To think the childhood of philosophy, Greece, means not much more than pointing to the Mediterranean and to the peoples which triumphed over it. Of the philosopher it can be said what Hegel said of the Hellenic people: that they are at home on the water of the sea, that the “nature of their country” (Deleuze and Guattari speaker of Greece’s “fractal structure: every point of the peninsula lies so close to the sea, and the coast is so uncommonly long”) induced them into an “amphibian existence” which caused them to spread out “freely over the land”, that this “out to sea from the restrictedness of the soil” gave the Greeks are kind of Mediterranean ecstasy by giving them the “idea of the indeterminate, unlimited and infinite” and that whoever tries to become at home in the “most dangerous and most powerful element” has to struggle with the deceptiveness of oceanic illusion. The philosopher puts his hopes and passions, his “property and life itself in danger of being lost”. He is exposed to the constant incalculability of oceanic powers. As long as the subject is afflicted by the unconscious, the contingent and any kind of darkness, the body of concepts slouches and relaxes in the thalassic element. Nothing is more certain than this water, that there is no beyond to the water, and no secured shores, no land spared flooding. Each and every shore must be invented, and even when such inventions succeed, the oceanic chaos encloses the individual concept like an island threatened with imminent subversion again by the next tide.