1. Introduction: Schematism as a ‘Hidden Art’
In the Schematism chapter of the first Critique, Kant notoriously claims,
the schematism of our understanding is a hidden art (Kunst) in the depths of the human soul, whose true operations we can divine from nature and lay unveiled before our eyes only with difficulty. (A141/B180–1)Footnote 1
According to most commentators, this description of schematism is simply Kant's metaphorical way of saying that schematism is something too obscure to explain. As P. F. Strawson puts it,
How the mechanism [of the imagination] is supposed exactly to work is not very clear. … But the obscurity of this point is something which [Kant emphasizes himself] … Thus Kant says of schematism that it is ‘an art concealed in the depths of the human soul …’. [Imagination] is a concealed art of the soul, a magical faculty, something we shall never fully understand. (1974: 47)
Strawson is not alone in this reading; indeed, many commentators, such as Bennett, Pippin, and Guyer, offer what we could call the ‘obscurity interpretation’ of Kant's description of schematism.Footnote 2
What I aim to explore in this article is a possibility that this line of interpretation passes quickly over: namely that Kant's description of schematism as Kunst gives us an invaluable resource for understanding it. To be sure, Kant describes schematism as a form of Kunst that is hidden and much of the sense of mystery might arise from this aspect of his description. Nevertheless, it is still a form of Kunst and given that he makes clear elsewhere, especially in the Critique of Judgment, that he has theoretically precise ways of using the term Kunst, we should take seriously the possibility that its purpose in the above passage is to make a positive contribution to our understanding of schematism. Moreover, since the activity of schematism is a topic Kant is lamentably terse about, it seems no resource should be neglected.
Now, not everyone has overlooked the possibility of Kant's account of schematism relating more generally to the aesthetic concerns of the third Critique. For example, both Eva Schaper (Reference Schaper1964) and David Bell (Reference Bell1987) have offered what we could call an ‘aesthetic interpretation’ of the Schematism, which takes into account the link between Kant's accounts of the productive imagination and the power of judgement in both texts.Footnote 3 Yet, although I am broadly sympathetic with this aesthetic interpretation, what neither Bell nor Schaper pursue is one of the most concrete links between the Schematism and third Critique, namely, Kant's use of the term Kunst itself.Footnote 4
In what follows, I shall pursue this link directly. What we will find is that Kant's theoretically exact uses of Kunst shed considerable light on his theory of schematism. We shall take our point of departure from Kant's most sustained discussion of Kunst in his mature work: §§43 and 49 of the third Critique (section 2). And once we have a basic sketch of Kant's general theory of schematism on offer (section 3), we shall consider to what extent schematism relates to the senses of Kunst laid out in the third Critique (sections 4–6). Along the way, these considerations will not just illuminate what Kant means when he says schematism is Kunst, but also why he calls schematism a hidden Kunst in first place. Ultimately, by following up Kant's clue to think of schematism as Kunst, we shall deepen the aesthetic interpretation,Footnote 5 and, at the same time, deepen our understanding of the nature of schematism itself.
2. Kunst in §§43 and 49 of the Critique of Judgment
Let us begin by getting a clearer picture of Kant's theoretically exact ways of using the term Kunst. His most precise presentation of the notion of Kunst can be found in §43 (Von der Kunst Überhaupt) of the Critique of Judgment. In this section, Kant offers his definition of Kunst understood not as a product, for example, the Mona Lisa, but as an activity an agent engages in, for example, the art of painting. As Henry Allison has noted, in §43 Kant proceeds ‘in scholastic fashion by attempting a definition by genus and species’ (2001: 273). Hence Kant begins by describing two jointly sufficient and necessary conditions an activity must meet in order to fall under the genus Kunst and then delineates two species of this genus.
Kant lays out the two conditions required for the genus Kunst in his discussion of the difference between artistic activity and the activities involved in nature (Natur) and science (Wissenschaft). First, with regard to the distinction between Kunst and nature, Kant argues that, while nature may be able to bring about products, for example, a beehive, this mode of production does not count as Kunst because it is not the result of a choice the agent has made. Thus, Kant says, ‘only production through freedom, i.e., through a capacity for choice that grounds its actions in reason, should be called Kunst’ (KU 5: 303).Footnote 6 The production through freedom he has in mind here involves an agent ‘conceiving of an end’ and Kunst is the activity through which she brings this end about (KU 5: 303). Kant suggests that, although we may be able to think of a beehive as if it were the effect of such a conception, we should not, strictly speaking, think of the bees themselves as the agents responsible for conceiving of this end. From this emerges the first condition an activity must meet in order to fall under the genus Kunst: it must be an activity the agent engages in as the result of an end she has adopted.Footnote 7 Call this the ‘end-adoption condition’.
The second condition emerges in Kant's discussion of the difference between the activities involved in Kunst and those involved in science:
Kunst as a skill (Geschicklichkeit) of human beings is also distinguished from science (Wissenschaft) (to be able from to know (Können vom Wissen)), as a practical faculty from a theoretical one, as technique (Technik) from theory. (KU 5: 303)Footnote 8
Unlike science, which requires theoretical knowledge (Wissen), Kant argues that Kunst requires practical abilities, or what we might call ‘know-how’. Illustrating his point with examples, Kant claims that, just as mastering a geometrical proof does not guarantee one's ability to survey land, knowing about shoes does not make one able to cobble one. As Kant describes this latter example, Pieter Camper, the author of Treatise on the Best Form of Shoes, could ‘describe quite precisely how the best shoe must be made, but he certainly was not able to make one’ (KU 5: 304). As these examples suggest, in order to put our theoretical knowledge to use in a practical situation, we need the Kunst associated with know-how. In which case, in addition to meeting the end-adoption condition, in order for an activity to fall under the genus Kunst it must also meet what we could call the ‘know-how’ condition: it must involve skills or know-how.Footnote 9
Having laid out the conditions of the genus Kunst, Kant goes on to consider two species of Kunst: the Kunst of genius and of handicraft.Footnote 10 Kant's way of introducing the distinction between genius and handicraft is somewhat misleading for his claim that ‘Kunst is also distinguished from handicraft’ may give one the impression that handicraft does not count as Kunst (KU 5: 304). However, insofar as both handicraft and genius meet the end-adoption and know-how condition they fall under the genus Kunst, hence his description of the former as ‘remunerative’ or ‘mechanical’ and the latter as ‘liberal’ or ‘free’ Kunst (KU 5: 304).Footnote 11 Where they differ is with respect to what species of Kunst they belong to and Kant wants to emphasize that handicraft does not fall under the particular species of free Kunst, i.e. of genius, that is of special interest in the third Critique. In handicraft, Kant claims the artist regards her activity as ‘labour’ and is motivated only by the remuneration she will receive, whereas the ‘free’ artist regards her activity as ‘play’ and is motivated by the activity itself:
[Free Kunst] is regarded as if it could turn out purposively (be successful) only as play, i.e., an occupation that is agreeable in itself; [handicraft] is regarded as labour (Arbeit), i.e., an occupation that is disagreeable (burdensome) in itself and is attractive only because of its effect (Wirkung) (e.g., the remuneration (Lohn)) (KU 5: 304).Footnote 12
This, however, is only the first pass at how the activity involved in handicraft differs from what is involved in the Kunst of genius.Footnote 13 Indeed, as Kant develops his analysis of genius in the ensuing sections (§§46–9), further discrepancies become apparent. Taking Kant's summary of genius at the end of §49 as our guide, we find that genius has four features that distinguish it from handicraft.Footnote 14 First, on Kant's view, genius is an original talent. Unlike the activities involved in both science and handicraft where the agent is guided by antecedently given rules and procedures,Footnote 15 artistic production is guided by the inborn talent of the artist: ‘genius … is a talent for producing that for which no determinate rule can be given, not a predisposition of skill for that which can be learned in accordance with some rule’ (KU 5: 307).Footnote 16 And, since the artist's own talent must give the rule to art, Kant maintains, ‘originality must be [genius's] primary characteristic’ (KU 5: 308).Footnote 17
Second, Kant claims genius must involve ‘a relation of the imagination to the understanding’ (KU 5: 317). More specifically, he claims in the production process an artist must decide on what she wants to present through her work of art, or, in Kant's terms, she, through her understanding, must select a ‘determinate concept of the product, as an end’ to pursue (KU 5: 317). And she must, in turn, rely on her imagination to develop a sensible way of presenting that concept, i.e. ‘a representation (even if indeterminate) of the material, i.e., of the intuition, for the presentation of this concept’ (KU 5: 317).Footnote 18 If the artist's activity does not involve this cooperation between the imagination and understanding, Kant claims she will produce ‘nonsense’, rather than a work of art that is ‘exemplary’, i.e. can serve as a model for other artists (KU 5: 308).Footnote 19
To be sure, handicraft too will involve a relationship between the imagination and understanding; however, as Kant makes clear with the third feature of genius, these cognitive capacities are apportioned to one another in a free way in the production of fine art,Footnote 20 a freedom not shared by handicraft.Footnote 21 This emerges in Kant's discussion of ‘aesthetic ideas’.Footnote 22 According to Kant, an aesthetic idea is the imaginative presentation of the concept the artist wants to present through her work. However, unlike in ordinary cognition, where the imagination is constrained to present the logical content of the concept at stake (KU 5: 317), in genius the imagination is free from this constraint and is able to add various ‘aesthetic attributes’, i.e. attributes the artist subjectively connects to the concept (KU 5: 315). These aesthetic attributes coalesce together into an aesthetic idea and it is through this freely created idea that the relevant concept is presented.
But as Kant asserts with the fourth feature of genius, this special proportion holding between the imagination and understanding in genius is the result of a ‘natural endowment’ or a ‘natural gift’, something Kant says is ‘unsought’ and ‘unintentional’ (KU 5: 307, 317–18). The artist cannot follow a step-by-step guide in her productive activities; rather, she must rely, in part, on some unsought natural endowment. To be sure, the artist can control some aspects of the production process, for example, she can pick what colours to restrict herself to or whether to use sonnet form; however, Kant thinks there is some further contribution from genius that the artist cannot seek or control. For these reasons, Kant claims genial talent is something the artist is not fully able to explain to herself:
the author of a product that he owes to his genius does not know himself how the ideas for it come to him, and also does not have it in his power to think up such things at will or according to plan, and to communicate to others precepts that would put them in a position to produce similar products. (KU 5: 308)Footnote 23
In light of this passage, we could say that the inner workings of this natural endowment, of genius, are hidden from the artist.
By way of summary, genius is a species of Kunst that differs from handicraft insofar as it is, first, an original talent. Second, it must involve the artist's understanding setting an end and her imagination presenting that end. Third, it involves the expression of an aesthetic idea, hence, a free cooperation between the imagination and the understanding. And fourth, this proportion is achieved thanks to a natural endowment of the artist, which is, in some sense, hidden from her.Footnote 24
3. Schematism: Basic Features
Kant introduces the notion of schematism in a very brief chapter titled On the Schematism of the Pure Concepts of the Understanding (A137–47/B176–87). This is the first chapter of the Transcendental Doctrine of the Power of Judgment, and Kant's main concern is explaining how it is possible for us to make judgements in which we apply concepts to intuitions. On his view, in order for us to make such a judgement, the concept involved must be ‘homogeneous’ with the intuition it is to be applied to (A137/B176). This, he thinks, poses a particular problem in the case of judgements where we apply the categories to empirical intuition for it seems that the categories, qua pure concepts, are so heterogeneous with respect to intuitions, qua empirical representations, that the former could not be applied to the latter (A137–8/B176–7). Kant, in turn, offers his theory of schematism as a way to explain how these judgements are possible.
However, although transcendental schematism is his main focus, Kant alludes to two other forms of schematism: the schematism of pure sensible concepts, for example, mathematical concepts, and that of ordinary empirical concepts, for example, the concept of a dog (A140–1/B179–80). By my lights, Kant addresses these other forms of schematism because even if the problem of heterogeneity is most extreme in the transcendental case, nevertheless, he regards all concepts as heterogeneous with all intuitions. As he says in the third Critique, understanding, with its concepts, and sensibility, with its intuitions, are ‘two heterogeneous elements’ (KU 5: 401). Indeed, Kant describes the sorts of representations involved in concepts and intuitions in heterogeneous terms: whereas concepts are mediate, universal representations, intuitions are immediate, singular representations (A320/B376–7). In which case, the problem of heterogeneity will arise in any judgement, including pure sensible and empirical ones, in which we apply a concept to an intuition.Footnote 25
Kant's solution to the problem of heterogeneity takes shape in his theory of schematism. He argues that, in order for us to be able to apply a concept to an intuition, there must be a ‘third thing’ (ein Drittes) homogeneous with both the concept and the intuition, and this ‘third thing’ is what Kant labels a schema. As he says in his discussion of transcendental schemata,
there must be some third thing (ein Drittes), which must stand in homogeneity (Gleichartigkeit) with the category on the one hand and the appearance on the other, and makes possible the application of the former to the latter. This mediating representation must be … intellectual on the one hand and sensible on the other. Such a representation is the transcendental schema. (A138/B177)
Although this passage references transcendental schemata, I take it to point towards the dual nature of all schemata: they are mediating representations, possessing both sensible and intellectual aspects.Footnote 26 We can, in turn, reconstruct what these sensible and intellectual features of schemata are on the basis of two sets of claims Kant makes about them.
On the one hand, Kant claims that a schema is a sensible ‘presentation’ (Darstellung) of a concept, or, as he puts it, a representation of a concept ‘made sensible’ (Versinnlichung) (KU 5: 351).Footnote 27 More specifically, he describes a schematic representation as a ‘monogram of pure a priori imagination’ (A142/B181). And elsewhere he defines a monogram as an ‘outline’ (Umriß), ‘sketch’ (Zeichnung) or ‘silhouette’ (Shattenbild) of an object (A833/B862 and A570/B598).Footnote 28 Given that outlines, sketches and silhouettes represent objects as a whole, I take a monogram to be a holistic representation of a concept made sensible, i.e. a representation of how the various marks of that concept manifest in a unified sensible way. In which case, we could think of the sensible aspect of a schema as involving a gestalt, i.e. a sensible, holistic presentation of a concept.
Consider, for example, the schema for a dog. While the concept ‘dog’ indicates that dogs have various properties, for example, being furry, four-legged, an animal, etc., the schema represents how those various properties appear together as a whole in perception. Similarly, the schema for a pure sensible concept like ‘triangle’ will be a gestalt that reflects how the various properties of a triangle, for example, having three sides, three angles, etc., manifest in a single figure. Finally, with respect to transcendental schemata, Kant describes them as ‘time-determinations’ and, on my interpretation, this means they represent what we could call temporal gestalts, i.e. temporal patterns that reflect the category at stake (A142/B181).Footnote 29 For example, the schema for the category of cause would be the temporal pattern: if A at time1, then B at time2 (A144/B183). As we see in each case, then, a schema is a sensible gestalt that represents how the concept with its various marks will manifest in a spatial or temporal whole.
On the other hand, Kant does not think a schema is entirely sensible; rather, he maintains a schema must have intellectual features as well if it is to be able to mediate between concepts and intuitions in judgement. This brings us to the second set of claims Kant makes about the nature of a schema: he describes it as a ‘rule’ or ‘general procedure’ for determining ‘our intuition in accordance with a general concept’ (A140–1/B180). A schema, then, is something like a pattern that we can follow for synthesizing an intuition in such a way that it represents a particular concept. My schema for the concept ‘dog’, for example, guides me in synthesizing intuitions of poodles, German shepherds and chihuahuas in accordance with the concept ‘dog’, just as my schema for triangles guides me in synthesizing intuitions of isosceles, equilateral and right triangles in accordance with the concept ‘triangle’. Meanwhile, Kant claims, transcendental schemata enable us to synthesize the a priori manifold of the pure intuition of time in accordance with the categories (A138/B177).
Now, in order for a schema to be able to serve as a rule or indicate a general procedure for us to follow in synthesizing intuition, the gestalt represented by the schema must be suitably generic, i.e. it must reflect a sensible pattern that is flexible or, perhaps, vague enough to apply to different intuitions. For example, the schema of a dog cannot just represent my pet poodle for, to use Kant's word, the ‘image’ of my pet poodle is not generic enough to apply to visually dissimilar dogs, like chihuahuas. As Kant makes this point in his discussion of triangles:
No image of a triangle would ever be adequate to the concept of it. For it would not attain the generality of the concept, which makes this valid for all triangles, right or acute, etc., but would always be limited to one part of this sphere. (A141/B180)
The schema of a triangle, by contrast, would have the right generality to apply to different types of triangles. So too do transcendental schemata need to be generic: they, as Kant suggests, must be able to apply to any representation: ‘[they] concern the determination of the inner sense in general, in accordance with conditions of its form (time) in regard to all representations’ (A142/B181, my emphasis).
Ultimately, then, a schema, on Kant's account, is a generic gestalt, i.e. a sensible, holistic presentation of a concept that serves as a rule for us to follow when synthesizing intuition in accordance with that concept. However, in addition to discussing the nature of schemata, Kant also discusses the activity through which schemata are produced, an activity I shall refer to as ‘schematism’. Unfortunately, Kant does not say much about this activity. He does attribute this activity to the productive imagination (A142/B181).Footnote 30 And he asserts the claim we have been puzzling over, namely, that it is a form of hidden Kunst. This brings us back to our main question: by calling schematism hidden Kunst does Kant simply mean to say it is something too obscure to explain? Or, does he intend for us to take him at his word, and treat schematism literally as Kunst?
4. Schematism and Agency
An initial worry may arise at this point: in his discussion of Kunst in the third Critique, Kant is clearly thinking of it as an activity performed by a particular agent, for example, a cobbler or painter; however, who, if anyone, could be the agent of schematism? Is there any sense in which I schematize? Or is it rather something that just happens within me?
Though my full response to these questions will only take shape in the ensuing discussion, I take it to be the case that, for Kant, we are, indeed, the agents of schematism; however, we are agents in a somewhat attenuated sense. On the one hand, the activity of schematism is not like other activities we are aware of or that we control. The cobbler, for example, is the agent of his cobbling in a robust sense: he is aware of working with the leather, he can directly manipulate it, etc. Schematism, by contrast, is something hidden, presumably falling under the category of imaginative activities that are ‘indispensable’, but ‘of which we are seldom ever conscious’ (A78/B103). So we do not appear to be the agent of schematism in any robust sense.
On the other hand, Kant does not reserve agential language for the activities we are aware of or directly control; he also uses it when describing the faculties of imagination and understanding. To pick a prominent example, synthesis, which both the understanding and imagination engage in, is defined by Kant as ‘the action of putting different representations together with each other’ (A77/B103, my emphasis). Moreover, he describes the understanding and imagination as having aims: the understanding ‘is always busy poring through appearances with the aim (in der Absicht) of finding some sort of rule in them’, and the imagination has ‘as its aim (Absicht) … the necessary unity in [the synthesis of the manifold of appearances]’ (A123).Footnote 31 But who is the agent responsible for acting and aiming in these ways?
While Kant's language sometimes invites us to regard the faculties themselves, the understanding or the imagination, as the agents in question, this leads to a rather unsatisfactory homuncular view of the mind. A more promising alternative is to regard the various faculties as capacities (Vermögen) that belong to us and to regard their activities as exercises of our capacities. In which case, we are the agent of the activities of the imagination and understanding; their ends are our ends. This, in fact, appears to be the view that Kant endorses at the end of the B Deduction: in order to perceive a house, he claims, ‘I make the empirical intuition of a house into a perception through apprehension of its manifold … and I as it were draw its shape’, so too when I perceive water freezing, ‘I apprehend two states … I ground the appearance as inner intuition, I represent necessary synthetic unity of the manifold (B162–3, my emphasis). Here we find Kant ascribing various actions, which he had previously attributed to either the imagination or the understanding, to us as their agent. To be sure, we are not necessarily aware of or in control of these activities, in which case our agency in these cases is more attenuated; however, acknowledging that Kant makes room for this weaker sense of agency both does justice to Kant's agential language, while avoiding the homuncular view of the mind.
Applying this weaker sense of agency to schematism, we find that, although Kant will describe the imagination as the faculty that does the schematizing, his considered view should be that I, in virtue of my imaginative capacities, engage in schematism. With this preliminary hurdle removed, we should now pursue the parallels between schematism and Kunst more directly.
5. Schematism as a Species of Kunst in General
Let us consider first whether schematism falls under the genus of Kunst. If so, it must meet the two conditions: it must involve practical abilities and know-how (the know-how condition) and it must be an activity that results from the agent adopting an end (the end-adoption condition).Footnote 32
a. The Know-How Condition
As I noted above, in the third Critique, Kant suggests that a schema is a representation of a concept ‘made sensible’ (KU 5: 351). However, in order to sensibly present a concept, it is clear the imagination cannot rely on theoretical knowledge alone. Indeed, Kant introduces his doctrine of schematism precisely because he thinks our theoretical grasp of something through the understanding does not guarantee any practical competence with it, i.e. it does not give us a sense of how that thing ought to manifest itself in experience.Footnote 33 To this end, Kant offers the example of a physician who has theoretical knowledge about a disease, but cannot tell whether a particular patient actually has the disease (A134/B173). Indeed, there seems to be a transcendental analogue in the B Deduction, where Kant argues that possessing the categories, qua ‘purely intellectual’ ‘forms of thought’ does not yet guarantee their applicability to intuition (B150).
In order to make a concept sensible, then, the imagination must rely on resources outside of theoretical knowledge. But what is the alternative? Taking our cue from §43 of the third Critique, we are led to suspect that the imagination's ability to make a concept sensible is just that, an ability (Können): it involves skills that outstrip our theoretical knowledge (Wissen). And, indeed, when we consider what the imagination must do in order to make a concept sensible, we find that it relies on several skills. It must be able to project and anticipate the various marks of the concept in sensible, holistic terms and, at least in the empirical case, to adjust and readjust our schematic representation of a concept on the basis of further sensible experience or increased knowledge. These projections, anticipations and adjustments are the skills that contribute to the know-how of the imagination in its schematizing activities. In which case, schematism does meet the know-how condition of Kunst.
b. The End-Adoption Condition
Turning to the end-adoption condition, prima facie, schematism seems to be very different from the sort of ‘artistic’ activities that result from more explicit, self-conscious end-adoption, for example, baking a cake. As noted above, schematism does not appear to be something we are aware of at all, let alone something we engage in because of an end we have consciously adopted.Footnote 34
Despite these appearances, a closer look at schematism reveals that it can meet the end-adoption condition after all. To begin, it seems plausible that we develop at least some empirical schemata as a result of ends, either theoretical or practical, we have chosen. We often set ends for ourselves and engage in various activities in our pursuit of those ends. If, for example, I decide I want to learn to distinguish different herbs, I will engage in various activities, like tasting herbs, cooking with herbs, etc., which help me bring that end about. However, at least on a Kantian picture, I will also engage in various mental activities that aid me in pursuit of this end, one of which will presumably be schematism. My imagination will develop schemata for basil, chervil, rosemary, etc. and these schemata will put me in the position to recognize and differentiate these herbs.
To be sure, this does not mean that I choose to schematize in any robust sense, as I might choose to read the Joy of Cooking. But the ends-adoption condition does not require us to choose the activity in this robust sense; as long as the activity is entailed by the end we have chosen, then it will meet this condition. Indeed, even in paradigmatically practical examples, for example, trying to hit a baseball, we do not robustly choose every activity that aids us in pursuit of our ends. The batter often does not deliberately choose to raise his elbow, turn his hips, or follow through; indeed, if he did deliberately choose these activities at each moment, he would most likely never hit the ball. Nevertheless, these are activities that result from ends-adoption, just as, I am suggesting, schematism does.
Yet, this response only goes so far: although it shows that some of our schematizing activity can meet the end-adoption condition, this by no means shows that all empirical, let alone transcendental, schematizing activity meets this condition. After all, transcendental schematism happens a priori. And much, if not the majority, of our empirical schematizing results from simply ‘bumping up’ against things in the world, and this, it would seem, is not entirely up to us. So what sense could be made of talk of adoption of ends in these cases?
In order to answer this question, we need first to recognize that, for Kant, not all of the ends we adopt are up to us. Most prominently happiness, Kant argues, is not an end that is up to us; instead, as he puts it in the Groundwork, it is an end ‘that can be presupposed surely and a priori in the case of every human being, because it belongs to his essence’ (G 4: 415–16). Nevertheless, in the First Introduction to the third Critique he argues that there are technical imperatives of Kunst, albeit of a special kind, which arise from this necessary end.Footnote 35 This means that, for Kant, there are at least two kinds of imperatives of Kunst: imperatives relating to ends that are up to us and imperatives relating to necessary ends. This, in turn, opens up the possibility that not all Kunst is the result of an arbitrarily chosen end; some Kunst can be the result of ends we must adopt, ends necessitated by the kinds of beings we are.
This raises the question: is schematism guided by any necessary end? I think the answer is yes. For, as I will now show, all of our schematizing activities do involve the adoption of what I shall call the ‘constitutive end’ of the productive imagination.Footnote 36 By a constitutive end, I have in mind an end we must adopt in order to be able to engage in the activity at all. For example, engaging in the activity of playing Scrabble to win involves the constitutive end of scoring more points than your opponents. I take Kant to commit himself to the productive imagination having a constitutive end insofar as he offers a functional account of this capacity, i.e. insofar as he maintains that the productive imagination has a function that is teleologically aimed at a particular end. This end is what I take to be a constitutive end we must adopt in order to exercise the productive imagination at all. In which case, all exercises of the productive imagination, including schematism, must adopt its constitutive end.
Evidence for this functional account of the productive imagination can be found in Kant's discussion of the ‘transcendental function’ of the productive imagination in the A Deduction. Here, Kant argues that the transcendental function of the imagination is associated with the aim of bringing about ‘necessary unity in the synthesis of appearances’:
insofar as [the productive imagination's] aim (Absicht) in regard to the manifold of appearances is nothing further than the necessary unity in their synthesis, this can be called the transcendental function of the imagination. (A123, my emphasis)
The ‘necessary unity’ Kant has in mind is the unity that is involved in experience, so he thinks that the transcendental function of the imagination plays a crucial role in making experience possible:
it is only by means of (vermittelst dieser) this transcendental function of the imagination that even the affinity of appearances, and with it the association and through the latter finally reproduction in accordance with laws, and consequently experience itself, become possible; for without them no concepts of objects at all would converge (zusammenfließen) into an experience (eine Erfahrung). (A123)
What I want to emphasize is Kant's rather striking claim that the imagination enables experience by getting our concepts to ‘converge into an experience’. This, I believe, gives us an important insight into the function of the productive imagination: it has the aim of bringing about experience by getting our concepts to ‘converge into an experience’. To put the point in a different way, the productive imagination is functionally aimed at bringing our concepts to bear on what we intuit.
Although this is the ‘transcendental function’ of the imagination, there is reason to think the same aim underwrites both transcendental and empirical schematism. For, in the case of transcendental schematism, the imagination aims at making experience in general possible, i.e. making it possible for concepts in general to converge on intuition in general. And it guarantees this possibility by bringing the categories to bear on the temporal manifold of inner sense, a precondition of experience at all. Meanwhile, in pure sensible and empirical schematism, the imagination aims at making particular experiences possible, for example, enabling the concepts ‘triangle’ or ‘dog’ to converge on a particular intuition. Schematism, in whatever form, then aims at getting concepts to converge into experience, hence, involves adopting the constitutive end of the productive imagination.
In the end, then, all schematism involves some form of end-adoption: insofar as we are engaged in some activity, say becoming a better home-cook or exercising our productive imagination, we are thereby committed to the adoption of certain ends. Furthermore, if we couple this analysis of end-adoption with my earlier argument about why schematism meets the know-how condition, then we have reason to think schematism is an activity that falls under the genus Kunst. This is, indeed, a happy result, as it gives us at least one helpful way of cashing out what the concealed Kunst of schematism involves.
6. Schematism and the Kunst of Genius
We now need to consider whether schematism also falls under one of the species of Kunst Kant discusses in the third Critique: does it at all resemble handicraft or genius? As I argue below, although there are some disanalogies between schematism and genius, by paying attention to often overlooked features of Kant's account of genius, we will find that schematism is, in fact, more continuous with genius than with handicraft.
a. Schematism and Genius: Apparent Contrasts
The activities involved in genius and schematism come apart most sharply with regard to the third feature of genius, namely, that it involves the expression of aesthetic ideas and a free proportion between the imagination and understanding. This emerges in §49, where Kant claims,
in the use of the imagination for cognition, the imagination is under the constraint (Zwange) of the understanding and is subject to the limitation of being adequate to its concepts; in an aesthetic respect, however, the imagination is free to provide, beyond that concord with the concept, unsought extensive undeveloped material for the understanding, of which the latter took no regard in its concept. (KU 5: 316–17)
Here, Kant contrasts two ways in which the imagination can present a concept. In the first case, the imagination is constrained by the understanding, insofar as it has to offer a ‘logical presentation’ of the concept that reflects its ‘logical attributes’ (KU 5: 315). This type of ‘direct’ presentation of a concept is what Kant in §59 identifies with a schema (KU 5: 352). By contrast, in the second aesthetic case, the imagination is free from this constraint and creatively adds an aesthetic idea and aesthetic attributes to that concept. This results in an ‘indirect’ or ‘symbolic’ presentation of a concept (KU 5: 352). In which case, the relationship holding between the imagination and understanding in schematism seems to be precisely what Kant wants to contrast with the free relation between these two capacities in genius's expression of aesthetic ideas.Footnote 37
b. Schematism and Genius: Deeper Parallels
However, even if we were to concede that schematism and genius come apart with regard to the third feature of genius, this does not yet drive a wedge between schematism and the other three features of genius. In the first place, it is clear that insofar as both schematism and genius involve the imagination presenting a concept offered to it by the understanding, it will involve the second feature of genius. This, however, does not seem to be distinctive since it seems to be a feature shared by handicraft as well.
What aligns schematism with genius more decidedly is the way in which it involves the first and fourth features of genius: originality and being the result of a natural endowment. To appreciate this, however, we must pay careful attention to how exactly Kant is conceiving of originality and natural endowments. Turning, first, to his discussion of genius as an original talent, while it may be tempting to think of artistic production as original insofar as it is free from all constraint by rules and concepts, something like creation ex nihilo, this does not reflect Kant's view of originality. For Kant, the originality of genius necessarily involves constraint. This, in part, follows from the fact that genius counts as Kunst, something Kant thinks must involve normative constraint: ‘For every Kunst presupposes rules which first lay the foundation by means of which a product that is to be called artistic is first represented as possible’ (KU 5: 307, my emphasis).
Furthermore, Kant thinks that being constrained by formal, mechanical rules is also an ‘essential condition’ of genius (KU 5: 310). Kant claims that, while an artist is free to come up with the aesthetic idea she wants to execute, the way in which she executes this must be constrained by mechanical, formal rules. In Kant's words,
there is no beautiful Kunst in which something mechanical, which can be grasped and followed according to rules, and thus something academically correct, does not constitute the essential condition of the Kunst … Genius can only provide rich material (Stoff) for products of Kunst; its elaboration (Verarbeitung) and form require a talent that has been academically trained. (KU 5: 310)
If, for example, a poet wants to write a sonnet, she is constrained by the formal rules for sonnets, rules that do not originate in her, but rules she must nevertheless follow in order to produce a sonnet. To be sure, this feature of genius does not account for its originality (the other ‘essential condition’); nevertheless, it does reveal that, for Kant, an activity can still be original even if it is constrained by mechanical rules.
But even if we turn our attention to the original features of genius, displayed most vividly in the expression of an aesthetic idea through a work of art, we find that here too genius is constrained. In fact, what we find is that an artist's activities are original because they are governed by norms of a particular sort, namely, self-given norms. This contrasts genius with handicraft: whereas in the Kunst of handicraft, one is guided by rules extrinsic to her, in the Kunst of genius, ‘nature in the subject [i.e. in the artist] must give the rule to art’ (KU 5: 307).
We can distinguish two sorts of self-given norms that guide artistic production on Kant's view. In the first place, Kant suggests there are self-given norms that govern the artist's production of an aesthetic idea. Insofar as the aesthetic idea must be a presentation of the concept at stake, it must, in some sense, ‘belong to’ that concept, i.e. it cannot be so divorced from the concept that it would no longer count as its presentation (KU 5: 315). However, the artist's imaginative process for developing such an aesthetic idea cannot be guided by an external standard: insofar as the process is original, neither the logical content of the concept nor some other artist's rendering of it can guide her. Instead, Kant suggests, the artist is guided by an internal standard, her own sense for what aesthetic idea will do justice to the concept: as Kant puts it, the artist has ‘no other standard than the feeling of unity in the presentation’ (KU 5: 319). In the second place, when we consider the artist's execution of an aesthetic idea in a particular medium, say, on a canvas or on the page, her creation and revision process must be guided by internal standards, i.e. her own sense of what counts as a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ way of presenting that idea concretely.Footnote 38 If she, instead, emulates external standards, she is once again failing to be original. In the end, then, the artist's activities are original insofar as she is guided not by norms imposed on her ‘from without’, but by norms she develops internally and imposes upon herself.
If we now consider whether schematism is original in this sense, as involving self-given norms, several important similarities come to the fore. In both genius and schematism, the way in which (1) the imagination presents a concept (through an aesthetic idea or a schema) and (2) the ‘material’ (the artist's medium or the manifold of intuition) is manipulated must be guided by self-given norms.Footnote 39 On the first count, as we have already seen, in order for the imagination to develop a schema in the first place it must rely on know-how. These skills, however, appear to be norm-guided: there are right and wrong ways to anticipate, project and adjust expectations for how a concept manifests in sensible terms. My schema of chervil, for example, should not accommodate every green herb I come across. But these norms are not external rules that we somehow internalize; they are norms that are self-given. To be sure, in the empirical case, the imagination develops schemata as a result of ‘bumping against’ the world; however, the world does not offer us step-by-step recipes for how to imaginatively develop a schema. This is a skill our imaginations must develop internally. Even more so in the transcendental case, since transcendental schematism is a condition of having any experience at all, the norms that guide it cannot be given from the outside, but must rather have an internal source. In both cases, then, the production of a schema is guided, at least in part, by norms I, through my imagination, develop for right and wrong ways to imaginatively project, anticipate and adjust. Secondly, when we synthesize an intuition in accordance with a schema, this activity too involves self-given norms: given that a schema is a representation our imaginations develop internally that can serve as a rule or procedure for us to follow in synthesizing intuition, when we actually perform this synthesis, our activity will be guided by a self-given norm. Ultimately, insofar as self-given norms guide our schematizing activities in these ways, it mirrors the originality involved in genius.
We are now in the position to consider the final way in which schematism parallels genius: it shares in the fourth feature of genius, namely, it is a natural endowment. This parallel is particularly important because it promises to shed light on what has seemed like obscurity to so many, namely, Kant's claim that schematism is a hidden Kunst. Recall that, according to Kant, the free use of the imagination and understanding in genius is something that is brought about through a natural endowment of the artist (KU 5: 318). And, since this natural gift is just that, a gift, something given to her and not intentionally brought about, the artist cannot fully describe, explain or even ‘know’ how exactly the production process takes place (KU 5: 308). It is in this sense that the inner workings of the artistic process are hidden from the artist.
What I would like to suggest is that by calling schematism a hidden Kunst Kant is alerting us to the fact that it, like genius, is a natural endowment we cannot fully understand. Schematism, in whatever form, involves a process that we are not fully conscious of, let alone have much insight into. Although I might, for example, be able to explain to someone how to play a C Major scale on the piano, I cannot explain to someone how to make her imagination schematize a concept. Unlike many skills that we can articulate to ourselves, our ability to schematize is, then, more like a ‘natural endowment’ or a ‘gift’. And, it is in this sense, that schematism is a hidden Kunst.
In general, then, although there are some dissimilarities between schematism and genius, we have more reason to align it with this aesthetic form of Kunst than with the Kunst of handicraft. Indeed, when we take a closer look at Kant's conception of constrained originality and his discussion of natural endowments, we gain insight not only into the artistic aspects of schematism, but into its more mysterious aspects as well.
7. Conclusion
When Kant calls schematism hidden Kunst, he is not just being obscure. To the contrary, a literal reading of this claim reveals that not only does schematism fall under the genus Kunst, but also it in many, though not in all, regards falls under the species of Kunst associated with genius. Indeed, we realize that schematism not only involves know-how and ends-adoption, but also that it, like genius, involves constrained originality and a hidden natural endowment. By following out the clue from Kant's choice of terms, then, we can acquire considerable insight into the schematism process.
This, in turn, points towards yet another way in which the ‘aesthetic interpretation’ of schematism is productive for our understanding of it. As commentators like Schaper and Bell have already shown, reading Kant's theory of schematism in light of the third Critique can elucidate this notoriously difficult portion of the first Critique. While they focus primarily on the connection between schematism and Kant's discussion of judgement in the third Critique, in this article I have shown we should also direct our attention to the connection between schematism and the notion of Kunst so prominent in this latter text. However, in addition to augmenting the aesthetic interpretation of schematism, these considerations promise to contribute to the growing body of literature that explores the value of the aesthetic for Kant's philosophy more generally. Whether we consider earlier work by Rudolph Makkreel and Hannah Ginsborg, or more recent work by Fiona Hughes, Henry Allison, Béatrice Longuenesse, among others, there is mounting evidence that suggests we ought to read the third Critique not just as an analysis of aesthetic experience per se, but as an invaluable resource for understanding Kant's theoretical philosophy.Footnote 40 As Rebecca Kukla (Reference Kukla2006: 1) nicely summarizes this conviction,
we cannot properly understand Kant's critical epistemological program or his account of empirical cognition without also understanding his account of aesthetic judgment, imagination, and sensibility.
Our present discussion is intended as but one moment of this larger movement, the movement that seeks to elucidate the glimmer of insight Kant had in the Schematism: the art of everyday experience.Footnote 41
