Given the relatively recent nature of Deleuzian scholarship, and despite its impressive, almost exponential growth, we still lack a unified understanding of the significance of Deleuze's thought. We still don't quite know what the name ‘Deleuze’ stands for, or the place we ought to give it in the history of thought. His is a thought that is in the process of being canonised, yet there seems to be little agreement as to what exactly is entering the canon. Of Deleuze, we could say what he himself said of Spinoza, to whom he devoted two books and many lecture courses: ‘We have not yet begun to understand Spinoza, and I myself no more than others.’ In a way, the recent explosion of publications on Deleuze bears witness to this confusion, and this lack of agreement. At the same time, and almost paradoxically, Deleuze's thought seems to be facing a twofold danger. First, to the extent that its conceptuality underwent a series of (often abrupt) changes – the necessity of which Deleuze rarely felt the need or the desire to justify or clarify – we can easily have the impression of a thought that lacks coherence and unity. Second – and this only aggravates the first danger – because Deleuze writes about science, cinema, literature, the visual arts, economics, ethics and politics, as well as the history of philosophy, his thought runs the risk of being fragmented and distributed across those various fields, chopped into bits as it were.