ideas. Hume rejects this solution for two reasons:  First, as shown above, we cannot meditate purely on the idea of a cause and deduce the corresponding effect and, more importantly, to assert the negation of any causal law is not to assert a contradiction. 

Or that of William James: 

The metaphysical question regarding activity, in any case, depends on two beliefs regarding causality: “a belief that causality must be exerted in activity, and a wonder as to how causality is made.” In the end, real activities bring us to the problem of creation. At this point, James can only present his radically empiricist perspective on the matter. He states that according to the methodical postulates mentioned above, somewhere the that and what of “real creative activities” – if they exist – must be experienced as a unity. James specifies that the immediate unitary experience should not be misinterpreted. Sensations are fallible but rather as to the way we interpret them and fix their meaning. The only possible and correct starting point for us remains our concrete experience of causality. There is no possibility of getting out of it, insofar as it would mean getting out of our specific sensibility, and therefore of human life. He strongly suggests that “real effectual causation as an ultimate nature, as a ‘category’ […] of reality, is just what we feel it to be, just that kind of conjunction which our own activity-series reveal” (ERE: 93-4). Here we encounter James’s effort to clarify the scope of metaphysics as a form of knowledge, as mentioned in a 1904 letter to François Pillon (CWJ 10: 409-10). James always looks for ends; his philosophy is teleological but not in an essentialist way. Understanding the nature of causation would be essential in order to use that knowledge to recognize actual causes or to foresee future developments in a more intelligent way. Quoting some passages of Royce’s review of Stout’s Analytic Psychology, James agrees with his colleague about the fact that metaphysical problems – such as the problem of effectual activity – are superficial unless they have a “possible use in helping us to solve the far deeper problem of the course and meaning of the world of life” (ERE: 94). Life is full of significance, full of meaning, he repeats, and without explicating this as a goal (the “pragmatic note”) – which is also an evident moral amelioration of our life and an integral engagement in all that is part of life – philosophy and psychology lose their ultimate reason for existing.

Ms. Goddu writes something different from either Hume or James:

Most people don’t realise that any of this is a cognitive achievement. But, in fact, it is highly unusual. No other animal thinks about causation in the hyper-objective, hyper-general way that we do. Only we – adult humans – see the world suffused with causality. As a result, we have unparalleled power to change and control it. Our causal understanding is a superpower.

The scientific story of how our causal minds develop features another superpower: human sociality. It’s our unique sensitivity to other people that lets us acquire our special causal understanding. The story also raises questions about ‘other minds’. If our causal understanding is the exception, rather than the rule, then how does the world show up for other animals? If we try to suspend the causal necessity that structures so much of our experience, what’s left over?

I’m going to suggest that what remains is our experience of doing – a value-laden, first-personal and inherently interactive perspective. It is in this involved, participatory ‘point of do’ – as opposed to a detached, objective point of view – that the seeds of higher cognition take root. Appreciating that our original perspective is action-oriented and goal-directed can also help us understand our own shortcomings – and how to change them.

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This interventionist way of defining causation is often referred to as ‘difference-making’. That’s because a ‘cause’ is something that makes a difference to something else: wiggle the cause, and the effect wiggles, too. This doesn’t fully satisfy our sceptic – (What do you mean, difference-MAKING?) – but it does give us a more precise way of talking about causal relations. As the sun-and-rooster example shows, the interventions don’t have to be actually possible. The key idea is simply: if we were to change the cause, then it would make a difference to the effect.

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The scene we’ve just imagined comes from a vignette in Intention (1957) by the philosopher G E M Anscombe. In her analysis, ‘actions’ are the kind of thing to which a special sense of the question ‘Why?’ applies – specifically, the ‘Why?’ we address to people when enquiring about their aim, goal or purpose (Why are you ringing that bell?) When you rang the bell without knowing it, Anscombe says, that wasn’t an action. But when you moved the door to make it ring – when you knew what you were doing – then it was.

The development of causal understanding depends precisely on this ‘insider perspective’ on your own actions – your knowledge of your goal, the thing you’re aiming at by acting. 

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It’s unclear exactly what drives the development of impersonal, ‘it-causal’ understanding – the shift from a causal understanding grounded in actions to an objective one where causality is seen as part of the world itself. (This is the causal understanding that makes you look up at the tree above your car to check if an acorn could have caused the dent.) However, around age four, children also develop ‘theory of mind’ (appreciating that people’s beliefs can fail to match reality), visual perspective-taking (understanding that something that’s blue for me will look green to you wearing yellow glasses), and tolerate ‘dual naming’ (you say tree, I say bush; we can both be right). Notably, these all involve holding two ideas about the same thing in mind at once. Perhaps the idea of ‘causal potential’ that persists even when no one is changing things requires ‘dual representation,’ too.

It seems David Hume does make a cameo appearance:

But these ‘intervenable’ props for action would be sparse. And they would mainly appear in situations very similar to others where you had acted before. Everything else would be mere variation – like shifting forms on a laptop screensaver. Some changes would be benign (rippling grass in a windy field). Others might have valenced associations – like a sudden rustling in the bushes (‘uh-oh!’), the calls of distant conspecifics (‘friends!’), or the musk of a potential partner (‘ooOOh!’). But these percepts, patterns and rhythms would be a kind of Humean music: familiar, predictable and reliable, but not caused, controllable or explainable. 

 Then the writer strays from the descriptive to the prescriptive, and the essay is the better for it. Where I started reading for variations on Hume, I ended with a call to action in a pragmatic sense that eschewed distinctions in philosophical theories.

Here’s why I’m hopeful. I think we can use our causal understanding to intervene in our own behaviour. For one, we know that it’s highly flexible. Even primary school children can learn about the complex causal relations involved in ecosystems, food chains and structural inequality – this can provide guidance for education, storybooks and children’s media. We also know about the power of sociality – the power of highlighting variables for one another. Friends and family are an influential source for developing habits around causal factors that affect our own health (like exercise, diet and microplastics) and the planet’s (like eating meat, composting and sustainable consumer practices). The more we talk to each other about these difference-makers, the more these actions can echo and amplify, species-wide.

Finally, causal understanding is rooted, originally, in our values – things we want. The most primal causal learning happens by aiming at things we want to make happen. This means that optimistic, action-oriented suggestions are probably more effective than doom and gloom. My favourite recent instance of human causal imagination is the book What If We Get It Right? (2024) by the marine biologist and climate activist Ayana Elizabeth Johnson. In it, Johnson invites us to imagine the future we want to live in, and shoot for it – each in our own way, in our own communities. We already have a lot of solutions, she says; we just need to scale, spread and use them.

Think about it because thinking is the solution!

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