April 4, 1978
Just as the sublime threatens at each instant to overwhelm the imagination’s act of synthesis, the operation of symbolism and symbolisation threaten at each instant to overwhelm this other act of imagination which is the schema. So much so that between symbolism and the sublime, there will obviously be all sorts of echoes, as if they brought about the emergence of a sort of ground [fond] which is irreducible to knowledge, and which will testify to something else in us besides a simple faculty of knowing. Feel how beautiful it is.
Seminar Introduction
In 1963, Deleuze published a tightly articulated book on Kant, La philosophie critique de Kant (translated as Kant’s Critical Philosophy) that lays out (in the introduction) the “transcendental method”, then in three successive chapters, outlines the relations of the faculties as presented, respectively, in the Critique of Pure Reason, the Critique of Practical Reason, and the Critique of Judgement, with a brief conclusion on “les fins de la raison”, the “ends of reason”.
Years later, in L’Abécédaire (“K as in Kant”), Deleuze describes his motivation for working on a philosopher with whom he had little in common: first, for Deleuze, Kant’s writing constituted such a turning point in numerous ways and, second, he initiated something in philosophy that had never been advanced previously, a tribunal of reason and things being judged as a function of this tribunal. While pretending to be struck with horror by Kant’s critical method, Deleuze admits that this is mixed with fascination, especially Kant’s astonishing reversal of time’s subordination to movement, with movement henceforth depending on time, and thus, time ceasing to be circular and becoming a straight line. Moreover, late in his life, Kant introduces his conception of the sublime, by which the faculties enter into conflicts, having discordant accords, then reconciling, but no longer being subject to a tribunal. Deleuze argues that Kant’s greatness is due to creating a whole undergirding in his works that makes Deleuze quite enthusiastic, while on top of the undergirding is a system of judgment that Deleuze says he would like to do away with, but without standing in judgment.
We should also note that during the 1977-78 academic year, one possible topic for an oral explication of a German language text in the national agrégation de philosophie examination was a text by Kant (from the Critique of Judgment, Introduction, “Analytik des Schöne”), so Deleuze’s choice for this brief seminar may have linked his students’ needs with his own interests.
English Translation

Deleuze states that his focus in the Critique of Pure Reason is two operations forming a correspondence between conceptual determinations and spatio-temporal determinations as synthetic operations of heterogenous elements. Yet he sees a need to distinguish between these and to consider (referring to the Critique of Judgement) how synthesis may be overwhelmed by experience of the sublime. Calling Kant’s book the hinge of Classicism and Romanticism, Deleuze points out that the same risk of being overwhelmed experienced by synthesis occurs for the schema, being overwhelmed by symbolism. Addressing the difference between the schema and the synthesis, Deleuze describes the schema’s path as no longer from the here and now, but from the concept, i.e., an operation that is complete, a valid-at-all-times determination, carried out by a rule of production (rather than recognition). Deleuze links this to the study of judgment and then links these perspectives to Husserl, who he takes to task (specifically, regarding the category of “roundness”), preferring Kant’s emphasis on the act of productive imagination. Deleuze concludes his first point by insisting that schematism is not a case of reflective judgment, but of determinative judgment. Deleuze then links space and time to rhythms and mannerisms, e.g., an animal’s territory, and he links Kant’s influence to experiments by the Würzburg school psychologists, notably their concept of empty intentions, or spatio-temporal directions of consciousness as a sort of rhythm or way of occupying space and time, the schema. Whereas the concept provides the homogeneous measure or tempo of things subordinate to it, rhythmicity differs entirely, operating through blocks of space-time.
Deleuze then considers the adventure of the sublime in relation to the synthesis, particularly the synthesis of imagination that presupposes an aesthetic comprehension (of the thing measured and of the unit of measure) serving as the fragile ground on which the synthesis rests. Deleuze insists that what Kant sought for the schema was its own limit, that which might overwhelm it, and for this, Deleuze traces on the board the schema’s diagram (generally unclear in the written transcript), using the concept of the circle as a specific example. Here arises the Kantian series: the synthesis referring to a rule of recognition, the schema to rules of production; the symbol to rules of reflection. The session ends (or is interrupted, with text possibly missing) with Deleuze suggesting that no intuition corresponds to the concept, either because it is simply lacking, without necessary knowledge, or because of the concept’s special nature.
Gilles Deleuze
Seminar on Kant: Synthesis and Time
Lecture 04, 4 April 1978
Transcribed by WebDeleuze
Translated by Melissa McMahon
Today I would like to be as clear as possible in relation to a problem that is nevertheless complicated. I have at best only one idea that I would like to develop today, which is not only linked to the desire to help some of you in talking about Kant in a precise way but also to try and show this sort of amazing development of a problem over the course of Kant’s philosophy. The center of everything I would like to say today is precisely this: if we just take the Critique of Pure Reason, Kant’s famous book, we can clearly see, in relation to the themes that concern us involving time, that there are two major operations. What these two major operations of knowledge have in common—because pure reason is concerned with knowledge—is that in both cases they form a correspondence between conceptual determinations and spatio-temporal determinations, despite their heterogeneity, despite their difference in nature.
These two major operations that form a correspondence—whatever the difficulties this correspondence involves given their heterogeneity—between spatio-temporal determinations and conceptual determinations are both synthetic operations. They are synthetic for very simple reasons. They are necessarily synthetic because, as we have seen, spatio-temporal determinations on the one hand and conceptual determinations on the other hand—space-time and concepts—are heterogeneous, so the act that forms a correspondence between them can only be a synthesis of heterogeneous elements.
These two synthetic operations have names. These two operations also have in common the fact of being acts of the imagination. Obviously imagination no longer means forming ideas or imagining something, because Kant gives a fundamentally new meaning to the act of imagination: it is the act by which spatio-temporal determinations will be made to correspond with conceptual determinations. You will ask why he calls that “imagination.” You need to understand that he is already on a level where he grasps imagination on a much deeper level than in preceding philosophies. Imagination is no longer the faculty by which we produce images, it is the faculty by which we determine a space and a time in a way that conforms to a concept but does not proceed from the concept, which is of another nature to the determination of space and time. It is really the productive imagination as opposed to the reproductive imagination. When I say, “I imagine my friend Pierre,” this is the reproductive imagination. I could do something else besides imagine Pierre: I could say hello to him, go to his place; I could remember him, which is not the same thing as imagining him. Imagining my friend Pierre is the reproductive imagination. On the other hand, determining a space and a time in accordance with a concept but in such a way that this determination cannot proceed from the concept itself—to make a space and a time correspond to a concept—that is the act of the productive imagination. What does a mathematician or a geometer do? Or, in another way, what does an artist do? They make productions of space-time.
I said that Kant gives very strict names to the two synthetic operations that establish the correspondence between space-time and concepts, and it would already be very vexing to confuse these two operations. One is named the “synthesis,” in a narrow sense, synthesis as the act of the productive imagination, and the other—which is no less synthetic—Kant reserves another name for it, the “schema,” which is also an operation of the productive imagination. One of our problems is what the difference is between a synthesis, in a narrow sense, and a schema. We have seen what they have in common: in both cases it is a matter of determining a space and a time that corresponds with a concept.
But my second problem is that if we don’t just look at the Critique of Pure Reason, if we keep going to one of Kant’s last works, where Kant goes deeper and deeper, which is to say if we place the final work, the Critique of Judgment, alongside the Critique of Pure Reason, and see how it reflects back on the Critique of Pure Reason, we realize that Kant reveals an amazing double adventure to us in the Critique of Judgment: how the synthesis, as act of the imagination, can be overwhelmed by a fundamental experience which is the experience of the sublime. Thus there is an extremely fragile operation within the synthesis: something that comes from underneath risks [word unclear] this operation at each instant, drowning it. Drowning it in a simple destruction? No, no doubt in favor of the revelation of another level, which is the revelation of the sublime. Thus the synthesis of the imagination risks being overwhelmed by another act, or rather by another passion, by a sort of passion of the imagination, which is the spectacle and the experience of the sublime where the imagination is shaken in its very foundation.
It is very interesting how it is both brilliant and symmetrical; it is really the hinge of Classicism and Romanticism. The Critique of Judgment is really the great book that all the Romantics latched onto. They had all read it, it had a determining influence on the whole of German Romanticism. But on the other side as well we experience the same adventure, under another form. Just as the synthesis risks being overwhelmed by something that comes from the depths of the imagination, namely the experience of the sublime, the schema—the other act of the imagination from the point of view of knowledge—also risks being overwhelmed by something monstrous, which Kant is the first to analyze, to my knowledge. It is symbolism. In the same way that the sublime threatens at each instant to overwhelm the imagination’s act of synthesis, the operation of symbolism and symbolization threatens at each instant to overwhelm this other act of imagination which is the schema. So much so that between symbolism and the sublime, there will obviously be all sorts of echoes, as though they made a sort of ground that is irreducible to knowledge rise up, testifying to something else in us besides a simple faculty of knowing. Feel how beautiful it is.
But first we have to deal with something more sensible, more banal: what is the difference between the schema and the synthesis? The last time I tried to show what the synthesis was. The synthesis as act of the imagination consists precisely in this… but I want this to be very concrete. What is good is being in the world, and there are Kantian phenomena in the world. If you come across a typically Kantian phenomenon in the world, it’s very good: at that particular moment you have to speak Kantian. They are phenomena which can only be grasped through Kantian spectacles, if not, you pass on by. The synthesis and the schema are always about a correspondence between, on the one hand, conceptual determinations, and on the other spatio-temporal determinations. What defines the synthesis as distinct from the schema?
The synthesis is an act of the imagination that operates here and now; there is no synthesis if it is not an operation of your imagination that you do here and now. Here and now, for example, you see a manifold. Or here and now you see an organization of space and time. You will recall that this space and this time are not yet determined: there is something in space and time. You still have to carry out a synthesis that gives you a certain space and a certain time such that you carry out a sort of act of isolation. If you say, “This is a table,” you have carried out a synthesis of space and time in accordance with a concept. There is the concept “table,” and then you have synthesized, you have carried out a synthesis of, a certain manifold. So the principle of the synthesis is recognition: “This is this.” The rule of the synthesis is the process of recognition. As such, the synthesis necessarily operates in the here and now: “Look, it’s a house.” What does the synthesis consist in? We saw it last time: the successive apprehension of parts—the synthesis of apprehension—and the reproduction of the preceding parts in the following parts. So the two aspects of the synthesis—apprehension and reproduction—are my means of determining a finite space and time. The concept is the form of the object that I qualify according to the manifold I have synthesized: this a table, this is a house, this is a little dog.
So, in the synthesis, I have indeed formed a correspondence between a determination of space and time and a conceptual determination—the determination of space and time being carried out by the synthesis of apprehension and reproduction, and the conceptual determination referring to the form of the any-object-whatever in so far as this object form is determined by the manifold that I synthesize. I would almost say that in the synthesis I go from the spatio-temporal determination to the conceptual determination, and that my point of departure is the here and now. You can see that, at the beginning, I only have a concept of an any-object-whatever; I only have the form of an any-object-whatever, which is the empty form of the concept, object = x. Why is this a concept? Because it is not at all contained in the sensible manifold. So I have only the form of the any-object-whatever as the form of the pure concept, and the synthesis of the imagination will make a spatio-temporal determination correspond to the any-object-whatever in such a way that the any-object-whatever will be specified as such or such an object: this is a house, this is a table.
It’s very interesting with Kant. When things don’t work, he invents something, which doesn’t exist, but it doesn’t matter: the schema. Place yourself in the reverse situation. You have the concept; you are starting from the concept. So the path of the schema will no longer be via the here and now, not what your productive imagination does here and now, namely determine space and time. The schema, on the contrary, will be an operation that is done, when it is done, as valid at all times. “This is a house” is not valid at all times. You recall that the rule of the synthesis is a rule of recognition. With the schema, you have a concept, and the problem is to determine the spatio-temporal relationship that corresponds to this concept.
The synthesis is precisely the opposite: you carry out a spatio-temporal operation, and you specify the concept based on this determination. So the valid-here-and-now operation of the synthesis corresponds, going in the other direction, to the valid-at-all-times determination of the schema. In the latter case you have a concept and you are looking for the spatio-temporal determination that is likely to correspond to it. What does that mean? When I say, “A straight line lies evenly with the points on itself”—Euclid’s definition—this is like a concept of a straight line. You will say, okay, but it’s already spatial. Yes, it’s spatial, but I can create a concept of space for myself. A straight line defined as a line that lies evenly with the points on itself doesn’t yet give me any kind of determination. While the synthesis went from the intuition in space and time to the concept, carried out by a rule of recognition, the schema, on the contrary, will be carried out by a rule of production. Given a concept, how can I produce in intuition—which is to say in space and in time—an object that conforms to the concept? The operation of the schema is to produce in space and time. In other words, the schema does not involve a rule of recognition but involves a rule of production.
The synthesis of a house is the rule of recognition according to which I can say, “This is a house.” You can say, “This is a house” when faced with very different things. You carry out a synthesis of the given such that you can relate them to the any-object-whatever, “This a house.” The schema of the house is very different; it is not a rule of recognition that applies across random manifolds. The schema of the house is a rule of production. Which is to say you can give yourself a concept of house—I can take a functional definition, for example: house = an apparatus made for sheltering humans. This doesn’t yet give us a rule of production. The schema of the house is what allows you to produce something in experience, in space and in time, objects conforming to the concept. But that definition doesn’t go outside of the concept; you can turn the concept—apparatus made for sheltering humans—every which way as much you like, you will not extract any rules of production from it, the rules of construction of the house. If you have the rule of production, you have a schema. It is very interesting from the point of view of a study of judgment.
Consider the following two judgments: “A straight line is a line that lies evenly with the points on itself.” There you have a logical or conceptual definition, you have the concept of the straight line. If you say: “The straight line is black,” you have something encountered in experience; not all straight lines are black. “The straight line is the shortest path from one point to another.” This is a type of judgment, a quite extraordinary one, according to Kant. Why? Because it cannot be reduced to either of the two extremes that we have just seen. What is the shortest path? Kant tells us that the shortest path is the rule of production of a line that is straight. If you want to obtain a straight line, you take the shortest path. It is not a predicate at all. When you say, “The straight line is the shortest path,” it looks like you are treating the shortest path like an attribute or a predicate, when in fact it is not a predicate at all, it’s a rule of production. “The shortest path” is the rule for producing a line that is straight in space and in time. Why in time? Here you must understand why time is involved, and even more deeply than space. You can’t define “the shortest” independently of time. How is it a rule of production? If someone says to you, “You want to draw a straight line? Very well: take the shortest!”
We no longer understand judgment; we say so many things without knowing that we are saying them. Once again it is true historically that the judgment, “The straight line is the shortest path between one point and another” has very precise implications from a geometrical point of view, namely that while the Euclidean, or conceptual, definition of the straight line is indeed “a line that lies evenly with the points on itself,” the straight line as the shortest path from one point to another is an Archimedean notion, and Archimedean geometry has quite different principles to Euclidean geometry. The notion “the straight line is the shortest path” makes absolutely no sense if you separate it from a whole calculus that compares heterogeneous elements.
You find the theme of the synthesis again here. The heterogeneous elements are not the different sorts of lines, straight or not straight; it is the confrontation between the curve and the straight line. It’s the Archimedean theme of the minimum angle, the smallest angle which is formed by the tangent and the curve. The shortest path is a notion which is inseparable from the calculus—which in antiquity was called the method of exhaustion—in which the straight line and the curve undergo a synthetic confrontation. In light of this, tracing the tangent to a curve is indeed a rule of production. So it is in this sense that I can say, despite appearances, that the straight line is the shortest path. We have to understand that “the shortest path” is not an attribute of the line, and this is not surprising, because “the shortest” is a relationship. A relationship is not an attribute. If I say Pierre is smaller than Paul, “smaller” is not an attribute of Pierre. Even Plato said that while Pierre is smaller than Paul, he is bigger than Jean. A relationship is not an attribute. “The shortest” is the rule according to which I produce a straight line in space and in time. In other words, I form a correspondence between a conceptual determination, namely the straight line defined as lying evenly with the points on itself, and a spatio-temporal determination according to which I can produce as many straight lines as I like in experience.
In the work of one of Kant’s distant successors, namely Husserl, there is something like this that also interests me very much, but I think something has escaped him. Husserl said: take two ends; at the two extremities of the chain, you have pure essences—for example the circle as pure geometrical essence. And then, at the other end, you have the things in experience that correspond to the circle. I can make an open-ended list: a plate, a car wheel, the sun. In technical terms, I would say that all of these things in experience—a wheel, the sun, a plate—are subsumed under the concept of a circle. Can’t you see something like a series of intermediaries between these two extremes, which will be of great importance from Kant to this point? Notions must be lived, the abstract is lived; it’s really the same thing. At the moment when something becomes very very abstract, then you can say that it concerns something lived. We already know that “between the two” is not a mixture, that it will be a zone discovered by Kant.
Take a word: “roundness.” I can always say that the circle is round. The conceptual determination of the circle is: “where the points are situated at equal distance from a common point called the center.” That’s the conceptual determination. The empirical determination or determinations are the plate, the wheel and the sun. When I say, “Oh, look how lovely and round that is!” I was saying just now that the two extremes were the line conceptually defined as equal in all its points, and then “the straight line is black,” which is an encounter in experience, a particular case of a straight line. But between the two, like a completely specific region, there is “The straight line is the shortest path.”
Now between the circle and the illustrations of the circle in experience—I would almost say images of the circle: the plate is an image of a circle, the wheel is an image of a circle—I have this bizarre thing: roundness! It is very interesting to analyze roundness logically. I would say the same thing: if we take our analysis of roundness far enough, we will see that it’s a rule of production. Roundness is a circuit [tour – going around], for example, no, roundness is what allows us to make a circuit. The circuit is what allows us to make certain materials round. Roundness must obviously be lived dynamically, as a dynamic process. Just as the definition “the straight line is the shortest path” implies an operation by which the length of a curve is compared to that of a straight line, which is to say by which there is a linearization of the curve, roundness implies an operation by which something in experience is rounded. It’s a circuit-like process of production that allows things corresponding to the concept “circle” to be produced in experience.
Where Husserl is obviously wrong is that when he discovers this category of roundness—we have just shown how roundness is completely in the same domain as the shortest, it’s the same domain of being—he makes them into inexact essences, like subordinate essences. The direction that Kant went in seems much stronger to me, where he makes them precisely into acts of the productive imagination. Here you can see in what respect the productive imagination is more profound than the reproductive imagination. The reproductive imagination is when you can imagine circles, concrete circles; you can imagine a circle drawn on a blackboard with red chalk; you can imagine a plate—all that is the reproductive imagination. But the circuit that allows you to make round things, to make things rounded, which is to say to produce in experience something that conforms with the concept of circle—it doesn’t depend on the concept of that circle, it doesn’t follow from the concept of the circle—that’s a schema, and that is the act of the productive imagination.
You can see why Kant feels the need to discover a field of the productive imagination that is distinct from the simply empirical or reproductive imagination. You can see the difference between a schema and a synthesis. If you have understood that, I am finished with my first point, namely what the difference was between the two fundamental acts, in the context of knowledge—schematism and synthesis.
Schematism is not a case of reflective judgment; it is a dimension of determinative judgment. I will tell the story of reflective judgment on request. The a posteriori is what is in space and in time. It’s the plate, the wheel, the sun. A rule of production is solely a determination of space or of time that conforms with the concept. Take another case: you can come up with a concept of a lion; you can define it through genus and specific difference. You can define it as: big animal, mammal, with a mane, growling. You make a concept. You can also come up with images of a lion: small lion, big lion, desert lion, mountain lion. You have your lion images. What would the schema of a lion be? I would say in this case, not in all cases, that the concept is the determination of the species, or it’s the determination by genus and specific differences. The image in experience is all the individuals of this species, the schema of the lion is something which is neither the examples of a lion … [Recording interrupted]
… There are spatio-temporal rhythms, spatio-temporal mannerisms. We are talking about both an animal’s territory and an animal’s domain, with its paths, the traces that it leaves in its domain, the times that it uses a particular path, all that is a spatio-temporal dynamism that you will not derive from the concept. I am not going to be able to derive the way a lion inhabits space and time from its concept. You can derive something about its way of life from a tooth: this is a carnivore. But the spatio-temporal dynamism of an animal, that is really—I can’t say it is its rule of production, but it’s something productive, it’s the way it produces a spatio-temporal domain in experience that conforms with its own concept.
The lion is Kantian, all animals are Kantian. What is the schema of the spider? The schema of the spider is its web, and its web is the way it occupies space and time. I don’t know how, but you can come up with the concept of a spider that will include all of its anatomical parts and even the physiological functions of the spider. You’ll come across the strange organ with which the spider makes its web. But can you deduce from the organ what we can now call its spatio-temporal being, and the correspondence of the web with the concept of a spider, which is to say with the organism that is a spider? It is very curious because it varies enormously depending to the species of spider. There are cases of very extraordinary spiders which, when you mutilate one of their legs, even though it is not used for making webs, create webs that are abnormal in relation to their own species; they make a pathological web. What happened? It is as though a disturbance in space and time corresponded to the mutilation. I would say that the schema of an animal is its spatio-temporal dynamism.
Kant had a determining influence, after Husserl, on all sorts of experiments and I’m thinking of a very odd school that had a certain amount of success at one time. It was the psychologists of the Würzburg school, they were closely linked to a Kantian lineage. They carried out psychological experiments. They said that there are three sorts of things: there is thought, which operates with concepts, and then there is perception, which grasps things, and if needed there is the imagination, which reproduces things. But they said that there is also another dimension, to which they gave a very curious name. They talked about the direction of consciousness, or even about the intention of consciousness, or even about empty intentions. What is an empty intention? I think of a lion, and the image of a lion comes to me; I think of a rhinoceros, and I can see the rhinoceros very well in the image which comes to my mind; that is an intention. I have a conscious intention, and an image comes to fill it, the image of the rhinoceros.
So they carried out experiments in this area, it was experimental psychology. They gave the rule of the game: “We’re going to have some fun. Don’t let yourself make an image. We’ll give you a word, and you focus on something that both excludes any image, and yet is not purely conceptual.” What was the result? The result was sorts of orientations of consciousness, in other words spatio-temporal directions. The more abstract it was, the better. The idea was to persuade us that there were three possible attitudes of consciousness: abstract thinking consciousness—for example “proletariat,” where one had to work for the proletariat. First reaction: proletariat = the class defined by… etcetera, etcetera. I would say that that is the conceptual definition of the proletariat. It is a certain attitude of consciousness towards a word: I see the concept through the word. Second attitude of consciousness: based on the word “proletariat,” I conjure up a member of the proletariat: “Ah yes, I’ve seen one!” That is really the empirical attitude, an image. Sartre, in his book The Imaginary, presents the third attitude, that of the Würzburg-type experiments, and he gives descriptions of people’s responses: “I see a sort of black wave advancing.”[1] [1] It defined a sort of rhythm. Managing to grasp an attitude of consciousness, a sort of way of occupying space and time: the proletariat doesn’t fill space and time in the same way as the bourgeoisie. At that moment you have the schema.
Or else another method was to take a word that is empty for you, whose meaning you don’t know, in a precious poem, and you direct your consciousness; you don’t make an association but a vague direction of consciousness, a sort of purely lived spatio-temporal opening. How does consciousness orient itself based on the sound qualities of an understood word? There you have a whole dimension of spatio-temporal dynamisms that have some similarities with the schema. Schemas can be subdivided, but while concepts are subdivided according to genus and species, the schema will have another mode of division. In fact when I said that the true schema of the circle was the circuit, in fact that was a sub-schema because the circuit already implies certain ways; the circuit is the rule of production for obtaining things in experience, but under the condition of having material affinities. In other cases, you’d need something else. I don’t know how bicycle wheels are made?
When phenomenology, and Heidegger, and all sorts of psychiatrists define ways of being in space and in time, complexes or blocks of space-time, rhythmic blocks, I’d say that all of that derives from Kant. An ethnologist constructs schemas of humans in so far as he describes manners: a civilization is defined, among other things, by a block of space-time, by certain spatio-temporal rhythms that are variations of the concept of man. It’s obvious that an African, an American or an Indian don’t inhabit space and time in the same way. What’s interesting is when we see different spatio-temporal affiliations coexist in a limited space. I could equally say that an artist operates with blocks of space-time. An artist is above all a rhythmist. What is a rhythm? It’s a block of space-time; it’s a spatio-temporal block. But each time you have a concept, you don’t yet have the rhythmicity of the things that are subordinated to it. A concept, at best, will give you the measure or the tempo, which is to say a homogeneous measure, but rhythmicity is something entirely different from a homogeneous measure, something entirely different from a tempo.
I’ll move on to my second point. You remember that we saw, in relation to the synthesis, this adventure of the sublime. Kant realizes that the synthesis of the imagination that plays a role in knowledge rests on a ground of a different nature, namely that in all of its aspects it presupposes an aesthetic comprehension, both of the thing to be measured and the unit of measure. Make no mistake: aesthetic comprehension is not part of the synthesis, it’s the ground [sol] on which the synthesis rests. I would say that it is not the foundation [fondement] of the synthesis, but the founding [fondation] of the synthesis. At the same time that he discovers this ground, he discovers the extraordinary viability of this ground. He doesn’t discover this ground without also seeing that this ground is [unclear word]
Why? Because what the synthesis is based on is fundamentally fragile, because the aesthetic comprehension of the unit of measure, which is presupposed by all effective measurement, can at any instant be overwhelmed, which is to say that coming from the ground of the synthesis is the constant risk of something bursting upwards from underground, and this underground will crack open the synthesis. Because the synthesis rests on the aesthetic comprehension of the unit of measure, an aesthetic comprehension that is irreducible to the operations of knowledge. Why is this very fragile? Because at every instant there are types of phenomena in space and in time that risk overwhelming the aesthetic comprehension of the unit of measure, and this is the sublime, where the imagination faces its limit. It is confronted with its own limit; it can no longer serve the concepts of the understanding. Serving the concepts of the understanding is determining space and time in conformity with the concepts of the understanding, and here it can no longer do this. The imagination finds itself stuck when faced with its own limit. The vast ocean, the infinite heavens—all of that overwhelms it; it discovers its own impotence, it starts to stutter.
So the ground of the synthesis, namely aesthetic comprehension, and the underground of the synthesis, namely the sublime insofar as it overturns the ground, are discovered at the same time. But there’s a consolation; at the same time that the imagination finds itself impotent and no longer able to serve the understanding, it leads us to discover in ourselves a still more beautiful faculty, which is like the faculty of the infinite. At the same time that we feel for our imagination and suffer with it, since it has become impotent, a new faculty is awakened in us, the faculty of the supersensible. When the storm has passed, when the avalanche has finished, I find my syntheses again, but for a moment the horizon of knowledge has been traversed by something that came from elsewhere: the eruption of the sublime, which is not an object of knowledge.
We must put ourselves in Kant’s place, supposing that he has discovered all of this. He says to himself that there must be something analogous for the schema. The schema is also an operation of knowledge, we saw its relationship to the synthesis. The schema must also trace its own limit and have something overwhelm it. It must be something different, a different adventure. There is no reason to treat philosophy differently to art or science. There are differences, but they aren’t on the level we think they are.
Here is the diagram of the schema: I draw a big white circle up top and I put a uppercase ‘A’ alongside. To explain: this big white circle called ‘A’ is the concept of ‘a’. I draw a vertical dotted line—it’s important that it’s dotted—with an arrow at the end, and underneath at the end of the arrow I put a lower case ‘a’. I’ll explain, but for those who want the complete diagram: from the ‘a’ underneath the end of my arrow, I make a non-dotted line this time, and a spray of little arrows. Under each of the little arrows I put a’, a’’, a‘‘‘. The big ‘A’ is the concept ‘a’. The ‘a’ at the end of my dotted arrow is the schema of ‘A’, namely the spatio-temporal determination ‘A.’ To take an example, the uppercase ‘A’ is the concept of the circle, the small ‘a’ is the circuit or the schema of the circle, namely the rule of production. Then a’, a’’, a’’’ are the empirical things that conform to the schema and are brought back to the concept by the schema. So a’ = plate, a’’ = wheel, a’’’ = sun, in our previous example.
Why is the arrow that goes from the concept to the schema dotted? Precisely as a subtle indication that the symbol that he contrasts or that he explicitly distinguishes from the schema in the Critique of Judgment, and it’s among the most admirable pages in Kant.[2] Well, that’s going to complicate things, and here are the two diagrams. Upper case ‘A’ is the concept; lower case ‘a’ is the schema of the concept, which is to say the spatio-temporal determinations. Upper case ‘B’, dotted arrow and lower case ‘b’. We need that to make a schema. I’ll give examples. First example: ‘A’ = the sun; ‘a’ = ‘to rise’ (spatio-temporal determination). Let’s say that this is the auto-schema of the concept. ‘B’, the virtue of the concept, ‘b’: the schema or intuition = x? Second example: ‘A’ = ‘the sun’; ‘a’ = ‘to set’. You can see that these are two sub-schemas, I could have taken ‘to rise’ and ‘to set’ in the one schema. ‘B’ = ‘death’; ‘b’ = intuition = x of death.
Third example: ‘A’ = ‘a mill’, ‘a’ = a type of mill that implies a certain space-time, which is to say not the general schema of the mill, but a certain schema corresponding to one category of mills = hand mill. ‘B’ = despotic state; ‘b’ :: intuition = ? = x.
I have two comments to make if you understand these examples. There would be symbolization when you use the schema or intuition ‘a’, not in relation to the corresponding concept ‘A’, but in relation to the quite different concept ‘B’, for which you have no intuition of a schema. At that moment, the schema ceases to be a rule of production in relation to its concept and becomes a rule of reflection in relation to the other concept, so much so that you have the Kantian series, where the synthesis refers to a rule of recognition; the schema refers to rules of production; the symbol refers to rules of reflection.
Why don’t I have any intuition corresponding to the concept? Two possible scenarios: either because I don’t have one as a matter of fact, because I lack the necessary knowledge, but I could have it—I could form a schema of the concept ‘B’; or else in virtue of the special nature of this concept. [End of the transcribed text]
Notes
[1] Sartre, The Imaginary: a phenomenological psychology of the imagination, trans. Jonathan Webber (Routledge, 2003), p. 100. Sartre quotes the experimental subject: “Proletariat: I had a strange image, a flat and black area, and, below it, a sea vaguely rolling, an indeterminate wave, something like a dark and thick rolling of heavy waves. What did the mass signify? Extension in the entire world: something like a latent dynamism.”
[2] Deleuze is referring to §59 (‘Beauty as the symbol of morality’) in the Dialectic of Aesthetic Judgment, which discusses the operation of symbols as distinct from schemas (see below), although when he places the idea of the sun setting alongside death, it also suggests Kant’s discussion of the aesthetic idea in the Analytic of the Sublime. Deleuze is presumably commenting on a diagram he is drawing so what he says is not always clear. The passage on symbolism is as follows (Pluhar translation): “Hence all intuitions supplied for a priori concepts are either schemata or symbols. Schemata contain direct, symbols indirect, exhibitions of the concept. Schematic exhibition is demonstrative. Symbolic exhibition uses an analogy (for which we use empirical intuitions as well), in which judgment performs a double function: it applies the concept to the object of a sensible intuition; and then it applies the mere rule by which it reflects on that intuition to an entirely different object, of which the former object is only the symbol. Thus a monarchy ruled according to its own constitutional laws would be presented as an animate body, but a monarchy ruled by an individual absolute will would be presented as a mere machine (such as a hand mill); but in either case the presentation is only symbolic. For though there is no similarity between a despotic state and a hand mill, there certainly is one between the rules by which we reflect on the two and on how they operate.”
For archival purposes, the translation by Melissa McMahon was originally prepared for the Web Deleuze site in the early 2000s, and the transcript is from Web Deleuze. The updated version of the translation was completed in May 2023, with a revised description completed in September 2023.