there are different kinds of infinity, and each variety has its own distinct properties, its haecceities. And so it is here: D&G note the well-known affinity of the Abrahamic monotheisms for smooth space, but conclude that “religion converts the absolute.”

The local irruption of the Godhead into history — whatever else it may be — is *not* what they mean by “the local absolute.” Religion remains, very much as we’d suspected, “a piece in the State apparatus (in both its forms[...]).”

I’m going to leave off here for today, because we’re still contending with a plumbing emergency, and I expect that will occupy the rest of my day.

Would one of you be so kind as to contribute a few notes — pointers to the theory of the Eucharist, the circumambulation of the Kaaba, and so on? Thanks, and I’ll see you tomorrow for more “Nomadology”!

So we pause, in this reflection on the relation between religion and the nomad, to establish what seems obvious, self-evident, almost unworthy of comment: that the monotheisms, at least, are “not, in effect, separable from a firm and constant orientation, from an imperial State of right, even, and especially, in the absence of a State in fact.”

We know that if there’s one thing D&G are always attentive to, though, it’s eddies, inclusions, trailing vortices, slight returns. And so it is here:

“[I]t is not an exhaustive approach to establish a simple opposition between two points of view, religion-nomadism,” they tell us. “For monotheistic religion, at the deepest level of its tendency to project a universal or spiritual State over the entire ecumenon, is not without ambivalence or fringe areas.” What might these consist of?

Well, I can think of a few, myself — various heresies or esoteric practices within the monotheisms, from Sufism to Kabbalah to the practice of kenosis.

But D&G are after something more specific: “religion as an element in a war machine, and the idea of holy war as the motor of that machine.”

They seem to anticipate — even then, in the days before various self-anointed mujahideen made “jihad” a familiar concept in the West — that the mind of the reader would leap straight to Islam at this point: “The *prophet* [emphasis in original], as opposed to the state personality of the king and the religious personality of the priest, traces the...

movement by which a religion becomes a war machine or passes over to the side of such a machine.” And they invoke Georges Bataille’s pungent, if questionable, summary of early Islam: “‘a society reduced to the military enterprise.’”

Here comes the corrective, though: “Yet the Crusades were a properly Christian adventure of this type.” And there follows an astonishing, if all too brief, regrounding in the history of medieval Europe, and the papacy’s concerted attempts, over two centuries, to

wrest the southern Levant from Islam by military force, and claim it for Christendom.

It’s a good moment to spend some time contemplating the energies summoned by the Crusades, because in so many ways they are still conditioning our lives. Poor self-hating Pete Hegseth rather fancies himself a Crusader, with his Deus Vult tattoo; various contemporary far-right formations overtly take this warrior Christianity as a model (when they aren’t simply harboring suppressed jealousy for the Taliban).

And what D&G argue is that the lessons are not quite so clearcut as these latterday stans have made themselves believe. The whole sequence in which they do this has a melancholy music that — in its own way, to be sure — just about rises to a prophetic cadence itself, so I’m going to quote it in full:

“The prophets may very well condemn nomad life; the [here implicitly Crusader] war machine may very well favor the movement of migration and the ideal of establishment; religion in general may very

“well compensate for its specific deterritorialization with a spiritual and even physical reterritorialization, which in the case of the holy war assumes the well-directed character of a conquest of the holy lands as the center of the world — but despite all of that, when religion sets itself up as a war machine, it mobilizes and liberates a formidable charge of nomadism or absolute deterritorialization, it doubles the migrant with an accompanying nomad, or with the potential nomad the migrant

“is in the process of becoming, and finally, its turns its dream of an absolute State back against the State-form. And this turning against is no less a part of the ‘essence’ of religion than that dream.”

*Whew*. We don’t even need to imagine the specifics to grasp something of the truth of this, but let’s try to evoke some anyway. The doughty Norseman meeting his end in the siege of some Balearic hilltown, the Catalan uprooted from the tending of his fields and driven halfway around the world

in a bedraggled column of filthy, half-literate warrior-mendicants: what heresies did they encounter along the way? What sights, sounds, foods, smells entered them? (For that matter, *who* entered them, and under what circumstances?) Can we be at all sure they remained the slicing instrument of Godly terror at all times, or is it possible that entirely other affects traversed these pilgrim bodies, and made *them* something entirely other?

It’s an example from another time and place and context,

but I think of the three US Army medics who came back from the war in Vietnam filled not with loathing for the Viet Cong, but with admiration for the way they tended to the wellbeing of the people, and on the basis of these “barefoot doctor” practices founded the Free Clinic that remains operational in Berkeley to this day.

The faith contains the seeds of its own undoing, always. Not in every body that carries it, not maybe in most — but the harder it tries to clamp down a lid upon the world,

the more cracks it opens through which something else might seep through. The application of force creates the conditions of its own negation, and however local that negation may be, when it appears it is absolute.

Let’s leave things here for today, shall we?

Notes: Wikipedia’s not terrible on the Crusades, at least as a place to start: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crusades

- You shouldn’t doubt how potent or how appealing Crusader iconography has become over the past several years: https://blog.library.villanova.edu/2019/09/30/deus-vult/

Crusades - Wikipedia

- Annemarie Schimmel’s “Mystical Dimensions of Islam” was my first source on Sufism (outside the hugely problematic works of adult-child sex advocate “Hakim Bey,” aka Peter Lamborn Wilson), and while it’s somewhat dated, it’s still a useful overview. You can find that here: https://dn790002.ca.archive.org/0/items/137665622MysticalDimensionsOfIslamAnnemarieSchimmel/137665622-Mystical-Dimensions-of-Islam-Annemarie-Schimmel.pdf

- My own exposure to Kabbalah (& related ideas e.g. gematria) was via Thelema, but the *source* is Gershom Scholem’s “Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism.” Find that here: https://www.bard.edu/library/pdfs/archives/Scholem-Major_Trends_in_Jewish_Mysticism.pdf

And for the Abrahamic trifecta, here’s what is possibly the preëminent work of Christian mysticism, the fourteenth-century “Cloud of Unknowing.” https://ia902909.us.archive.org/32/items/cloudofunknowing0000unse_h8l5/cloudofunknowing0000unse_h8l5.pdf

See you tomorrow for more “Nomadology”!

Today’s passage is mostly a transitional one, the pivot between the discussion of religion and its use of the war machine we’ve been dwelling with, and one about the State and State spaces that will follow.

The approach to that latter topic, though, leads through a consideration of the composition of the State, which turns on a historico-geographical distinction we no longer make: that between “the West” and “the Orient.” What’s particularly interesting to me about this material is that 1980

is just about the last historical moment at which the distinction would have been intellectually and socially tenable, though frankly it feels like French thought was comfortable clinging to it after it had already begun to drift out of fashion elsewhere.

For contemporary readers, both in “the West” and elsewhere, it feels necessary to reconstruct the distinction the text here treats as obvious and primary. What was that distinction?

For all their radicalism elsewhere, D&G accept a conceptual

architecture they inherit from the age of empire: that between an Occident more or less coextensive with Christendom, and an Orient that sprawled away to the east and south. (The boundaries of the Orient were by no means fixed in the Western imagination; the early 19th-century Austrian diplomat Metternich is supposed to have said that “Asia begins at the Landstraße,” i.e. just east of the center of Vienna itself.)

And things were supposedly Different Out There, ethically or even ontologically

as much as economically, politically or organizationally. There were any number of articulations of this theme, but the one that feels closest to the sense in which D&G mobilize the distinction was that of the German sociologist Karl Wittfogel.

In the early part of his career, Wittfogel was associated with the Frankfurt School, but I think it’s fair to say that his work described a curious ideological trajectory following his escape from Nazi Germany in 1933. The concept for which he remains

best-known is that of “Oriental despotism.”

Oriental despotism was a mode of rule that involved the crystallization of a central State apparatus, in turn ostensibly driven by the emergent need to manage the complex irrigation infrastructure on which Chinese agriculture relied. (This was the “hydraulic hypothesis.”) D&G rely, overtly, on other sources for their account of the Orient — they cite only Braudel, Max Gluckman and the arch-rightist Chaunu — but Wittfogel is all over their description

of “the victory of the West over the Orient,” for those with the eyes to see it.

This wince-inducing idyll, of course, comes to a crashing end with the 1978 publication of Edward Said’s “Orientalism,” followed swiftly by Gayatri Spivak’s writings of the mid-80s. From that moment forward, the West/Orient distinction can no longer be upheld by anyone wishing to be understood as making serious contributions to thought: we see all the ways in which it’s lazy epistemologically, befilthed by its use

as a legitimating apparatus for empire, and basically an impediment to seeing and understanding cultures as they actually were and are.

So what might otherwise be an interesting, rather sharply Scott-flavored set of observations (about, say, the consequences of deforestation in China, rather than large-scale clearance for planting and the imposition of agricultural grids) becomes hard for the contemporary reader to engage. Where, elsewhere in the text, my own scholarship is inadequate to the

task of determining whether the binary oppositions D&G are so prone to assert are actually founded in any valid historical finding, here I know full well the argument is built on a weak, weaker, weakest foundation.

It’s certainly possible to hold that this doesn’t matter — that finding a literal, historical correlate for each of their figures of thought is hardly the point. And I’m actually not at all unsympathetic to this: for me, the point remains what you can *do* with these concepts, not

what in history (or anatomy, physics, etc.) they are supposed to have been based on. Nevertheless, I have a really hard time taking seriously any passage that asks me to entertain the idea that the Occident/Orient distinction is salient.

Notes: The conventional Metternich scholarship, i.e. that to which I was exposed in school, presents him as a titan of conservatism, but there is at least one recent revisionist perspective that appears to have impressed critics: https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v42/n19/christopher-clark/a-rock-of-order

Christopher Clark · A Rock of Order: Through Metternich’s Eyes

While the peacekeeping aspects of the post-Vienna order continue to attract admiration, the same is not true of the...

London Review of Books

(Note the weirdly Taoist point Henry Kissinger, of all people, makes about conservatism in the penultimate paragraph there.)

- Here’s Wittfogel (1955) on “Developmental Aspects of Hydraulic Societies,” with apologies for the shitey scan: https://www.columbia.edu/itc/anthropology/v3922/pdfs/wittfogel.pdf

- And here’s Said’s “Orientalism,” in all its glory:
https://monoskop.org/images/4/4e/Said_Edward_Orientalism_1979.pdf

See you tomorrow!

Having put to one side the problematic-in-the-bad-way material comparing the West to the “hydraulic” “Orient,” we are now free to resume the much more interesting conversation that takes us through the remainder of this division of the text.

This involves, again, the question of “striated” State space: “One of the fundamental tasks of the State is to striate the space over which it reigns, or to utilize smooth spaces as a means of communication in the service of striated space.”

This is almost straightforward for D&G. The truth of this proposition is, of course, easiest to see with respect to borders — what, after all, is a border but a line inscribed upon the Earth, cleaving one set of possible becomings from another? But it also holds up when we consider historical circumstances like the British Empire’s use of sea power, or the strewing of communication, reconnaissance, geodesy and positioning satellites across the various bands of Earth orbit. Let’s take up these

points one at a time.

Drawing lines is primary for a State: “It is a vital concern of every State not only to vanquish nomadism, but to control migrations and, more generally, to establish a zone of rights over an entire ‘exterior,’ over all of the flows traversing the ecumenon.”

I feel like “zone of rights” here refers to something more than the assertion of control over territorial waters, and tends more toward something like the Monroe Doctrine: the articulation of a sphere of influence.

And importantly, the State asserts the legitimacy of its claim in order to leverage whatever flows of matter, energy and information traverse the sphere of influence, and use them toward its own ends: “If it can help it, the State does not dissociate itself from a process of capture of flows of all kinds, populations, commodities or commerce, money or capital, etc.” So far, this doesn’t seem terribly different from the account one might be offered in any first-year IR class, right?

But there does seem to be a nuance in D&G’s understanding of the *means* of that capture that would probably elude the common-or-garden IR instructor: what they have consistently referred to as the “striation” of space via lines of all sorts: roads, paths, property claims, sea routes, orbits. Only the one cleaving Kashmir in two is explicitly named this way, but really all such lines are lines of control.

“There is still a need for fixed paths in well-defined directions, which restrict speed,

regulate circulation, relativize movement, and measure in detail the relative movements of subjects and objects.”

Here I think of D&G’s characterization of nomad movement as “vortical,” and the initial phase of the settler-colonial conquest of the American west, almost as if a gas whose molecules consisted of Conestoga wagons had diffused across a membrane at the western shore of the Mississippi, until it filled the entire space. And then the coming of the State on the back of stagecoach routes

and telegraph lines, and eventually the Transcontinental Railroad. The space becomes cross-gridded with these lines, and only once that has happened is the assertion of State power tenable.

And the State uses that power to regulate flows further. It becomes responsible for what Paul Virilio characterizes as “management of the public ways,” with distinct consequences for the *ways* in which matter, energy, information and people flow: “the gates of the city...are barriers, filters against the

“fluidity of the masses, against the penetration power of migratory packs.” For D&G, it “is not at all that the State knows nothing of speed” — which in their schema, recall, is an *intensive* quantity — but that “it requires that movement, even the fastest, cease to be the absolute state of a moving body occupying a smooth space, to become the relative characteristic of a ‘moved body’ going from one point to another in a strated space. In this sense, the State never ceases to decompose,

“recompose and transform movement, or to regulate speed.”

Here again we are confronted with a set of assertions that will quite probably drive the more literally-, physically-minded nuts. The point, firstly, depends on a teetering concatenation or cascade of Deleuzian definitions, which are not the same as those understood by the sciences. And in any event, it’s possible to think of quite a few — perhaps even too many — exceptions and counterexamples. Nevertheless, I think there’s still a good

deal of force to this conception of the State as regulator of all flows. The *real* question is whether anything that abstracts and captures flows, and breaks them to defined pathways, is becoming-State for D&G — because that could very well describe the entire domain of life.

Let’s let that question hang in the (smooth) air for a bit, and return to it tomorrow.

In the meantime, notes:

- The classic study of State use of smooth space is Mahan’s “Influence of Sea Power Upon History, 1660-1783,” and you can find that here:
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/13529/13529-h/13529-h.htm

- The meaning and implications of the Monroe Doctrine continue to be fodder for scholarly contestation. The proceedings of a recent, not particularly radical symposium on the topic will perhaps give you a flavor of some perspectives in the contemporary mainstream:
https://www.hsozkult.de/conferencereport/id/fdkn-138430

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Influence of Sea Power Upon History, 1660-1783, by A. T. Mahan

- Here’s Wikipedia’s account of the Kashmiri Line of Control, which doesn’t at a glance contain any howlingly obvious partisan assertions: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Line_of_Control

- And here’s a piece exploring one of the ways in which State striation of the American West undermined other, preexisting lifeways, and eventually rendered them untenable. https://americanhistory.si.edu/explore/stories/TRR

Catch you tomorrow, for the next tranche of “Nomadology.” 👊

Line of Control - Wikipedia

Before we press on with “Nomadology,” I thought you might enjoy this interview with Autonomedia’s Jim Fleming, which covers, among other things, Autonomedia’s relationship with semiotext(e), the genesis of the Foreign Agents Series and Fleming’s support for Peter Lamborn Wilson: https://www.novembermag.com/content/jim-fleming/
Jim Fleming

in conversation with Taylor Lewandowski, "I've been erased from the official history of Semiotext(e)."

Jim Fleming

Sometime, too, I’ll have to unpack what I’ve vaguely thought of as the “small multiples” theory of cultural production, which takes in the Foreign Agents series as well as a few other projects which have weighed disproportionately much in the course of my life – Metagaming’s Microgames, the Simple Machines 7” singles, etc.

https://www.blackgate.com/2014/11/28/the-roots-of-microgaming-the-classic-games-of-metagaming/

http://www.simplemachines.net/story.html

The Roots of Microgaming: The Classic Games of Metagaming – Black Gate

We’re back, with the aim today of wrapping up our consideration of the State and its relation to the spaces it superintends. Up until now, D&G have drawn for us a distinction between the State’s need to “striate” space, by subdividing it with control grids both literal and conceptual, and the nomad war machine’s ability not merely to make use of the smoothness of space but to make space smooth. And in concert with this distinction they offer a contrast between two styles of movement:

*relative movement*, i.e. that calibrated against the State’s striations, and *absolute speed*, which (as frustrating as it sounds) they define as a property of someone or -thing that has become deterritorialized, and which may even be expressed in complete stillness.

And we’re prepared to accept this is yet another in the series of binary oppositions they’ve offered since the beginning of the text, contrasting the conditions congenial to and produced by the State apparatus to those which

accompany and support the appearance of the nomad war machine. We’re told that each flashing appearance of a guerrilla force of any sort whatsoever makes space smooth wherever it occurs, and that the State’s response is invariably to attempt to overmaster such insurgencies by reimposing a striation. By now, though D&G occasionally caution us to look out for captures, encystments or inclusions, we’ve become sufficiently accustomed to these binaries that we could probably assert them in our sleep.
But here they throw us a curveball: “The situation is much more complicated than we have led on.” It turns out that we can’t simply assign certain kinds of space to one or another category — the sea in particular, which they’ve heretofore asked us to consider as something like the archetypal form of smooth space. And this is because “the sea is also, of smooth spaces, the first one attempts were made to striate, to transform into a dependency of the land, with its fixed routes, constant

“directions, relative movements, a whole counterhydraulic of channels and conduits.”

Well. Lots to say about this, including the notion that those very “fixed routes [and] constant directions” largely emerge from properties of the Earth system — haecceities! — of a sort that D&G have previously commended “following.” (Is a sea current other than a seam in a piece of stone?) But let’s accept that even the paradigmatically smooth spaces are indeed subject to attempts at striation. What of it?

The argument here seems to be that this is not the whole story: that in its attempts at reticulating smooth spaces, and subjecting them to regimes of relative moment, the State inadvertently propagates smoothness at a higher, still more global level. Such undertakings have “the most unexpected result: the multiplication of relative movements, the intensification of relative speeds in striated space, ended up reconstituting a smooth space or absolute movement.” The State, in fact, “brings back
“the smooth in the wake of the striated.” But *this* smoothness, this deterritorialization, is purged of its association with the opening to the liberatory outside that we’ve come to rely on the war machine to produce: “We say this as a reminder that smooth space and the form of exteriority do not have an irresistible revolutionary calling, but change meaning drastically depending on the interactions they are part of and the concrete conditions of their exercise or establishment.”
Frankly, I find this passage intensely frustrating. On the one hand, it’s useful to push back against the kind of lazy schematicity that would satisfy itself by observing “Striated = Bad, Smooth = Good.” But on the other, it’s irritating for D&G to establish these categories — which are, after all, theirs — and assert their importance, and then more or less immediately undermine their analytic salience. At the very least, some concrete examples would help the reader understand where they see

the moment at which the smoothness of space pivots from being a property of nomadic deterritorialization to something the State can leverage to further its own ends.

The only example that comes to mind for me immediately is the one we’ve already discussed: of the IDF’s appropriation of Deleuzian thought. In the words of IDF commander Aviv Kochavi: “This space that you look at, this room that you look at, is nothing but your interpretation of it...The question is how do you interpret the alley?

“We interpreted the alley as a place we were forbidden to walk through and the door as a place we were forbidden to pass through, and the window as a place we were forbidden to look through, because a weapon awaits us in the alley, and a booby trap awaits us behind the door. This is why we opted for the methodology of moving through walls...[l]ike a worm that eats its way forward, emerging at points and then disappearing.”

This conscious use of smooth space to accomplish the ends of the State

in its most brutally oppressive form should certainly be enough to convince us that there’s no necessary connection between deterritorialization and liberation. And if this is the case, then perhaps we may yet imagine some circumstance in which striation *does* conduce to a fuller and more broadly enjoyed freedom. I leave the identification of such a circumstance as an exercise for the reader, though I surely hope you’ll let me know what you may come up with.

Tomorrow we’ll resume our inquiry

by taking up the text’s Proposition 6:

“Nomad existence necessarily implies the numerical elements of a war machine.”

Until then, I’ll leave you with the sole note for today, Eyal Weizman’s article “Walking Through Walls,” from which the commentary of IDF commander Kochavi was drawn:
https://static1.squarespace.com/static/56e1e3e24d088e6834d4fbf4/t/5b7ff4cf70a6adbc6a7736ad/1535112400261/191111322-Weizman-Walking-Through-Walls-Frontier-Architecture-Eyal-Weizman.pdf

So. “Nomad existence necessarily implies the numerical elements of a war machine.” What might this mean?

I find the entire long discussion that follows among the most obscure in all of “Nomadology” — and I suspect many readers feel broadly the same, as the concepts deployed here don’t seem to have enjoyed nearly the same popular amplification as other Deleuzian terms, like smooth space or the rhizome. So let’s take it particularly slowly and see if we can’t nevertheless get it to render up

something approaching meaning.

The section kicks off with an observation: “Tens, hundreds, thousands, myriads: all armies retain these decimal groupings, to the point that each time they are encountered it is safe to assume the presence of a military organization.” And we’re already in trouble, for two reasons: that word “decimal,” first — the Army I was in, at least, organized itself in teams, squads, platoons, companies, battalions and so on, none of which typically converged on a decimal

quantity — and also the assertion of an inherent militarity to this organizing logic, when it’s at least as plausible that large-scale labor formations organized this way preceded military ones historically. But let’s take them at their word, for a moment, and see what it is they want to do with this assertion.

“Is this not the way an army deterritorializes its soldiers? An army is composed of units, companies and divisions. [NB: “companies” and “divisions” are *types* of unit.] The Numbers can

“vary in function, in combination, they can enter into entirely different strategies, but there is always a connection between the Number and the war machine.”

I kind of get what they’re after here: in basic training, kids are stripped immediately of their affiliation with Pine Bluff, Arkansas or the Bronx or Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and remade as soldiers of the Third Platoon (“DOGS OF WAR!”), Company D, 2nd Battalion, 46th Infantry Regiment. It’s as literal a deterritorialization operation as you

are ever likely to find, and each of those nested units does owe something to the “decimal” scheme D&G perceive, if only roughly.

The trouble is, though, that D&G are asserting a connection *not* between Number and the army, but *between Number and a war machine they have spent a few thousand words emphasizing is precisely other than a State army*. Maybe if we dig in further we can grasp the point they’re getting at?

The connection they wish us to see is “not a question of quantity, but of

“organization or composition. When the State creates armies, it always applies this principle of numeric organization; but all it does is adopt the principle, at the same time it appropriates the war machine. For so peculiar an idea — the numerical organization of people — came from the nomads.” (The actual text says “from to the nomads” here, the first typo I can remember tripping over in the entire text, and it’s followed a mere few paragraphs later by another. Perhaps the compositor was as

nonplused by this passage as I am.)

Well. So far as I understand it, “this principle of numeric organization” — this fractal, nested way of assembling people, whether in militaries or labor formations, and divvying them up into functional groups — has to do with enabling a hierarchical practice of command and control. You don’t, and can’t, command a single formation of 10,000 — but you *can* issue orders to five divisional COs, who direct their battalion commanders, and so on down the chain.

And in this way, the whole unwieldy mass begins to move, with relative swiftness and cohesion. The whole thing depends on “the chain of command.”

What D&G want us to accept, though, is that this whole organizational logic was captured by the State from *nomads* who dispose of their available number “vortically,” in smooth space. How do they intend to convince us of this seemingly rather stark reversal?

With an appeal to history, evidently! “It was the Hyksos, conquering nomads, who brought it to Egypt; and when Moses applied it to his people in exodus, it was on the advice of his nomad father-in-law, Jethro the Cinite, and was done is [sic] such a way as to constitute a war machine, the elements of which are described in the _Book of Numbers_.”

The Britannica tells us that the Hyksos were “a dynasty of Palestinian origin that ruled northern Egypt as the 15th dynasty” (the word “Hyksos” itself

was “in fact probably an Egyptian term for ‘rulers of foreign lands’ [heqa-khase].”) And, per the same source, they did indeed bring with them to their project of rule in Egypt military-organizational technologies founded on the horse, chariot and compound bow. So far, D&G’s account bears out.

As for Jethro’s advice to Moses, the Biblical account is in Exodus 18, verses 13-26. Here’s the King James version, which I obviously prefer:

“17 And Moses' father in law said unto him,

@adamgreenfield D&G? Dolce &Gabbana? Dumfries & Galloway?