Space of Literature: Inertia and Intensity
Ay§e D. Temiz
Independent Scholar, Izmir, Turkey aysetemizdeniz@gmail.com
Deleuze and Guattari issue two paradoxical injunctions in A Thousand Plateaus: "Follow a line offlight!" and"Draw a plane of immanence!" The question of how to pass from Extension into the intensive realm, where pre-individual singularities prevail, arises as a crucial one. This essay explores Deleuze's articulations of the intensive space in art and philosophy, from the notion of "smooth space" to the concept ofthe "fold," which Deleuze extractsfrom Leibniz, only to give it a new inflection in his own analysis of cinema. The following question is then posed: is the figure ofthe nomad privileged over the monad in the last instance and, if so, do these concepts lapse into Extension, which they had intended to flee?
Keywords: philosophy of art / Deleuze, Gilles / Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm / spatiality / fold / monad / nomadology
For a thinker who treats concepts as having a life of their own as players in an event, the kind of trajectory followed by Deleuze's own concepts related to space is somewhat surprising. Among the concepts that have played a role in lending Deleuze's thought the power to capture the contemporary experience in a variety of fields, from arts to political thought, the foremost has been "deterritorialization," a movement incessantly stalked by "reterritorialization," which dialectically recuperates what has been deterritorialized. The conceptual pair has found wide use as an extremely useful tool for analyzing the contemporary global experience of being uprooted. It has indeed become a metonymy for Deleuze's sustained engagement with space, coiling back upon the interconnected series of concepts elaborated in the three dense volumes of his dissertation, employed in the analysis of literature and cinema, linked up with a somewhat untimely treatise on Leibniz, all the way to the philosophical resume in the form of "geophilosophy," where he once again cooperates with Guattari. Deterritorialization exerts its primacy over this series of articulations of space, which has preceded but also followed the coining of the term in A Thousand Plateaus, so much so that it functions as a veritable reterritorialization that alters the differential relation among all these
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 36.2 (2013)
concepts related to space and obliterates the plane from which they derive their consistency.
Even though "displacement" may define the most commonly shared experience in contemporary capitalism, it is not altogether obvious how the term "deterritorialization" can serve as a synonym for this experience. The former implies a movement between places, while the latter term may define either the shift of the subject from one territory to another, which is indeed similar to displacement, or a transformation that a territory itself undergoes under a force that destroys the features that render it a particular territory or even a territory at all, features such as its borders, dimensions, protocols of entry and exit, etc. The equivocalness between these two connotations of the term suggests, moreover, that the two processes, the disruption of a territory and the displacement of the subject, are often simultaneous and even co-determining. In whatever way the relation may be played out, deterritorialization envisions a scenario that does not boil down to a departure of the subject that leaves the terrain intact (even though we may leave aside for the time being the distinction between a "territory" and a "place"). In Plateaus, the "Treatise on Nomadology" already issues a precaution against such a conflation of terms, by ruling out any metaphoric relation between the nomad and the migrant. The nomad has real commonalities with trajectories of nomads on an abstract level, but its lineage is simultaneously traced to mathematical distributions in differential calculus where "nomadic" points play a determining role. Echoing the formula, given in Difference and Repetition, that "difference is not diversity" (Deleuze, Difference 222), we could argue in a straightforward fashion that deterritorialization is not displacement. Indeed, if one were to follow the rigorous exposition through which Deleuze demonstrates how the embodiment of difference in Extension in the form of diverse "qualities" and "predicates" serves to flatten out and cancel the differences in question, one would have to conclude that displacements in space may well serve to attenuate rather than trigger deterritorialization.
Traversed in companionship with Guattari, the Plateaus acquire a provocative power surpassing that of Deleuze's former solo works (which provide much of the groundwork for the latter text); but the price paid for this power is what another theorist of space, Henri Lefebvre, has cautioned against, namely the illusion that treats space as an empirical entity (Production of Space, 68—169). It is not so much the Plateaus itself that is prone to such an illusion, but the paradoxical strategy of constant referral from intensive or virtual space to extensive space. The deadlock thereby created in literary engagements with Deleuze (other arts seem less affected by it) might be treated as an ideal moment for returning the concept to the
series of which it is an element, to the depth whence the problem of space has emerged, and to the plane on which the relations between the series of concepts and the series of literary percepts and affects are played out.
In addition to the dialectics of space organized around the conceptual pair of de- and re-territorialization, widely embraced thanks to its dialectal appeal, there is a paradoxical dynamics of space in A Thousand Plateaus that has so much more potential to generate a new spatial problematic: the line of flight, and the plane of immanence, the latter by no means being the corollary of reterritorialization. The plane of immanence indeed sets a kind of limit to the line of flight, but is in no way similar to the limit posed by reterritorialization, which must be submitted to criticism at each round of the dialectics. In what manner, then, do these two paradoxical spatial movements interact? Whereas a flight indicates the break away from a certain closure, immanence is associated with inherence or subsistence, an act of working through within one's given limits and means, as if immersed in the cultivation of oneself. Immanence indicates almost an obstinate refusal to let go of one's foothold, or one's stronghold, without for all that renouncing movement as such, a movement that might even be carried out vehemently, though without involving displacement. While transcendence levitates from the site of a problem, immanence remains on site and works through the problem. What to make of the paradoxical injunction the text issues on us to take a line of flight and to create a plane of immanence (or consistency), all at once?
There are two hints in the Plateaus that may help us grasp the stakes of the paradox. First, the definition of "becoming," which involves so many passages between states that can be achieved only by thorough experimentation with the body and space, is given in the short formula as "a leap in place." Later on, the entire affirmation of nomadism will be abruptly interrupted by the statement that "nomads do not move in space, but rather hold onto it." An unlimited hectic movement seems held in check by fixity, not in a dialectical manner but in such a way that movement continues inside repose and as enveloped by it, and conversely, dynamism can erupt from a state of rest. At times Deleuze himself unfolds this paradox into a dichotomy, as in his reading of Melville. Bartleby is juxtaposed to Ahab, two opposite modalities of movement brought together on the same writing scene, the autochthonous against the one caught up in a mad movement. One is reminded of the encounter on the stage of Greek tragedy between Europa, caught up in a frenzied flight, and the chained Prometheus. On the stage where he views Melville's two figures side by side, Deleuze acknowledges them to be two divergent manifestations of a common will to break with the law of the father, which consigns sailors no
less than office employees to the reproduction of the rational model. The passion of the imprisoned one and the fitful vagabondage of the renegade are two styles of flight from Zeus. An alternation of frenzied agitation with repose is already at work within each of the characters. The eruption of Bartleby's formula is preceded by a period when he "produces an extraordinary amount of mechanical work" in his silent retreat behind the screen, in the fashion of an accelerator on the brink of emitting unknown, unnamed particles.
The alternative between hectic movement and catatonia has its corollary in the confinement in a cell versus "being lost at sea"1 as two manners of the individual's relation to space. It may be the case that here, too, we are dealing with diverse manifestations of the same spatial dynamic that undermines the Cartesian mapping. As Deleuze reminds us, Ahab envisions the whale as "that wall, shoved near to me" (Melville, Moby-Dick 178). Amidst the unlimited expanse of the ocean where the "I" loses all measure and bearing, the whale draws a border that is potentially everywhere to the extent that it is unlocatable. Then there is the enclosure of the captain's cabin into which Ahab retreats, solitary, well before the departure of the Pequod from the shore and where he remains for the better part of the journey, never to leave it in daytime except in situations of emergency. But for the rare chance encounters with the chief and second mates above the deck—veritable dramatizations guided by stage directions—Ahab is entirely incommunicado until his very last oration addressed to the entire crew summoned on board. Members of the crew cope with Ahab's non-reciprocity by cultivating sharp ears that allow them to discern intents behind the captain's silences, particularly when, on a quiet night, they take turns on the watch. A night-watch listens for the knocks of the captain's wooden leg upon the planks as he paces up and down in his cabin located above the deck, as if to a sign language that one could decipher. Between Ahab and the ship, then, the walls of the cabin, as if such interception of common linguistic exchange was a precondition for the subject's (here, the night-watch as well as Ahab) contact with the intensive space of the ocean. Then again, what is the unregulated fluctuation of "values" in a global stock exchange if not a sea of differences without positive terms, upon which Bartleby is floating in his office retreat?
The partition interposed between the individual and depth does not so much prevent the individual's contact with that depth as it blocks out the claims laid upon him by the Social-Symbolic. The partition may have been drawn by the Social in the first place, or it may be the individual who retreated behind it of his own will. Regardless, the partition becomes the surface that enables passages between the depth of differences and the
one who has renounced a place (promised him) in the Social-Symbolic. If Bartleby's formula hollows out the logic of signification as it circulates in the attorney's office, it owes its corrosive power to the isolation of the subject of enunciation from ordinary social exchange.
Melville's oeuvre offers magnificent instances of envelopment, or insulation, of the individual vis-à-vis the Social, which paradoxically turn out to be the subject's conduit to the outside, that is, to a space of pure difference or singularities. In the short story "Apple-Tree Table", the surface of the partition takes center-stage, becoming one with the reading and writing surface. A table is offered up not so much to view but rather to the tactile sense of the reader as a timber surface with a distinctive degree of durability. At the same time, it becomes a resonating surface that conveys an echo from its own depths. Pulled from a heap of discarded and forgotten objects in the attic by the narrator and placed in the center of the living room, the table becomes a site of retreat where, after the members of the household resign to their rooms, the narrator immerses himself in a book he has found in the attic along with the table. Captivation of reading keeps him up till he meets the daylight with burning eyes. The following night, just as he is likewise immersed in the book, a faint and steady ticking sound interrupts the silence of the nocturnal house. The story holds us perched upon this reading- listening surface poised between the obscure history of the nation's origins (the book documents the period of the witch-hunts in New England) and the unfathomable depth that emits the sound (which proves to be the table itself), and separates these two depths from the quotidian domestic reality. While the narrator keeps the contents of the book to himself, the sound from the table draws the other members of the household, one by one, into a zone of anxiety. Ultimately the auditory depth spouts an actual body as the source of the sound, and an expert is called upon to name and date the formless creature, a larval body. Anxiety is appeased in the domestic space, although, as Peter Szendy humorously hints in his reading of the story, without exorcizing the remainder that the closing abyss leaves in its wake, and the surfacing of which (via the piece of information provided by the expert) has made the two depths, that of the book and of wood, coincide on a temporal plane, imperceptibly.2
The retreat from the quotidian space, leading to a transition to depth, whether in the manner of plunging, immersing, or burrowing through, and resurfacing on a plane that no longer coincides with one's space of departure—Deleuze approaches this series of contingent operations as the transition from the space as Extension to intensive spatium. When one attains the intensive space, "[o]ne writes ... on the same level as the real of an unformed matter, at the same time as that matter traverses and expands
all of nonformal language" (Deleuze and Guattari, Thousand 512). The paradigmatic example of intensive space offered in the Plateaus is the body without organs, which finds its embodiment in the egg. The characteristic formlessness of the egg, however, indicates two different directions. From the standpoint of the body without organs, it indicates a movement toward de-individuation; from the point of synthesis, it is a field of forces such that inside its undivided matter (cytoplasm) lines of individuation already develop. Deleuze describes the spatio-temporal dynamism occurring in this smooth space as "dramatization," precisely the kind that is needed in order for Ideas to acquire distinct expression. For Deleuze, the egg or intensive space is a theater where "the roles dominate the actors and the spaces dominate the roles," insofar as "Ideas dominate the spaces" (Difference 216). Next, cracking the egg's shell, Deleuze suggests that the earth functions exactly in same way as this intensive space of in-dividuation and morphogenesis, provided that one moves from the logic that distributes predicates and individual bodies in Extension towards the intensive space of difference. As the egg rolls on between the texts and its cytoplasm spills over unto the earth's surface to merge with the smooth spaces of ocean and desert, something is shattered, without notice being taken. As another scene of the egg discussed in The Logic of Sense intimates, however, what is irreversibly shattered may be what held the intensive field together. As attention focuses exclusively on the mysterious genesis of individual parts within the indivisible field of intensity, the insulation of this field from extensive space seems to drop out of the analysis.
Turning A Deaf Ear To Extension
PROMETHEUS
[A pause.
Listen! what breath of sound, what fragrance soft hath risen
Upward to me? Is it some godlike essence,
Or being half-divine, or mortal presence?
Who to the world's end comes, unto my craggy prison?
Craves he the sight of pain, or what would he behold?
Gaze on a god in tortures manifold,
Heinous to Zeus, and scorned by all
Whose footsteps tread the heavenly hall,
Because too deeply, from on high,
I pitied man's mortality!
Hark, and again! that fluttering sound Of wings that whirr and circle round And their light rustle thrills the air— How all things that unseen draw near Are to me Fear!
[Enter the CHORUS OF OCEANIDES,
in winged cars.
CHORUS
Ah, fear us not! As friends, with rivalry Of swiftly-vying wings, we came together
Unto this rock and thee! With our sea-sire we pleaded hard, until
We won him to our will, And swift the wafting breezes bore us hither. The heavy hammer's steely blow Thrilled to our ocean-cavern from afar, Banished soft shyness from our maiden brow, And with unsandalled feet we come, in winged car!
(Aeschylus 171-2)
From the shattering of the egg's shell or membrane, we may turn to the belated reappearance of one of Deleuze's very first philosophical dramatis personae, a major interlocutor in Difference and Repetition and The Logic of Sense, who recedes into obscurity in the later engagements with literature, music, cinema, and the political. The Fold belongs to the series of shorter monographic treatises in which Deleuze gives fuller consideration and greater accessibility to the cornerstone figures of his early works—Spinoza, Nietzsche, Bergson. The book revisits the complex spatial arrangement of the Leibnizean monad, one of Deleuze's major portals into intensive space in the earlier texts. Leibniz is introduced as the first thinker to conceive of the individual as multiplicity and the concept as event. By the end of The Fold, however, the monad is dismissed, somewhat too predictably, on account of its insulation: "Something has changed in the situation of the monads, between the former model, the closed chapel with imperceptible openings, and the new model invoked by Tony Smith, the sealed car speeding down the dark highway." (Fold 136-137) Deleuze argues that of the two conditions that define the monad, closure and selection, the latter is giving way to the affirmation of divergences: "The play of the world has changed in a unique way, Beings are pushed apart, kept open through di-
vergent series and incompossible totalities that pull them outside, instead of being closed upon the compossible and convergent world that they express from within." (Fold 81)
I do not imply that Deleuze's estimation of Leibniz alters from the earlier works to The Fold. The critique of Leibniz is already well developed in Difference and Repetition, as well as in The Logic of Sense? But this critique acquires a more explicitly spatial reference at the end of the later book, in terms of a reversal of the monad into the nomad, the very figure that, as I have argued, has effectively reterritorialized the intricate network of Deleuze's concepts. To examine the vicissitudes of Deleuze's assessment of Leibniz, a good point on which to focus would be the monad's distinctive relation with what we have been referring to as "intensive space." This is also where Deleuze's disjunctive synthesis with Leibniz is carried out.
The monad is constituted by a multiplicity that does not pertain to the extensive parts of its body but rather to the singularities constituting the differential relation expressed by the monad. The monad "expresses" a certain "zone" of this relation in a clear and distinct manner, and this zone of clarity contains the "neighborhood" (a term of differential calculus) of the singular points that are characteristic to the monad (an analogue would be the "expression" of a particular segment of the DNA in accordance with the characteristic function of a particular cell). Yet the relation expressed by the monad consists of an infinite multiplicity and is common to all the monads, albeit with different zones of clarity becoming actualized in each. The relation constitutes the world, which exists nowhere outside the monads that express it. While an individual monad has distinctive characteristics conferred upon it by the singularities in its "clear zone," these characteristics are not given as predicates; rather, they emerge in the course of the monad's relation to itself, to the extent that it perceives these singularities as part of itself and gives them a distinct expression. This internal process of development, or "intensification," is propelled by new "perceptions" through which the monad enhances its "amplitude," "illumination," and "spontaneity," that is, its power to create free acts. Perception does not entail a passive process but is "the active expression of the monad." Perception has no object outside the monad, but is elicited by scintillations that occur in the segments of the differential relation that remain obscure for the monad—but are surely expressed by other mon-ads—and which the latter perceives as though through a haze, in the form of a murmur, or in a half-awake state. What we have here is a schema of perception that relies on self-clarification and self-intensification, and that simultaneously has the world for its stage. The synthesis of singularities in intensive space is given as the very mode of existence of the individual.
The appeal of this schema is obvious if we want to pursue the kind of problem that is posed by Deleuze' question, "How to draw a plane of consistency out of chaos?", or, stated conversely, "How to reach the intensive space of singularities that is covered over by Extension, by the qualities and contradictions pertaining to Extension?" By way of an answer, Leibniz offers a fascinating spatial diagram.
What places the monad in such an intimate relation to singularity, and hence to the event,4 are two spatial features: an outer wall that insulates it from the world of monads (the windowless upper floor of the Baroque House) and a fold that acts as a "screen" upon which perceptions are inscribed (the curtain that separates the hermetic upper floor from the lower one with openings). As can be anticipated, the fold is that part of the Leibnizean schema which poses the greatest difficulty. Its function is to filter the minute and obscure perceptions that cause disturbance in the monad, to select among these in accordance with the characteristic relation of the monad, and to produce new distinct perceptions that enhance the monad's illuminated zone. The ambiguity arises in defining the fold as a surface stirred by minute perceptions that are strictly inherent to the monad—fluctatio animi, as Spinoza would say—while its other face opens unto the impact of infinitesimal bodies of Nature that nonetheless correspond to the minute perceptions of the monad's own. The way out of this difficulty can be stated most resolutely by saying that perception as such cannot result from the impact of infinitely small material bodies themselves, for without the characteristic clear zone of the monad that presides over the filtering process—whether it filters internal psychic intensities or extrinsic material ones—no perception would result; in fact, the very screen or filter that receives sensory impulses would be lacking. Deleuze affirms Leibniz's point and avails himself of it in literary analysis as when he remarks that "[i]n Melville, there is a private ocean of which the sailors are unaware ... it is there that Moby Dick swims," or that "[i]n Lawrence, there is a private desert that drives him to the Arabian deserts" (Essays 117). The peculiar inflection that Leibniz gives to space lends strong support for thinking the problem of co-determination of Ideas and singularities in space, which lies at the core of Deleuze's engagement with literature and the arts.
But here, divergence lines begin to emerge as well. In Leibniz we have a very specific description of intensive space around which revolves the whole viability of the individual. The effort to acquire new conscious perceptions out of a multitude of singularities constitutes the appetite, passion, self-enjoyment, and spontaneity of the individual. An endless unfurling of waves that grow in amplitude of their own accord, an entire
ethics of the event played out on an intensive space that belongs to the individual. Here, to belong does not imply that the fold is a pre-given or permanent entity of the monad like a part of its body, even though it has the structure of a membrane. "[T]o the extent that it has a clear zone the monad must have a body. This zone has a relation to the body which is not given but a genetic relation that engenders its own 'relatum'." (Fold 86) Just as the monad expands its clear zone and intensifies the connection between its conscious perceptions, moving thereby from being a "remembering" monad to a "distinctive" and "reasonable" monad, so too the fold undergoes a continuous metamorphosis, acquiring what we could call greater resolution as well as selectivity, becoming keener to gradually more minute perceptions when these are in agreement with the monad's zone of clarity, and conversely ignoring indifferent tremors— the din, or Nietzsche's bare repetition—with gradually greater ease. An in-built "Eternal Return" of sorts, or a counter-Natural Selection, which chooses not the fittest but the most remarkable. The surface of the fold is what ensures the viability of the monad. As minute perceptions, visions, hallucinations, echoes, in sum, what Deleuze often calls "blocs of sensation," are enveloped in the surface, the very substance of the surface is transformed by what it envelops. This is indeed why Leibniz conceives of it as a fold rather than a plane.
In Deleuze's own account of the event, an intensive plane is "laid down," or is "projected," when the subject of a becoming encounters an anarchic distribution of singularities.5 "Projection" inevitably implies an intension that goes from the subject towards the space of intensity, even though the subject in question is described as undergoing a breakdown of his or her sensory capacity. T. E. Lawrence in the Middle Eastern desert is illustrative of this state. Things get thorny around this intensive desert space, however, and may bear reading a bit more closely: "The Idea in space is vision, which passes from a pure and invisible transparency to the crimson fire in which all sight burns." (Deleuze, Essays 116) Lawrence perceives not the image of people and things distributed over space, but "veritable visions," hallucinations from which he returns with red eyes. For Deleuze, what is at play is not merely "the objectivity of a milieu that distorts things, and that makes perception flicker or scintillate," but a "subjective disposition" that finds a favorable objective milieu. This subjective disposition should not be confused with personal or national character:
In the case of Lawrence, this disposition is "a tendency to project"—into things, into reality, into the future and even into the sky—an image of himself and others so intense that it has a life of its own: an image that is . . . . continually growing along the way, to the point where it becomes fabulous . . . . The images Lawrence
projects into the real are not inflated images that would sin by a false extension,
but are valid solely through the pure intensity, whether dramatic or comic, that the
writer is able to give the event. (Essays 117—9)
"Projection" merges with 'Tabulation," as images gather into a force of dramatization in the manner envisioned in Bergson's account of the event. Lawrence's projection of a plane of visions at the moment of Arab revolt certainly has parallels with the power of fabulation of a people that, in Bergson's account, unfolds from the pure past preserved in itself (Deleuze, Cinema 2 214—24). Despite this parallel between the two accounts of the individual's relation to the event something seems incommensurable in the comparison. To begin with, the strong intentional and directional overtones of "projection" are absent from "fabulation," which designates both an intransitive act and a collectivity of performers with a capacity to dramatize without need of a stage director. With fabulation, there is no plane on which images of a people can be projected upon, nor an extra dimension from which the event can be contemplated. There is rather a movement that the people propel at the same time as being drawn along by it, a mutual becoming.
The intensive space structured by the fold, on the other hand, obeys a logic that is different from both "projection" and "fabulation." It opens a zone of greater indistinction between the intensities that are perceived and the perceiving surface than is possible through projection on a plane. Nor does the dynamism of the fold directly pressupose a collectivity, although it is perpetually in touch with expressions of a multiplicity. What is at stake in the monad is an involution of perceptions within the surface, and consequently of multiplicity within the individual.
We do not seem to be dealing with a reflective structure here, even though Deleuze reverts to the visual register in a passing note: in perception, "the relation of resemblance is like a 'projection': pain or color is projected on the vibratory plane of matter, somewhat in the way that a circle can be projected onto a plane as a parabola' (Fold 95; emphasis added). Despite this re-cropping of Cartesian geometry inside differential calculus, the space defined by the fold follows acoustic principles much more closely than optical ones. To begin with, perceptions fall onto the perceptive surface not in the clear outlines of an image, be it actual or hallucinated, but instead create "vibrations" on a resonating surface—a keynote in Leibniz's thought. Insofar as sound traits travel unaccompanied by any bodies, one would even be tempted to interpret Leibniz's insistence that "perception does not have an object" in terms of the condition of an individual whose only sensory contact with the world consists in listening to the world. At any rate, what is perceived in auditory space has no real distinction from the surface's own
oscillation, hence has no object other than the surface itself. The parallel between the fold's way of functioning and that of the ear brings out the monad's peculiar susceptibility to sensation: in a world ringing with echoes from near and far, the individual has no way of closing off vibrations or discerning forms out of cacophony, except by developing a sophisticated filter that can select and order. Intensive space here is not something that the individual projects on occasion when its own disposition coincides with a milieu. The Leibnizean individual, rather, has a particular susceptibility to intensity, ensured in no little part by its insulation in Extension.
One can pursue the question by turning to the visual domain proper to the Baroque. The analysis of Baroque painting and art in the third and last chapters of The Fold does not lend support to the assumption that the visual field obeys laws that separate the individual figure from the multiplicities that constitute its surroundings. For one thing, the canvas of the painting is not a reflective surface but a dark background, fuscum subnigrum in the artists' jargon (Fold 147). The figure emerges from this darkness in a light that oozes into the monad as if through an aperture, but which recedes back into various tones of shade, leaving the outlines of the figure in obscurity along with the indefinite mass of the surrounding objects. Light and obscurity seem to alternate in a tidal movement that is in no way comparable to the instantaneous act of projection of a figure in a well-defined outline. Leibniz himself compares the visual domain of the Baroque to perspectival geometry: in the place where eye would be in linear perspective we have the luminous region of the canvas; the place of the object is occupied by the opaque region; finally, the function of projection is replaced by shadow (Fold 32). Tintoretti's portraits are paradigmatic of this oscillation of the figure in an appearing-receding movement that demands a peculiar viewing attitude: not so much an act of capture as one of deliberation in darkness, deciphering or "reading" (Fold 31). Parallel to this emergence of the figure from the dark background of a canvas, the figure can also appear in painting as wrapped within a fold that dissolves its contours into the fluidity of the elements. This infinitely expanding series of the fold not only carries the figure to the outside of its body but expands the very frame of painting into sculpture, while sculpture itself becomes a component of urban space following the fugitive line of the fold (Fold 122-4).
Deleuze picks up this key feature of Baroque visual space, which will become important for his analysis of contemporary art. The image that emerges from the fold has a hallucinatory character, yet there is no final surface or instance upon which the illusion can be shed, yielding place to a truth beneath. The notion of disingaño that circulates everywhere in
Baroque theater and opera is associated not with an ultimate instance of disillusionment but with the futility of the attempt to rid oneself of illusion and the disappointment that inevitably accompanies it. This is not to say that a Baroque artist lives in self-deception, for "the essence of the Baroque entails neither falling into nor emerging from illusion but rather realizing something in illusion itself." The baroque artists "constantly reach presence in illusion, in vanishment, in swooning, or by converting illusion into presence;" they "know well that hallucination does not feign presence, but that presence is hallucinatory" (Fold 125).
Since it is out of the question to unfold all the folds included in the monad, this power to make the illusory pass into the real surpasses the judgment of truth. Deleuze observes a very similar dynamic of involution at work in the experiments in cinema spearheaded by neo-realism. Here the fold is deployed in creating a new time-machine. While the conventional narrative cinema duplicates the law of linear chronology in the way it orders the sequence of images (the law applies also to past events referred from the present, such as reminiscences and flashbacks), the cinema of the "time-image" utilizes the technical possibility of cinema to unleash multiple and divergent versions of the same event. The unity of time having thus been shattered, one is left without a criterion with which to decide among the virtual series. Deleuze focuses on the peculiar type of character that arises from this bifurcation of time, and that can cross over inconsistent multiple versions of the event, like an aleatory point traversing heterogeneous series. Elsewhere Deleuze had defined the figure of "quasi-causal operator," or "dark precursor," which captures the point of resonance between divergent series and creates a synthesis out of them. In the cinema of folding temporalities, Deleuze finds the same role assumed by the "forger" or "traitor," which is called so not for having carried out a particular fraud but for betraying the presupposition that underlies the very notion of a unified subject. Hence, betrayal becomes a generalized strategy for upholding the "powers of the false" (Deleuze, Cinema 2 126— 34). Incidentally, in the examples Deleuze chooses as paradigmatic of this cinema, betrayal as temporal form becomes indistinguishable from the character's act of betrayal in the plot; cheating lovers and con-men are offered as favorable disjunctive synthesizers.
he provocative power of these traitor-subjects for a new manifesto of art is indisputable, as is their power for a philosophy that defines the task of thinking not in terms of a search and exposition of truth but as that of dramatizing the elements of a problem. However, something else seems to be at stake in the passage from the instance of the problem, which in this case could be formulated as "how to inhabit disjunctive series at once," to the
domain of solutions where the figure of the traitor appears. On what ground or plane does the projection of the aleatory point give us the figure of the traitor? The aleatory point as a virtual element of two series at once does not express "loyalty" to one or the other of them that may serve as a ground for a judgment of betrayal. Nor does the disjunctive synthesis that results from the movement of the aleatory point result in upsetting either of the relations in which it participates in a way that may be termed a "betrayal." What is at stake, rather, is a creative operation that gives rise to individuation. The question that needs to be posed then becomes, how does the dramatis persona of the traitor that has its lineage in the Leibnizean or Baroque fold—at least for Deleuze—compare with the other operator of the fold, the monad?
This question brings us close to another one we have asked regarding the conclusion of Deleuze's treatise on Leibniz: has the nomad indeed overtaken the monad? Are these two figures even commensurable enough that we can compare them, and in which register precisely, the intensive or the extensive? Has the unleashing of divergent worlds invalidated the monadic principles of closure and selection, or is it the backlash of Extension upon intensive space that turns the Baroque House inside out, into "A Haunted House"?
These questions and the resonance between them indicate that we are dealing with a spatial problem here. The drama-concept of the fold that Deleuze extracts from Leibniz affirms illusion as part of its operation, on condition that it creates presences, via syntheses, from within illusion, while reinscribing illusion as the basis of presence. Illusion can become the raw material of presence through an imminent operation that admits neither ultimate revelation nor deceit among players. Or, if there are deceivers they receive no condemnation. The only ones that are damned in the entire Leibnizean drama are the monads that are reluctant to diligently listen to the world through the din and to read it in the obscurity in which it is immersed along with them. They are damned because they are betrayers, to the extent that they succumb to the surrounding noise and darkness. To reach from this theater of perseverance to the figure of traitor would necessarily require projecting an additional dimension from which illusions could be judged as such. Put differently, the monad does not earn the label of traitor for participating in illusions, since illusion is the only raw material available through which to work towards greater clarity. The only place entirely rid of the haze of illusions is the totality of the world, which does not exist for any of the monads except as a presupposition that they have to defer to infinity.
The Fold's chapter on "Incompossibility, Individuality, Liberty," where the argument put forward in Difference and Repetition is reiterated, affirms
Leibniz's concept of the non-compossible, renaming it "vice-diction." Deleuze utilizes the concept as a way out of the Hegelian concept of contradiction, which imprisons thought within Extensity and blocks its access to intensive differences, thought's proper domain. As Deleuze maintains, Leibniz's admittance of non-compossible worlds makes room for the coexistence of elements belonging to heterogenous series, without necessarily opposing them to one another. This basic insight seems to be dropped in the conclusion, however, where Deleuze introduces disjunctive series as if they were alien to Leibniz's scenario. We can raise the following question: If the world is governed by a unifying synthesis expressed in all its parts, why retreat indoors and seal up one's windows? The entire edifice of the monad appears to be erected as the scaffolding of a world that is already falling apart, as Deleuze himself admits in the fifth chapter with support from a number of commentators (Fold 67—8). Indeed, the intensive space to which the monad retreats has already received its share of the damage. The derivation of the compossible makes explicit that the concept arises in response to the question of why a sinner is admitted to the world and made the origin of humankind to boost. What Leibniz consigns to the non-compossible is not elements that seem to disturb the "harmony" of the world. The disjunctive element is rather affirmed on the basis of a presumed synthesis, albeit one that can only be presupposed through infinite deferral. As part of the same operation, it is in fact the "corrected" version of Adam that is consigned to the non-compossible, also on the presupposition that through an infinitely distant relation in a virtual series he might be linked with more evil than we already have. The non-compossible almost resembles a reserve of utopian possibilities that remain within the purview of the monad and perhaps even exert an influence over the process of the monad's self-development.
Leibniz envisions an enormous task for thought: to have the power to sooth the individual in a world ringing with dissonance. It is a paradoxical task that involves calibrating perceptions towards ever greater subtlety, while bolstering an ever thicker wall of indifference towards extensive aggregates of bodies so as to preserve the sustaining presupposition of the world.
By claiming that the monad is surprised by divergence and overtaken by the nomad, Deleuze's analysis relapses to an extensive plane from Leibniz's intensive and involuted universe, which has extracted a principle of regeneration out of dissonance. We can imagine the two of them sitting across from each other in a go game where Leibniz scores numerous "eyes" in Deleuze's territory, and names them "isolatoes."
NOTES
1	The term is offered by Peter Szendy in his reading of Moby Dick (see Szendy).
2	See Szendy 67—74. A palpable, virtual presence of Deleuze is sensed, although, curiously, without being vocalized throughout what Gil Anidjar, in the "Afterword" to his translation of Szendy, sees as Szendy s "ipsology" (see Szendy 95 sq).
3	See especially the "Sixteenth Series of the Static Ontological Synthesis" in The Logic of Sense (Deleuze, Logic 114): "We are no longer faced with an individuated world constituted by means of already fixed singularities, organized into convergent series, nor are we faced with determined individuals which express this world. We are now faced with the aleatory point of singular points, with the ambiguous sign of singularities, or rather with that which represents this sign, and which holds good for many of these worlds, or, in the last analysis, for all worlds despite their divergences and the individuals which inhabit them."
4	In his response to Deleuze's reading of Leibniz, "Gilles Deleuze. Sur Le Pli: Leibniz et le baroque," Alain Badiou begins by questioning the interchangeability of the terms singularity and event (see Badiou). Though I am in no position to follow Deleuze into the work of all the mathematicians whom he cites in discussions on differential calculus and topology, the definition of the event with reference to singularity seems mathematically legitimate beyond dispute. To judge the event based on the extent of its effects or the length of the period over which it lasts, as Badiou suggests, would amount to submitting what properly belongs to differential space to Cartesian space for measurement. The relation between the body parts of a bee may be infinitely more complex than that of a drone plane, just as the communal structure of a bee colony may be so much more intricate than the hierarchy of the Pentagon, yet a bee cannot sting a drone plane. Certainly, events themselves have such mixed consequences in intensity and extension, but Deleuzean thought measures an event based on its distribution in intensity where it has its adequate cause. This is not to ignore that the frequency and amplitude of singularities, their proximity to or distance from one another, distinguishes the magnitude of events in intensive space. The entire strife and appetite of the monad is to enhance that magnitude.
5	In the essay "The Shame and the Glory: T. E. Lawrence," the plane of intensity is "projected" (Essays 116—7). In What Is Philosophy?, a plane of composition is "laid down" where blocs of sensation gather (50, 197).
WORKS CITED
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1989. Paris: Seuil, 1989. 161-184. Deleuze, Gilles. Cinema 2: The Time-Image. Trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Robert Galeta. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1991.
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---. The Logic of Sense. Trans. Mark Lester and Charles Stivale. New York: Columbia
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Deleuze, Gilles, and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: Minnesota University Press, 1987.
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Prostor literature: inercija in intenzivnost
Ključne besede: filozofija umetnosti / Deleuze, Gilles / Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm / prostorskost / guba / monada / nomadstvo
V knjigi Mille plateaux Deleuze in Guattari podata dve paradoksni zahtevi: »Ravnaj se po liniji toka!« in »Vzpostavi ravnino imanence!« Oba mota pozivata k prelomu s teritorialnim prostorom družbeno-simbol-nega, čeprav z drugačnimi sredstvi. Prvi moto predpostavlja stalno gibanje, ki se ne ozira na meje, drugi pa poziva k poglobitvi notranjih povezav na zamejenem področju. Ti usmeritvi prenehata biti paradoksni, če ju obravnavamo kot verziji poskusa vzpostavitve odnosa do singularnosti. Predstavili bomo Deleuzove artikulacije tega poskusa vse od pojma »gladkega prostora« do koncepta »gube«, ki ga Deleuze izpelje iz Leibniza, da bi ga preobrazil v svoji analizi filma. Vprašali se bomo, ali ima figura nomada navsezadnje prednost pred monado in, če je tako, ali ta koncepta vendarle zapadeta Ekstenziji, ki jo hočeta zapustiti.
April 2013