Mind and Its Objects

Types of Objects

Based on Dharmakīrti’s account and fully elaborated by later Indian and Tibetan interpreters, the typology of objects presented by our authors is fourfold: (1) appearing object, (2) observed object, (3) conceived object, and (4) engaged object. The interpretation of these categories varies, and not all Buddhist epistemologists used this typology or accepted it. Dharmakīrti and his earliest interpreters do not explicitly use this typology, and they lack the technical term appearing object; however, they do refer to the object image as an “appearance” (Skt., pratibhāsa) in awareness. This stands in contrast to the observed object (gṛāhya)—the thing that causes an appearance or object image to arise in a moment of perception. Thus, if Dharmakīrti’s earliest Indian interpreters were to use this fourfold model, they would say that the first two types of objects—the appearing object and the observed object—should be distinct. But following Chapa, our authors collapse the gap between object and object image, and the appearing object and the observed object are thus synonymous. In lieu of being interpreted as what causes an object image in a perception, the observed object is precisely what is directly apprehended by a sense consciousness, and that object is also the appearing object in that it is cognized by that consciousness by way of appearing to it.

So far, we have been discussing the typology of objects in relation to perception, which is necessarily nonconceptual for the Buddhist epistemologists. To understand the third type of object—the conceived object—we must examine conceptual cognition. In brief, conceptual cognitions involve mental objects such as the conceptual image of a pot presented in the thought “This is a pot.” This conceptualized “pot” is both the appearing object and observed object of that conceptual cognition, since it is what that cognition directly apprehends. That conceptual pot, however, is presented as referring to—or simply being the same as—some real pot in the world. As such, that real pot is the “conceived object” of that conceptual cognition. In other words, it is what that conceptual cognition is guiding us to. In part this means that the thought of a unicorn does not truly have a conceived object, since there is no real thing to which it can refer in this way.

The fourth type of object, the engaged object, is what a cognition is prompting us to act upon, whether through physical actions or additional mental activity. A conceptual cognition prompts us to engage in this way precisely by presenting its mental objects as the conceived object—as some real thing in the world. A perceptual cognition, being nonconceptual, has no conceived object; instead, it directly presents its content—the observed object—as something for us to act upon, and in comparison to a conceptual cognition, a perceptual cognition has a kind of vividness that is especially relevant to prompting actions on its engaged object. From a strictly epistemological standpoint, this category of the engaged object may seem redundant, since it is not directly connected to questions of truth or justification, but Buddhist thinkers are interested in more than just the conditions that make a cognition epistemically reliable. Their theories are also informed by a keen interest in the mechanisms involved in our behaviors and the role that cognitions play in prompting—or changing—those behaviors.

On Concept Formation through “Exclusion”

Already in part 1, our authors pointed out that conceptual cognition is deceptive. On the one hand, we ordinary beings must rely on concepts—as expressed in language and thought—to make our way in the world, yet our thoughts and statements about the world, while useful for engaged action, invariably mislead us. In the introduction to part 1, I noted the two ways in which conceptual cognitions are mistaken. First, they present their content—such as the concept “fire”—as identical to some real fire in the world, but unlike an actual fire, the thought of fire cannot truly burn anything. Second, the concept or thought of fire involves a universal (Skt., sāmānyalakṣaṇa), which amounts to an essence or “fire-ness” that characterizes every fire. Yet Buddhist epistemologists maintain that this notion of “fire-ness” is simply a mental construct; in fact, there is no such universal, no entity that is exactly the same in any two things that we call “fire.” Every thing that we call “fire” is actually unique in every way, not at all the same, even if by using that concept or expression we somehow are able to successfully achieve our goal of becoming warm and do not confuse those entities with stuff that will make us cold.

If conceptual cognitions are always mistaken, how can they reliably guide action? The key to this question lies especially in the problem of accounting for some sameness that enables us to use a single concept or expression such as “fire” for multiple unique things. If, as Buddhist epistemologists maintain, there is in reality no such sameness, how are concepts or expressions such as “fire” still successful in guiding our actions? The answer to this question is the theory of exclusion (apoha) developed by Dignāga and Dharmakīrti with further elaboration by many generations of commentators.
The full details of exclusion theory are complex, and to set the stage for the in-depth summary provided by our authors, it will be helpful to examine the term exclusion itself. As we have noted, Buddhist epistemologists reject the notion of any real sameness—what in Western philosophical terms would be called a universal—that characterizes every instance of, for example, a fire. Yet even though there is no real sameness, our cognitive systems can construct an unreal sameness. The key here is that our cognitive systems are not simply constructing concepts out of some bad habit, as Dharmakīrti puts it. Instead, these concepts help us avoid what we think will inhibit our flourishing while also helping us obtain what we believe will promote it. In short, we are concerned with desirable outcomes—­identifying something as “fire” is tied to my desire to get warm and to engage with an object capable of making me warm. And with that context in place, my cognitive systems construct something that is, in practical terms, the same for all fires, even though there is no sameness in the world.

Although every individual instance of fire is completely unique, our cognitive systems can ignore the variations among those instances and instead focus on the way that each thing we call a “fire” is “excluded” (Skt., apoḍha, vyāvṛtta) from all things that do not have the expected or desired effects. And this “exclusion of that which does not have the expected goal-­oriented, causal capacity” (atadarthakriyāvyāvṛtti) constitutes a sameness. Thus, even though there is no real “fire-ness” that characterizes all fires, in my experience each thing I call “fire” is different from other things that don’t do what I expect a fire to do. A somewhat tongue-in-cheek way of putting this is to say that, in terms of the things that we call a fire, we can say that they are all the same in that they are “not a non-fire.” This statement, however, is not as a simple as it looks, and this process certainly cannot be reduced to a mere logical double-negation, which would be both trivial and pointless. Instead, this notion of exclusion only makes sense when we understand that it falls within a behavioral context, where the formulation and use of concepts (whether expressed through words or not) is ultimately tied to our goal-oriented behaviors that end in a concrete experience of, for example, feeling warm.

The example of fire that I have chosen is a traditional one, but it also has the advantage of easily invoking an experience. Nearly everyone has had the experience of being cold and then seeking some means to become warm, whether with a “coat,” a “heater,” a “fire,” or the like. And while the vast array of things that we can fit under these categories are varied indeed, it is easy to understand how the point of that categorization is to achieve a goal: the question of the exact sameness of every coat or heater is not a practical concern. Of course, we can—and do—develop higher-order concepts that are less concrete in this way, but the claim of the exclusion theory is that even those higher-order concepts emerge out of a more basic system that serves to guide our embodied actions toward the concrete goals that we seek. For again, the thought of a fire (or some other abstraction) cannot make us warm. The claim here is that what counts is the actual, perceptual experience.

"And with that context in place, my cognitive systems construct something that is, in practical terms, the same for all fires, even though there is no sameness in the world."