1. Deleuze (1994), 127. Note that various English editions of Deleuze and Guattari are used throughout this volume by different contributors. However, the entries in the Bibliography include the original date of publication in French wherever possible. All quoted emphatic italics in my paper are original. Unless otherwise noted, all translations of Greek and Latin are my own.

2. Deleuze and Guattari (1983), 321f.

3. Guattari (2006), 59.

4. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 27. This notion was largely shaped by Guattari's break with Lacan's premise that the unconscious is semiotically structured in language. It is evident in a number of his working papers and letters to Deleuze. See esp. in Guattari (2006): ‘Of the Third Articulation’, 30–7; ‘Desire and the Sign’, 43–52; and the papers in Section IV (‘Pragmatic Linguistics’), 201–79.

5. Dosse (2010), 88–90.

6. Dosse (2010), 90.

7. Deleuze (1972), original Proust et les signes (1964).

8. Dosse (2010), 90–6.

9. I owe this observation to Vered Lev Kenaan. For the legacy of a politicized antiquity in postwar French thought and ideology, with an especially large role played by Greek tragedy, see Leonard (2005).

10. Dosse (2010), 100–6, 116, which include a number of anecdotes from former students about Deleuze teaching the classics.

11. Dosse (2010), 116f., 135, 344–61.

12. Dosse (2010), 21–6.

13. Dosse (2010), 26–9.

14. Dosse (2010), 30–6, 76–9.

15. Dosse (2010), 36–9.

16. Dosse (2010), 183–5, originally L'Anti-Œdipe (1972); for a fuller history of the rupture, see 183–240.

17. Deleuze and Guattari (1983), 84, 263, and 212, the last of which features Detienne (1973).

18. Guattari (2006), 28. We see here already an early formulation for the later sociohistorical chapters of Deleuze and Guattari (1987), esp. Chapter 9 ‘1933: Micropolitics and Segmentarity’, 208–31; Chapter 12 ‘1227: Treatise on Nomadology—The War Machine’, 351–423; and Chapter 13 ‘7000 B.C.: Apparatus of Capture’, 424–73, which is even more apparent in his later diary entry following the publication of Anti-Oedipus (dated to March 13, 1972). In his diary entry Guattari (2006), 361–4, describes ancient militaristic technological development and the ‘military machine’ (perhaps a precursor to Deleuze and Guattari's ‘war machine’), in which the Persian Wars and the role of hoplite warfare in shaping the development of Ancient Greek democracy are discussed.

19. Guattari (2006), 59. I briefly discuss the passage from Heraclitus (D65b Laks and Most) later in this introduction. It is extensively analyzed as part of Richard Ellis’ study in this volume on the relations of thought between Heraclitus, Henri Bergson, and Deleuze.

20. Khellaf (2018), 174 n.18: ‘Borrowed from Antonin Artaud and first appearing in Deleuze (1990[b]) 86–93 to describe the open-surface body of the schizophrenic, it is developed in [Deleuze and Guattari (1983), 19] to refer to any void-space on which desires traverse and become subsumed by its anti-production whenever the subject reconstitutes itself.’ The concept is significantly expanded in Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 149–66. Excellent discussions of the ‘body without organs’ and its relation to Freud's death drive, as well as to Deleuze's anti-Cartesian, pro-Spinozan (matter over mind) philosophy, can be found in Holland (1999), 26–33, and Braidotti (1991), 66–75.

21. Guattari (2006), 136f. Guattari's observation offers a noteworthy anticipation of Nancy Worman's paper in this volume, both in terms of its use of Greek tragic violence to contextualize the ‘body without organs’ and its privileging of the suffering of the male protagonist.

22. Guattari (2006), 87. The reference is made again in another correspondence laying out models for a ‘plane of consistency’ (or plane of immanence) where transitory desires migrate, travel, and collide within the processes of deterritorialization: ‘The Odysseus with no Ithaca of historical deterritorialization’ (220).

23. Deleuze (1994), original Différence et répétition (1968), and (1990b), original Logique du sens (1969).

24. See esp. Deleuze (1994), 30–3, 59–64, 66–8, 126–8, 134, 140–50, which include discussions of Plato's Phaedrus, Statesman, Sophist, Meno, Theaetetus, Republic, Phaedo, Timaeus, Philebus, and Parmenides, as well as Aristotle's Metaphysics, Prior Analytics, Posterior Analytics, and Topics.

25. Deleuze (1994), 59: ‘It is like an animal in the process of being tamed, whose final resistant movements bear witness better than they would in a state of freedom to a nature soon to be lost: the Heraclitan world still growls in Platonism.’ Note too that Empedocles, Epicurus, and Lucretius are also discussed in this work.

26. Deleuze (1983a), 23–5, original Nietzsche et la philosophie (1962). Especially important to Deleuze is Heraclitus’ discovery of being through phenomenological acts of becoming (23f.): ‘Heraclitus denied the duality of worlds, “he denied being itself”. Moreover he made an affirmation of becoming…Heraclitus had taken a deep look, he had seen no chastisement of multiplicity, no expiation of becoming, no culpability of existence. He saw no negativity in becoming, he saw precisely the opposite: the double affirmation of becoming and of the being of becoming—in short the justification of being.’

27. For example, see Deleuze (1994), 142.

28. Largely the result of Nietzsche's profound influence on Deleuze, Dionysus and Apollo maintain a symbolic presence throughout Deleuze (1994), 5–11, 32, 54, 146, 214, 258–65, 275–7, 280.

29. Deleuze (1990b), 266–79. A rich discussion of this passage and Deleuze's lifelong engagement with Epicureanism is given by Holmes (2012). The discussion is extended in Johnson (2017).

30. Deleuze and Guattari (1983), 321f. However, note that the term is used repeatedly throughout this work. See especially 32–5, 101–6, 139f., as well as the lengthy sections at 192–271 and 273–382.

31. Upon its publication, Châtelet (1972) envisioned the work as though it heralded the birth of a new Lucretius: ‘Reading Anti-Oedipus, we begin to understand—when Lucretius put into verse those marshalings of atoms, he was not questioning whether or not he was in obeisance to the piety of his times, religious or scientific. He was enlisting for combat and entering into the fray; he was building up his reserves. Anti-Oedipus is of the same nature—the breach has been made. The second Rome is already at death's doors. Our move’ (translation my own).

32. Holland (1999), 33.

33. Deleuze and Guattari (1983), 139–271. An excellent explication of this history of ‘social production’ is given in both Holland (1985–86), esp. 294–6, and (1999), 69–89.

34. Deleuze and Guattari (1983), 222–71, esp. 262–71. See also Holland (1999), 78–87, esp. 82–7.

35. Deleuze and Guattari (1983), 340–82, discussed by Holland (1999), 99–106.

36. The famous expression derives from the preface to the first edition (1824) of Leopold von Ranke's Histories of the Romanic and German Peoples from 1494 to 1514, in Ranke (1885), vii.

37. Consider, for example, the seminal works of Mikhail Rostovtzeff (1926), Ronald Syme (1939), Victor Tcherikover (1959), and Kenneth Dover (1978), which have all been characterized as expressions of the particular sociohistorical periods and locations that produced them.

38. I owe this extremely astute observation to the anonymous referees.

39. In many ways, this is the overarching contribution that one finds in the writings of these two thinkers, a quality that is already noted in the early review of Anti-Oedipus by Châtelet (1972). Consider, for example, their contention in Deleuze and Guattari (1983), 116, that desire is fundamentally productive, even revolutionary in its essence, and that the resulting threat that it poses to various social entities is what leads to its subsequent repression. See also 25–30.

40. Guattari (2006), 421. Ben Radcliffe's essay on Hesiodic domesticity and the figure of the anosteos in this volume offers a far more detailed analysis of this question of territoriality in Deleuze and Guattari. A further discussion of these twin concepts can be found at Deleuze and Parnet (2007), 134–7.

41. A detailed, yet extremely concise explanation of this aim is given at the outset of Holland (1999), x–xi, 2f.

42. Guattari (1995), 61: ‘Schizoanalysis, rather than moving in the direction of reductionist modelisations which simplify the complex, will work towards its complexification, its processual enrichment, towards the consistency of its virtual lines of bifurcation and differentiation, in short towards its ontological heterogeneity.’

43. Guattari (2009), 156.

44. For an example of rational enlightenment thinking exerting its influence on classical philology, see Bentley (1711), 147 s.v. Notae ad Carm. Lib. III. 27. v.15: nobis & ratio & res ipsa centum codicibus potiores sunt (‘In my opinion, both reason and the textual matter itself have more weight than a hundred manuscripts’). For more romanticized ideals, see the comments of Housman (1926), vi, on editing the text of Lucan: ‘The scholiasts were not well equipped in the matter of brains for understanding him, but they possessed another organ: they understood him with the marrow of their bones, which was the same stuff as his.’ Other romantic ideals can be found in his view that ‘one is born a textual critic, one does not become one’ (criticus nascitur, non fit, Housman [1921], 69).

45. Even Housman (1921), 80, recognized this crux: ‘We are thus working in a circle, that is a fact which there is no denying; but, as Lachmann says, the task of the critic is just this, to tread that circle deftly and warily; and that is precisely what elevates the critic's business above mere mechanical labour.’

46. Miller (2002) and (2003b) offer useful arguments on why reading theory into classics is not fraught with anywhere near the iconoclasm as was once claimed, and how it can be viewed as a more hermeneutically rigorous and open process.

47. Studies of these topics include, but are certainly not limited to, Bradley (2010), Stephens and Vasunia (2010), Krebs (2011), Vasunia (2013), and Zuckerberg (2018).

48. Such a statement should, theoretically, go without saying. However, I feel an especial need to underscore my viewpoint here in light of the observations and contentions with which I conclude this section.

49. For feminist (including postcolonial feminist, queer feminist, and posthuman feminist) critiques of Deleuze and Guattari, see especially Irigaray (1985), 141; Jardine (1985), 208–23; Spivak (1988), 273–5, 279, 289, 291; Sedgwick (1990), 133; and Braidotti (1991), 116–23, who, contrary to Spivak, views Deleuze and Foucault as offering feminist philosophy far more promising possibilities than Derrida does, 123–32 (Worman discusses many of these in her paper). Nevertheless, in spite of the numerous criticisms (those of Braidotti and Jardine being by far the most analytically rigorous, philosophically contextualized, and hermeneutically nuanced), more than a few feminist philosophers in the last few decades have situated their work in a more positive dialogue with the formulations of Deleuze and Guattari. They include Braidotti, Grosz, and Lorraine (1999). Often, these scholars have found a strong affinity between the writings of Irigaray and Deleuze and Guattari, even though, as Jardine points out in the passage mentioned, Irigaray finds her own problematic correlation between Deleuze and Guattari's concepts of ‘becoming-woman’ and ‘body without organs’ as ‘the evacuation of woman's desire in woman's body’, the privileged relation to language possessed by men ‘to turn the “organless body” into a “cause” of sexual pleasure’ (Irigaray [1985], 141). Braidotti (1991), 120f., Grosz (1994a), 187–91, and (1994b), 161–3, likewise highlight this important critique of Deleuze and Guattari. Grosz (2005), 171–83, however, emphasizes the differences between the philosophies of Irigaray and those of Deleuze and Guattari.

50. Dosse (2010), 30–6, 79–87, 170–9.

51. Dosse (2010), 40–75.

52. Dosse (2010), 344–61.

53. Guattari (2009), 171: ‘Everywhere the totalitarian machine is in search of proper structures, which is to say, structures capable of adapting desire to the profit economy. We must abandon, once and for all, the quick and easy formula: “Fascism will not make it again.” Fascism has already “made it”, and it continues to “make it”…Fascism seems to come from the outside, but it finds its energy right at the heart of everyone's desire.’

54. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 9f.

55. Our ancient sources offer a highly nomadic view of the life of ‘Homer’. These include Hymn. Hom. Ap. 171–5, Certamen 2, Pseudo-Herodotus 1–4, Pseudo-Plutarch 1.2–4 and 2.2, and the Suda. Here, Proclus is helpful: ‘And for this reason some have proclaimed him a native of Colophon, others a native of Chios, still others a native of Smyrna, others besides a native of Ios, and some still a native of Cyme, and so generally speaking every city lays claim to the man. It therefore seems reasonable that he should be called a citizen of the world’ (Chrestomathy 1.2). A comprehensive study of this biographical tradition can be found in Graziosi (2002).

56. Lord (1960), 100. The discussion continues in Nagy (2004), 3–39, who discusses this passage from Lord (see 26). West (2011), 384f., however, notes that Homeric multiplicity was already being hypothesized as early as Wolf (1795). It should be noted that the study of the Homeric question, its receptions and translations, and the use of Deleuzian theory as an interlocutor, has also been suggested by both George J. Varsos and Yukai Li (in submissions to the 2018 SCS Annual Meeting; see conclusion). Their ideas certainly merit a more detailed exploration than I offer here.

57. Deleuze (1994), original Différence et répétition (1968). In the aforementioned abstract, entitled ‘Towards a Critical Ontology of Classical Literary Formations: Deleuze and Guattari on Philology and Translation’, Varsos writes, ‘Crucial in this respect can be the Deleuzian notion of differential repetition…as a basic principle of ontological unity, which also involves Deleuze's reconsideration of the notion of meaning, especially in the case of textual constructs.’

58. Deleuze (1994), 1.

59. Giannopoulou in this volume, 79, citing Deleuze (1983b), 48, 53. It should be emphasized that Giannopoulou also includes Deleuze (1994) as part of this discussion of the simulacrum, for which reason I refer to it by the Deleuzian term of the ‘dark precursor’ (i.e. the initial invisible lightning bolt that precedes the visible strike or flash as an indeterminate yet productive force of difference in itself, Deleuze [1994], 119–21).

60. Expanding the productive power of difference in itself to include the multiple drives of the unconscious, Deleuze and Guattari posit that, at the psychic level, each individual is in a constant act of self-differentiation, or ‘becoming’, which can be (and certainly has been) extended to physical acts of transformation and other such corporeal territorializations.

61. Deleuze and Guattari (1986), original Kafka: Pour une littérature mineure (1975).

62. See Deleuze and Guattari (1986), 18, 23. Here, they build on Wolfson (1970), for which Deleuze wrote the preface, and develop his creation of a schizophrenic language as a means of refuge from the Oedipal tyranny of one's native, ‘maternal’ tongue.

63. Offering a bridge between postcolonial studies and Deleuze and Guattari's concept of minor language, Glissant (1997), 19, defines creolization within the framework of a ‘poetics of relation,’ to refer to a multilingual act that ‘opposes the totalitarianism of any monolingual intent’.

64. Feeney (2016), 43, 51, 203f.

65. Note some of the many definitions of fero with kinetic and generative denotations (in some cases referring to unconscious drives): ‘to carry, convey, transport’ (OLD 1); ‘to cause to go’ (OLD 2); ‘to proceed (of one's own volition or under an external impulse’ (OLD 4); ‘to be borne or carried along’ (OLD 5); ‘to incline, tend’ (OLD 7); ‘to carry in the womb, be pregnant’ (OLD 10); ‘to have on or in it, to contain’ (OLD 12b); ‘to thrust (at); to deal (a blow)’ (OLD 15b); ‘to discharge, emit (bodily excretions, etc.)’ (OLD 15e); ‘to bear, yield (fruit, produce, etc.)’ (OLD 25); ‘to bring (a state or condition) on a person, inflict’ (OLD 30).

66. For a reading of this elegiac phenomenon in Propertius through the lens of Deleuze and Guattari (1983), see Khellaf (2018).

67. Deleuze and Guattari (1983), 116.

68. Deleuze and Guattari (1983), 5: ‘Schizophrenia is like love: there is no specifically schizophrenic phenomenon or entity; schizophrenia is the universe of productive and reproductive desiring-machines, universal primary production as “the essential reality of man and nature”.’

69. See Deleuze (1990b), esp. 12–22, 28–35. For Deleuze, ‘sense’, discovered by the Stoics, ‘is an incorporeal, complex, and irreducible entity, at the surface of things, a pure event which inheres or subsists in the proposition’ (19); it functions as the possible fourth (extra) dimension of the ‘proposition’ (or speech) following denotation, manifestation, and signification (the three of which belong to it). Sense, as ‘an event’, is something more akin to pure ‘expression’—what Deleuze calls an aliquid. It shares a close affinity with ‘nonsense’ (116); and with ‘pure noise—the nonsense of the body and of the splintered word’ (189), which offers a useful method for understanding Cassandra's ‘inarticulate’ utterances. A deeper analysis of sense can be found in Assaf Krebs’ article in this volume.

70. Although the Aetia survives only in fragments, the opening to the work, better known as the ‘Reply to the Telchines’, survives only on papyrus, leading to the frayed edges which have in turn spurred reconstructions such as that found in Hopkinson (1988), 15f. See Harder (2012), vol.1, 115–21, for a less emended reconstruction.

71. See Livy 45.44, Tac. Hist. 5.26, and Tac. Ann. 16.35 for the dissolution of these texts. Polybius is fragmentary throughout. The examples given here do not even begin to include the hundreds of ancient historical texts that only survive in fragmentary form. For deconstructionist readings of this fragmentation, see Henderson (1989) and (1990).

72. Another river passage can be found at D65a: ‘We step in the same rivers just as we do not step in them, we are and we are not’ (ποταμοῖς τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἐμβαίνομέν τε καὶ οὐκ ἐμβαίνομεν, εἶμέν τε καὶ οὐκ εἶμεν). See also the fragments on cycles of opposites (D67–72).

73. For an important discussion of this passage, see Freudenburg (1993), 180–4.

74. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 25: ‘A rhizome has no beginning or end; it is always in the middle, between things, interbeing, intermezzo’. Apart from this ‘vicarious transport’ element (to borrow a term from Felson [1999]), we might link the rhizomatic qualities of Pindar's poems to the unique deictic properties of his relative pronouns (per Bonifazi [2004]). Furthermore, the ‘Pindaric rhizome’ gains even further traction when we consider other ways in which his epinician poems function: these include various examples of becoming-animal (e.g. the Centaurs born from the Magnesian mares, resulting from the verb ἐμείγνυτ᾽ at Pyth. 2.42–8, or the fusion of Hieron's strength to Pherenicus, using προσέμειξε, at Ol. 1.20–3); the performative (and reperformative) nature of the poems and the function of the chorus in relation to the poetic ego; the possibility that Dorian forms function as a kind of minor language (discussed earlier); the differential repetition of linguistic and syntactical forms which Race (1997), 26f., describes as a kind of poikilia; the use of water imagery and rivers to connect faraway places or events (e.g. Arethusa [implied] in Syracuse, Sicily, and Alpheus in Olympia, Elis, per Ol. 1.20, 1.92; the Hipparis in Camarina, Sicily, and Alpheus per Ol. 5.11f., 5.18; and the battles at Himera, Cumae, Plataea, and Salamis in Pyth. 1.71–80); and lastly, the alternations between praise of the victor—in many instances a ruling Deinomenid tyrant such as Hieron of Syracuse (reterritorialization)—and the more itinerant voyages in the mythical sections of the poems (deterritorialization).

75. I was first made aware of this particular history of the Acropolis in a lecture at Yale by Andrew Szegedy-Maszak, entitled ‘The Pleasure of Ruins’ (March 28, 2018). For the use of Deleuze and Guattari in archaeology, see Shanks (1992), 15–46, and (1999), 73–168. Interestingly, Lev Kenaan (2019), 37f., highlights how Freud, in his 1907 analysis of the Rat Man, employs the metaphor of archaeology for describing the unconscious and the ‘excavations’ of its memories.

76. Khellaf (2018), 188.

77. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 3f.

78. See esp. duBois (2010a) and (2014), and Feeney (2016).

79. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 3f.: ‘In a book, as in all things, there are lines of articulation or segmentarity, strata and territories; but also lines of flight, movements of deterritorialization and destratification. Comparative rates of flow on these lines produce phenomena of relative slowness and viscosity, or, on the contrary, of acceleration and rupture. All this, lines and measurable speeds, constitutes an assemblage. A book is an assemblage of this kind, and as such is unattributable. It is a multiplicity—but we don't know yet what the multiple entails when it is no longer attributed, that is, after it has been elevated to the status of a substantive. One side of a machinic assemblage faces the strata, which doubtless make it a kind of organism, or signifying totality, or determination attributable to a subject; it also has a side facing a body without organs, which is continually dismantling the organism, causing asignifying particles or pure intensities to pass or circulate, and attributing to itself subjects that it leaves with nothing more than a name as the trace of an intensity.’ A rigorous, yet delightfully refreshing application of this concept to classical receptions—specifically the anti-Oedipal assemblage that constitutes Aristotle Knowsley's Elizabethan Oedipus—can be seen in a recent article by Ward (2019).

80. We might in fact challenge Deleuze and Guattari in noting that reterritorialization can, in this respect, constitute a radical or revolutionary act. For if oral multiplicity was for centuries the norm in the Aegean world, then both the Peisistratid moment (either a recension or, as Nagy has argued, a performative ‘Panathenaic Bottleneck’) and the Alexandrian recensions of Homer can hardly be called reactionary. For the importance of these moments in the Homeric Question, see Nagy (2001) and (2004), 25–39, and Schironi (2018).

81. Notable scholars from this group include Jean-Pierre Vernant, Pierre Vidal-Naquet, Nicole Loraux, and Marcel Detienne, as well as American scholars such as Froma Zeitlin, Jack Winkler, Charles Segal, and Page duBois, who helped bring their ideas to the classical mainstream in the United States (and all of whom, not surprisingly, are extensively cited throughout the various papers in this collection).

82. Notable examples include Hallett (1973) and (1984), Lefkowitz (1981), Richlin (1983) and (1992), Skinner (1987), duBois (1991) and (1995), Rabinowitz (1993), Rabinowitz and Richlin (1993), Hallett and Skinner (1997), McManus (1997), Stehle (1997), and more recently Lev Kenaan (2008) and Miller (2016).

83. See especially Conte (1986), Barchiesi (2001), Hinds (1998), Edmunds (2001), and Sharrock and Morales (2000).

84. This can be seen in the readings of Latin elegy by Wyke (1987) and (1989), and Kennedy (1993). It is worth noting that elegy has often been the testing ground for a number of previously underexplored theoretical approaches to the classics, in particular the use of psychoanalysis by Janan (1994) and (2001), and Miller (2004).

85. Although already present in works such as Highet (1949) and Johnson (1976), reception studies saw its full awakening in classics beginning with Martindale (1991) and (1993), and more recently Hardwick (2003). Here, in addition to the comments at Martindale (1993), 7f., I am thinking of a similar remark made by Cornel West at the inaugural ‘Authors Meet Critics: Race and Reception’ panel of the 2012 Annual Meeting of the American Philological Association in Philadelphia, in response to the publications of Greenwood (2010) and Cook and Tatum (2010). I also have in mind the work of the Postclassicisms network over the past few years, including their recent constellation of short essays edited by Holmes and Marta (2017).

86. For narratology and classics, see especially Winkler (1985), and de Jong (1987) and (2014). For deconstruction and the classics, note Henderson (1987), (1989), (1990), Rimell (2006), and the essays in Leonard (2010). Additional works employing psychoanalysis in classics include Timpanaro (1976), duBois (1991), Oliensis (2009), and Janan (2009). For a variety of theoretical approaches, consider also the essays in Sullivan and de Jong (1994), and Fowler (2000). A number of special issues of classical journals (especially Arethusa, Helios, and Ramus) have been devoted to new theoretical approaches to the classics. Useful overviews to potential usages of theory in classics are given by Schmitz (2007) and Hitchcock (2008), the latter of which even includes a chapter on Deleuze and Guattari.

87. This has led to a number of studies of his classical receptions. Note especially Silk and Stern (1981), Porter (2000a) and (2000b), and Leonard (2015). The discussion by Billings (2014), 228–33, offers an excellent concise overview to Nietzsche's relationship with classical philology.

88. In addition to psychoanalytic studies already mentioned, see Armstrong (2005); Leonard (2005), 22–95; Pedrick (2007); Bowlby (2009); the many essays in the volume edited by Zajko and O'Gorman (2013); and, most recently, Lev Kenaan (2019).

89. Major studies include the essays in Larmour, Miller, and Platter (1998); Detel (2005); Leonard (2005) and (2010); multiple essays in Martindale and Thomas (2006); and Miller (2016).

90. The closest exception seems to be the collection of essays in the special section of the Cambridge Archaeological Journal edited by Hamilakis and Jones (2017), entitled Archaeology and Assemblage, which includes an excellent introduction with the same title.

91. Deleuze (1994), 309 n.6, citing Laroche (1949).

92. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 380–7, expand on this in their chapter ‘1227: Treatise on Nomadology—The War Machine’; see 557 n.51: ‘“The occupation of shepherd, in the Homeric age, had nothing to do with a parceling of land; when the agrarian question came to the foreground, in the time of Solon, it was expressed in an entirely different vocabulary.” To take to pasture (nemô) refers not to a parceling out but to a scattering, to a repartition of animals. It was only after Solon that Nomos came to designate the principle at the basis of the laws and of right (Thesmoï and Dikè), and then came to be identified with the laws themselves. Prior to that, there was instead an alternative between the city, or polis, ruled by laws, and the outskirts as the place of the nomos’ (citing Laroche [1949]).

93. Boutang (1996), translation and emphasis my own; note in particular in the original ‘c'est la source de la poésie La-, c'est la seule poésie Latine’ and ‘Catulle, Tiberce’—the correct name and the conflated one.

94. Deleuze (2004a), 14; also discussed by Michiel van Veldhuizen in this volume.

95. Deleuze (2004a), 159, citing Axelos (1962) and (1969).

96. Deleuze (2006), 261–4.

97. Deleuze (1998), 126–35.

98. Deleuze (1990a), original Spinoza et le problème de l'expression (1968).

99. These include Deleuze (1983a), (1984), (1988a), (1988b), (1988c), (1991), and (1993). For an account of Deleuze's early work on all but two of these philosophers (Foucault and Leibniz), see Dosse (2010), 108–49.

100. Deleuze and Guattari (1994), original Qu'est-ce que la philosophie? (1991).

101. Deleuze (1990a), 155–67, esp. 167, and also 183 (‘Man thus loses in Spinozism all the privileges owed to a quality supposed proper to him, which belonged to him only from the viewpoint of imitative participation’). For a discussion of the affective consequences of Deleuze's Spinozist turn, see Braidotti (1991), 66–75, and for his gendered language see Worman in this volume.

102. Deleuze (1990a), 169–86, esp. 176–80.

103. Deleuze (1990a), 176. See Deleuze and Parnet (2007), 153f., for a helpful discussion of transcendence (versus immanence) following Châtelet, quite similar to Žižek's ideas of the ‘big Other’, ‘master signifiers’, and ‘signifiers without a signified’ (after Lacan).

104. Deleuze (1990a), 185.

105. Deleuze and Guattari (1994), 85–113.

106. Deleuze and Guattari (1994), 85f.

107. Deleuze and Guattari (1994), 87.

108. Deleuze and Guattari (1994), 87f., citing Nietzsche (1969) and Faye (1990). For a corresponding analysis, again following Châtelet (but also Foucault, Louis Gernet, and Vernant), see Deleuze and Parnet (2007), 157–63.

109. Consider, in the context of Deleuze and Guattari's discussion of Salamis inaugurating the ‘Greek miracle’, the violent murder of Lycidas, his wife, and his children for a mere proposal of Medizing (Hdt. 9.5). A detailed study of this phenomenon can be found in Zimm (2016).

110. Most famous in this respect are the speech of Cleon during the Mytilenean Debate (Thuc. 3.36–41) and the events involving the Melians, including the famous Melian Dialogue (5.84–116).

111. See Deleuze (1986), 58f. Also Colebrook (2010), 1: ‘On the contrary, to understand a philosophy as the creation of a plane, or as a way of creating some orientation by establishing points and relations, means that any philosophy is more than its manifest terms, more than its context. In addition to the produced texts and terms, and in addition to the explicit historical presuppositions, there is an unthought or outside—the problem, desire or life of a philosophy. For Deleuze, then, reading a philosopher requires going beyond his or her produced lexicon to the deeper logic of production from which the relations or sense of the text emerge’; and Ross (2010), 66f.: ‘Against this alliance Deleuze describes desire as the construction of a plane of immanence in which desire is continuous. Instead of a regulation of desire by pleasure or lack in which desire is extracted from its plane of immanence, desire is a process in which anything is permissible.’

112. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), original Mille plateaux (1980).

113. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 361–74.

114. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 354f.

115. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 122.

116. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 158.

117. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 268. This reading is discussed at greater length in Nancy Worman's paper in this volume. See also Deleuze and Parnet (2007), 131f.

118. Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 424–73.

119. Their works cited by Deleuze and Guattari (1987) include Dumézil (1942), (1943), (1948), (1949), (1968–1973); Laroche (1949); Vernant (1968), (1971–74), (1982); Detienne (1968) and (1973); then also Préaux (1939); Noailles (1948); Will (1955a) and (1955b); Vidal-Naquet (1964); Parain (1969); Harmand (1973); Boulvert (1974); Ardant (1976); Veyne (1976); Chastagnol et al. (1977); and Châtelet (1978). Page numbers for these citations can be found in the Index to Deleuze and Guattari (1987), 589–610. A particularly notable omission—given the shared interest in ‘nomadology’, overlap with the ‘Paris School’, and contemporaneous publication—is the work of Hartog (1979) and (1988).

120. This cycle of deterritorialization/reterritorialization includes such extensions as rhizome/root, rhizome/tree, molecular/molar, smooth/striated, micropolitics/segmentarity, pack/individual, and war machine/state.

121. Jameson (2009), 182.

122. However, in light of the Jameson quote which focuses exclusively on Deleuze's ‘omnivorous’ thought, I think it important to reiterate Guattari's pivotal role in their collaborative writings, including those texts that feature references to antiquity (some of which I discuss at the outset of this introduction). According to Deleuze (1995), 13f., Guattari was the originary font of many of the ideas underlying the now familiar concepts we find in their collaborative writings (‘I was working solely with concepts, rather timidly in fact. Félix had talked to me about what he was already calling “desiring machines”: he had a whole theoretical and practical conception of the unconscious as a machine, of the schizophrenic unconscious. So I myself thought he'd gone further than I had’). In this respect, we can even view Guattari (once he moved beyond the Lacanian structuralist trappings, according to Deleuze) as the deterritorialization behind Deleuze's reterritorialization of a number of their joint concepts. Furthermore, numerous biographers of Guattari—many of them personal friends of his, including Franco (Bifo) Berardi and Antonio Negri—have highlighted Guattari's fundamental contributions to the Deleuze-Guattari assemblage: useful readings for those interested include Bosteels (1998); Genosko (2002), 1–65; Berardi (2008), 43–72 (with a focus instead on Deleuze's unique contributions); the essays in Alliez and Goffey (2011), esp. their ‘Introduction’ and Negri (2011); and Nadaud's excellent ‘Introduction: Love Story between an Orchid and a Wasp’ in Guattari (2006).

123. Shanks (1992), 15–46, esp. 33–6.

124. Shanks (1999), 73–168, esp. 104, 121–51.

125. Wohl (2005).

126. Holmes (2012).

127. duBois (2010a), (2010b), (2014).

128. Before going on to describe the centrality of arboreal stemmatics in classical textual criticism, duBois (2010a), 20, aptly notes, ‘The field of classics might be defined as an especially arboreal discipline, one that values, in a sort of apostolic succession, descent from such great men as [Ulrich] von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff.’

129. duBois (2010a), 16.

130. Umurhan (2018).

131. Concannon (2016) and (2017), esp. 33–55.

132. Johnson (2017), 4.

133. Leonard (2005), 22–95, esp. 68–95.

134. For example, see Malkin (2003), (2004), and (2011), 41–5; Gurd (2005); Spencer (2007); Hamilakis (2017); Khellaf (2018); Krebs (2018); Padilla Peralta (2018), following the lead of Concannon and Mazurek (2016); Telò (2018); and Ward (2019).

135. See Badiou (2000a), who essentially views Deleuzian multiplicity as masking an underlying monotony of identical concepts (‘Deleuze arrives at conceptual productions that I would unhesitatingly qualify as monotonous, composing a very particular regime of emphasis or almost infinite repetition of a limited repertoire of concepts, as well as a virtuosic variation of names, under which what is thought remains essentially identical’, 15; and ‘This philosophy is organized around a metaphysics of the One’, 17). Elsewhere, Badiou (2000b), 198, declares, ‘Deleuze constructs an immense, virtuosistic, and ramified phenomenological apparatus in order to write the ontological equation: being = event’. Yet, for all of their conflicts at Vincennes (which are personally recounted at Badiou [2000a], 1–6), and all remaining philosophical differences aside, Badiou does speak quite positively about Deleuze. Consider Badiou (2012), 341: ‘Gilles Deleuze: creator, by way of concepts, of new links, of hitherto impossible connections. He wove thought like a piece of cloth—with its folds and all’. Similar to Badiou's critiques, Žižek (2004a) essentially views in Deleuzian thought both a misreading of Lacan and a secret affinity with Hegel (a Deleuzo-Hegelianism). Useful distillations can be found in the reviews by Smith (2004) and Kaufman (2004), as well as the response by Žižek (2004b).

136. See esp. Braidotti (1991), (1994a), (1994b); Grosz (1994a), (1994b), and (2005); my discussion at n.49 above; and the essay by Nancy Worman in this volume. We would be remiss if we did not also mention Ahmed (1998), esp. 68–79, and (2004), 183; Lorraine (1999); the volume edited by Buchanan and Colebrook (2000); Kaufman (2012), 45–58; and, albeit to a lesser extent, Berlant (2008), ix–x, 240, and (2012), 64–6. Although it is tempting to include Butler in this group (after all, she does mention Deleuze and Guattari at Butler [1990], 118f., reading them alongside Wittig), I have grouped her with the political theorists (see below), given that Deleuze and Guattari seem to exert a greater influence on her more recent work on assemblages such as Butler (2015).

137. Braidotti (1994a), (2002), and (2013).

138. See Grosz (1999), 1–28, (2001), (2004), (2005), esp. 93–169, and (2008). Kaufman (2012), 49f., offers a very helpful synthesis of Braidotti and Grosz's shared (Deleuzo-Guattarian) feminisms.

139. All publications listed by Stengers and DeLanda; Massumi (2002) and (2015); Ahmed (2010), esp. 210–13; Berlant (2011); Bennett (2010); Pisters (2003) and (2012); Conley (2006), ix–xix, and (2007); Bogue (2003a); Bensmaïa (1988), (1992), (1994a), who also authored the introduction to the English translation of Deleuze and Guattari (1986); Weizman (2007); Easterling (2005), esp. 63–72, 123–34, and (2014), esp. 145–7 (although we should note that Easterling's natural affinity with Deleuze and Guattari can already be glimpsed in Easterling [1999], prior to her formal incorporation of their theories into her work); Bourriaud (2002), esp. 86–105, and (2016), 5–9; and Krauss (1993), 309–20, 328f. It was also Krauss who translated Deleuze's essay, ‘Plato and the Simulacrum’ (1983b), into English.

140. See Hardt and Negri (2000), although Deleuze and Guattari can be found throughout the Hardt and Negri (1994), (2004), (2009), (2017) assemblage; Negri (1991) and (2003); and Jameson (1981), esp. 21–3. An interview of Deleuze by Negri can be found at Deleuze (1990c), in which Deleuze speaks quite firmly about both his and Guattari's enduring, albeit different commitments to Marxism. For a political critique of Deleuze (and other intellectuals), see Castoriadis (1993), 272–80, esp. 274.

141. Butler (2015), 68, notes that her borrowing of the term ‘assemblage’ from Puar (2007) has Deleuzo-Guattarian origins, while subsequently stressing her own view of the concept is more akin to an intersectional precarity of a ‘cross section of people at risk’.

142. Deleuze and Guattari (1987) build on the work of Clastres (1987) and others, to illustrate how the ‘war machine’, as a nomadic and deterritorializing entity, works as ‘a destructive force without and within society’ that ‘manipulates its mechanisms’ (Chidwick, in this volume, 125) and acts as a check on state reterritorialization and its authoritarianisms.

143. Mbembe (2003), esp. 32–4, and (2019); Weizman (2006b) and (2007), including the conversation with Weizman in Bois et al. (2016). Weizman provides a particularly striking framework for understanding Lucan's deterritorializations in Hannah-Marie Chidwick's article in this volume.

144. In addition to his already cited works on ‘necropolitics’, Mbembe (2001) also makes use of Deleuze and Guattari. See also Bensmaïa (1994b), (2003), (2017); and Glissant (1997), although we should note that many of the ideas found in this work were already being formulated prior to contact with Deleuzo-Guattarian philosophy, as is evident in Glissant (1969) and (1989). Two particularly notable postcolonial critiques of Deleuze and Guattari are Spivak (1988) and Miller (1993), with the latter resulting in a subsequent debate involving Holland (2003a), Miller (2003a), and Holland (2003b).

145. Woodward and Jones (2005); Chambers (1994), 49–53; and Nail (2015), 85–8, and (2016), 64–87, esp. 65–8.

146. Puar (2005), 127f. See also Puar (2007) and Ahmed (2006). Note, however, the reluctance of Sedgwick (1990), 133, to see a compatibility between LGBTQ studies and the Deleuzo-Guattarian conceptual apparatus.

147. Sussman (2011), esp. 18–22, 244–75; Greetham (1999), 258f., 274f., 356f., and (2010), 152–80 (orig. publ. as [1995]); Moulthrop (1994); Timpanaro (1976), 46; and Gurd (2005).

148. Gurd (2005).

149. Mmembe (2003), 21, although I borrow the term ‘subaltern’ from Spivak (1988).

150. Chidwick in this volume, 111.

151. Deleuze (1989a), original Cinéma 2, L'Image-temps (1985).

152. Deleuze (2003), original Francis Bacon: Logique de la sensation (1981).

153. See esp. Haraway (2003), (2008), (2016), noting that Haraway (2008), 27–30, takes a particularly negative view of Deleuze and Guattari's concept of becoming-animal. For classical studies, see Payne (2010) and the many essays in Schliephake (2017), which includes Hutchins (2017).

154. duBois focuses on Mbembe (2003), which has since been significantly expanded in Mbembe (2019).

155. duBois in this volume, 155.

156. Foucault (1970), 885, translation my own.

157. Badiou (2012), 340. In addition to the more general thanks offered in these final paragraphs, I would personally like to extend my immense gratitude to the anonymous referees, Vered Lev Kenaan, and Mario Telò for their extremely insightful comments on earlier versions of this essay; and to audiences at the University of Michigan and the University of California, Riverside, where at least a few of its ideas were tested. Moreover, I am extremely grateful to Helen Morales, Mario Telò, and Emily Greenwood for their guidance and support at various stages of this collaborative venture, and to Jamie McIntyre, Andrew Organ, and Kathrin Luddecke at Cambridge University Press for their generous assistance with all matters editorial. It would likewise be remiss of me if I failed to thank Dan Trujillo at Artists Rights Society (ARS), Joyce Faust at Art Resource, and Jasmin Saunders at DACS/ArtImage for their help with several image permissions. Finally, I owe a debt of gratitude to the Fondation Hardt pour l’étude de l'Antiquité classique, in whose library the proposal for this volume (the basis for my introduction) first took form. Suffice to say that any remaining errors, omissions, or ideological provocations are entirely my own.