6 D INTRODUCTION: RHIZOME
if reflexive, spiritual reality does not compensate for this state of things by
demanding an even more comprehensive secret unity, or a more extensive
totality. Take William Burroughs's cut-up method: the folding of one text
onto another, which constitutes multiple and even adventitious roots (like
a cutting), implies a supplementary dimension to that of the texts under
consideration. In this supplementary dimension of folding, unity contin-
ues its spiritual labor. That is why the most resolutely fragmented work can
also be presented as the Total Work or Magnum Opus. Most modern meth-
ods for making series proliferate or a multiplicity grow are perfectly valid
in one direction, for example, a linear direction, whereas a unity of
totalization asserts itself even more firmly in another, circular or cyclic,
dimension. Whenever a multiplicity is taken up in a structure, its growth is
offset by a reduction in its laws of combination. The abortionists of unity
are indeed angel makers, doctores angelici, because they affirm a properly
angelic and superior unity. Joyce's words, accurately described as having
"multiple roots," shatter the linear unity of the word, even of language,
only to posit a cyclic unity of the sentence, text, or knowledge. Nietzsche's
aphorisms shatter the linear unity of knowledge, only to invoke the cyclic
unity of the eternal return, present as the nonknown in thought. This is as
much as to say that the fascicular system does not really break with dual-
ism, with the complementarity between a subject and an object, a natural
reality and a spiritual reality: unity is consistently thwarted and obstructed
in the object, while a new type of unity triumphs in the subject. The world
has lost its pivot; the subject can no longer even dichotomize, but accedes
to a higher unity, of ambivalence or overdetermination, in an always sup-
plementary dimension to that of its object. The world has become chaos,
but the book remains the image of the world: radicle-chaosmos rather than
root-cosmos. A strange mystification: a book all the more total for being
fragmented. At any rate, what a vapid idea, the book as the image of the
world. In truth, it is not enough to say, "Long live the multiple," difficult as
it is to raise that cry. No typographical, lexical, or even syntactical clever-
ness is enough to make it heard. The multiple must be made, not by always
adding a higher dimension, but rather in the simplest of ways, by dint of
sobriety, with the number of dimensions one already has available—
always n - 1 (the only way the one belongs to the multiple: always sub-
tracted). Subtract the unique from the multiplicity to be constituted; write
at n - 1 dimensions. A system of this kind could be called a rhizome. A rhi-
zome as subterranean stem is absolutely different from roots and radicles.
Bulbs and tubers are rhizomes. Plants with roots or radicles may be
rhizomorphic in other respects altogether: the question is whether plant
life in its specificity is not entirely rhizomatic. Even some animals are, in
their pack form. Rats are rhizomes. Burrows are too, in all of their func-
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INTRODUCTION: RHIZOME □ 7
tions of shelter, supply, movement, evasion, and breakout. The rhizome
itself assumes very diverse forms, from ramified surface extension in all
directions to concretion into bulbs and tubers. When rats swarm over each
other. The rhizome includes the best and the worst: potato and couchgrass,
or the weed. Animal and plant, couchgrass is crabgrass. We get the distinct
feeling that we will convince no one unless we enumerate certain approxi-
mate characteristics of the rhizome.
1 and 2. Principles of connection and heterogeneity: any point of a rhi-
zome can be connected to anything other, and must be. This is very differ-
ent from the tree or root, which plots a point, fixes an order. The linguistic
tree on the Chomsky model still begins at a point S and proceeds by dichot-
omy. On the contrary, not every trait in a rhizome is necessarily linked to a
linguistic feature: semiotic chains of every nature are connected to very
diverse modes of coding (biological, political, economic, etc.) that bring
into play not only different regimes of signs but also states of things of dif-
fering status. Collective assemblages of enunciation function directly
within machinic assemblages; it is not impossible to make a radical break
between regimes of signs and their objects. Even when linguistics claims to
confine itself to what is explicit and to make no presuppositions about lan-
guage, it is still in the sphere of a discourse implying particular modes of
assemblage and types of social power. Chomsky's grammaticality, the cate-
gorical S symbol that dominates every sentence, is more fundamentally a
marker of power than a syntactic marker: you will construct grammatically
correct sentences, you will divide each statement into a noun phrase and a
verb phrase (first dichotomy. . .). Our criticism of these linguistic models
is not that they are too abstract but, on the contrary, that they are not
abstract enough, that they do not reach the abstract machine that connects
a language to the semantic and pragmatic contents of statements, to collec-
tive assemblages of enunciation, to a whole micropolitics of the social
field. A rhizome ceaselessly establishes connections between semiotic
chains, organizations of power, and circumstances relative to the arts, sci-
ences, and social struggles. A semiotic chain is like a tuber agglomerating
very diverse acts, not only linguistic, but also perceptive, mimetic,
gestural, and cognitive: there is no language in itself, nor are there any lin-
guistic universals, only a throng of dialects, patois, slangs, and specialized
languages. There is no ideal speaker-listener, any more than there is a
homogeneous linguistic community. Language is, in Weinreich's words,
"an essentially heterogeneous reality."
1
There is no mother tongue, only a
power takeover by a dominant language within a political multiplicity.
Language stabilizes around a parish, a bishopric, a capital. It forms a bulb.
It evolves by subterranean stems and flows, along river valleys or train
tracks; it spreads like a patch of oil.
2
It is always possible to break a language