Nietzsche: L'origine della tragedia

This world: energy, without , withomonsterut  firm iron magnitude of force that does not grow bigger or smaller, that does not expend itbeginningself but only transforms itself; as a whole, of unalterable size, a household without expenses or losses, but likewise without increase or income;  

enclosed by “nothingness” as by a boundary; non something blurry or wasted, not something endlessly extended, but set in a definite space as a definite force, and not a space that might be “empty” here or there, but rather as force throughout, as a play of forces and waves of forces, at the same time one and many, increasing here and at the same time decreasing there; a sea of forces flowing and rushing together, eternally changing, eternally flooding back, with tremendous years of recurrence, with an ebb and a flood of its forms; out of the simplest forms striving toward the most christoph cox complex, out of the stillest, most rigid, coldest forms toward the hottest, most turbulent, most self-contradictory, and then returning home to the simple out of this abundance, out of the play of contradictions back to the joy of concord, still affirming itself in this uniformity of its courses and its years, blessing itself as that which must return eternally, as a becoming that knows no satiety, no disgust, no weariness: this, my Dionysian world of the eternally self-creating, the eternally self-destroying, this mystery world of the twofold voluptuous delight, my “beyond good and evil,” without goal, unless the joy of the circle is itself a goal; without will, unless a ring feels good will toward itself – do you want a name for this world? A solution for all its riddles? A light for you, too, you bestconcealed, strongest, most intrepid, most midnightly men – This world is the will to power – and nothing besides! And you yourselves are also this will to power – and nothing besides! (WP 1067) The Dionysus of The Birth of Tragedy is indeed a precursor to the later Nietzsche’s most important ontological doctrines: becoming, will to power, and eternal recurrence. In Beyond Good and Evil Nietzsche more soberly develops the notion of will to power as a play of drives and forces in a passage that helpfully contributes to our elucidation of the connections between Dionysus/Apollo and becoming/being. Suppose nothing else were “given” as real except our world of desires and passions, and we could not get down, or up, to any other “reality” besides the reality of our drives [ . . . ]: is it not permitted to make the experiment and to ask whether this “given” would not be sufficient for also understanding on the basis of this kind of thing the so-called mechanistic (or “material”) world? I mean not as a deception, as “mere appearance,” an “idea” (in the sense of Berkeley and Schopenhauer) but as holding the same rank of reality as our affect – as a more primitive form of the world of affects in which everything still lies contained in a powerful unity before it undergoes ramifications and developments in the organic process [ . . . ] – as a kind of instinctive life [Triebleben] in which all organic functions are still synthetically intertwined along with self-regulation, assimilation, nourishment, excretion, and metabolism – as a pre-form of life [ . . . ] Suppose, finally, we succeeded in explaining our entire instinctive life as the development and ramification of one basic form of the will – namely, of the will to power, as my proposition has it; [ . . . ] then one would have gained the right to determine all efficient force univocally as – will to power. The world viewed from inside, the world defined and determined according to its “intelligible character” – it would be “will to power” and nothing besides. – (BGE 36) Here Nietzsche once again expresses his basic ontology in terms of a “powerful unity.” But this “unity” is now expressly a dynamic play of drives, affects, passions, and forces.8 Nietzsche is trying to construct an ontology in which forces, powers, movements, tensions, affects, and events precede the individual subjects and objects to which they are ordinarily attributed. In The Birth of Tragedy, he describes Apollonian individuals as temporary emissions (“image sparks”: Bilderfunken) from the Dionysian ferment. The later Nietzsche offers a similar account, describing subjects and objects as particular condensations and concretizations of forces and affects, particular instances and trajectories of will to power. Wrongly pegged to the traditional metaphysical distinctions between noumena/ phenomena, thing-in-itself/appearance, chaos/order, and content/form, Nietzsche’s oppositions between Dionysus/Apollo and becoming/being are more aptly characterized 505 nietzsche, dionysus, and the ontology of music by Deleuze’s distinction between the virtual and the actual (Deleuze 1994: 208ff., 279; 2002: 148–52). Deleuze’s distinction is meant to mark the difference between the realm of (actual) empirical subjects and objects, and the (virtual) flux of preindividual, impersonal differences, becomings, forces, and affects that constitute these subjects and objects while also preceding and exceeding them. Deleuze often refers to the virtual as “transcendental” insofar as the processes and forces it encompasses (for example, geological pressures and movements, genetic codes and flows, relations of power or desire, etc.) are not given as such in actual, empirical experience. Yet he is careful to note that the “transcendental” status of the virtual implies no “transcendence,” nothing that transcends nature or matter. Rather, for Deleuze, there is only one plane of being and reality that he often calls “the plane of immanence,” which encompasses both the virtual and the actual, each of which is, for him, fully “real.” A variegated domain populated by forces in tension, the plane of immanence produces (or, in Deleuze’s idiom, “actualizes” or “differentiates”) distinct entities through temporary condensations or contractions of forces and materials. The relative stability and durability of these entities can produce an “illusion of transcendence” (Deleuze and Guattari 1994: 73, 47). But, just as, for Nietzsche, being is an effect of becoming, so, for Deleuze, transcendence is an effect of immanence, and the actual made possible by the virtual. Deleuze’s notion of “the virtual” can help us in our appreciation of Nietzsche’s configuration of the Dionysian. Indeed, Deleuze himself links the two concepts. Il virtual, Deleuze tells us, is both distinct and obscure. It is distinct because it is composed of myriad “differential relations and singularities [that is, particular powers of becoming]”; yet the virtual is also obscure insofar as it is “not yet ‘distinguished,’ not yet differentiated [in actual entities].” By contrast, the actual is clear and confused, “clear because [virtual forces have been] distinguished or differentiated [in actual entities], and confused because it is clear, [that is, because the actual carries with it traces of the entire domain of the virtual from which it emerged and with which it corresponds].” “Distinctness-obscurity,” Deleuze continues, “is intoxication, the properly Dionysian Idea. Leibniz nearly encountered Dionysus at the sea shore or near the water mill. Perhaps Apollo, the clear-confused thinker, is needed in order to think the Ideas of Dionysus” (Deleuze 1994: 213–14). In this characteristically dense and difficult passage, Deleuze draws a parallel between his conception of the virtual/the actual and Nietzsche’s conception of Dionysus/Apollo. The Dionysian is the realm of the virtual, the “inchoate, intangible” (BT 5) flux of forces and energies that actualizes or differentiates itself in the Apollonian, whose “precision and clarity” (BT 10) must, according to Nietzsche’s theory of tragedy, bear traces of its obscure origins in the Dionysian. At the end of the passage, Deleuze suitably relates the virtual and the Dionysian to a musical, or at least sonic, example: Leibniz’s oftrepeated example of listening to a waterfall, a watermill, or the sea. Leibniz writes: “Each soul knows the infinite – knows all – but confusedly. It is like walking on the seashore and hearing the great noise of the sea: I hear the particular noises of each wave, of which the whole noise is composed, but without distinguishing them” (“Principles of Nature and Grace”: Leibniz 1989: 211).9 Like Nietzsche’s Apollonian figures, the clear but confused experience of the seashore’s white noise opens up for us the virtual domain of the Dionysian. And this felicitous example brings us back, finally, to music. 506 christoph cox The Music of Dionysus The Birth of Tragedy is centrally concerned with music. Its original title, The Birth of Tragedy out of the Spirit of Music, announces this from the start. The book explains that tragedy emerged out of, and remains true to, the dithyramb: lyric song performed in the orgiastic worship of Dionysus, the Greek god of music. To the pre-Socratic Greeks, Dionysus expressed himself in music; and, Nietzsche argues, he does so to us moderns as well. That said, Nietzsche has little specific to say about music – Greek or modern – and what in it discloses the Dionysian, tragic conception of life and its profound ontological insight. For the most part, Nietzsche simply repeats the general ontological claim that music expresses the primordial essence of things, and the claim that it is associated with the Dionysian half of the Dionysian/Apollonian duality. Here and there, Nietzsche makes some brief, though unhelpfully vague, attempts to concretize his claims about music. He describes pre-Dionysian, Homeric music as centered on “the wave and beat of rhythm, whose formative power was developed for the representation of Apollonian states,” and as “a Doric architecture in tones, but in tones that were merely suggestive, such as those of the cithara [or lyre].” He contrasts this with “the essence of Dionysian music (and hence of music in general),” namely “the emotional power of the tone, the uniform flow of the melody, and the utterly incomparable world of harmony” (BT 2). He associates Dionysian music with the strophic form of lyric poetry and the folk song, the “continuously generating melody” that “scatters image sparks all around, which in their variegation, their abrupt change, their mad precipitation, manifest a power quite unknown to the [Apollonian] epic and its steady flow” (BT 6). Later in the text, he proposes to offer “a single example from our common experience,” an analysis of Act III of Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde. Before doing so, he tells us that he will “not appeal to those who use the images of what happens on the stage, the words and emotions of the acting persons, in order to approach with their help the musical feeling”; rather, he will address those who “speak music as their mother tongue,” “those who, immediately related to music, have in it, as it were, their motherly womb, and are related to things almost exclusively through unconscious musical relations” (BT 21). Yet the analysis that follows seems to violate Nietzsche’s own prescription. Strikingly general, its only direct comments about Tristan are, in fact, brief quotations from the libretto and quick descriptions of the actions of characters. Perhaps we can account for this reticence by referring to Nietzsche’s claim that “language can never adequately render the cosmic symbolism of music,” that “language, as the organ and symbol of phenomena, can never by any means disclose the innermost heart of music” with which it is only in “superficial contact” (BT 6). Yet Nietzsche does offer several hints that can begin to clarify what sort of music a Dionysian music might be and how such music might relate to a more general ontology. The Dionysian, Nietzsche tells us, affirms “the joyous sensation of dissonance in music” (BT 24). What it “beholds through the medium of music is in urgent and active motion” (BT 6). In Dionysian music, we hear “the roaring desire for existence pouring from [the heart chamber of the world will] into all the veins of the world, as a thundering current or as the gentlest brook, dissolving into mist” (BT 21). In these poetic fragments, Nietzsche 507 nietzsche, dionysus, and the ontology of music seems to be describing becoming itself, becoming as movement of differential or dissonant forces. Quoting Schopenhauer, Nietzsche takes us further along this path: “For melodies are to a certain extent, like general concepts, an abstraction from the actual. This actual world, then, the world of particular things, affords the object of perception, the special and individual, the particular case, both to the universality of concepts and to the universality of the melodies. But these two universalities are in a certain respect opposed to each other; for the concepts contain particulars only as the first forms of abstracted perception, as it were, the separated shell of things; thus they are, strictly speaking, abstracta; music, on the other hand, gives the inmost kernel which precedes all forms, or the heart of things. This relation may be very well expressed in the language of the schoolmen, by saying, the concepts are the universalia post rem [universals after things] but music gives the universalia ante rem [universals prior to things] and the real world the universalia in re [universals in things].” (BT 16) Concepts, then, are abstractions from particular things.10 Music, on the other hand, precedes particulars, which actualize the forces it puts into play. Though Schopenhauer’s language here is Platonistic, we know that the Nietzsche of The Birth of Tragedy is a naturalist for whom there is only one plane of being: that of becoming and the Dionysian, out of which Apollonian beings are actualized or differentiated, and back into which they eventually return. What Nietzsche is, once again, affirming here is something very much akin to Deleuze’s realm of the virtual: a natural, material flux of differential forces that is actualized in empirical individuals. Yet how does music manifest this virtual power of becoming? And what sort of music exemplifies this virtual power? In The Birth of Tragedy, of course, Nietzsche found it in “German music” (BT 19), and, most fully, in the music of Wagner. Yet we also know that Nietzsche later retracted this claim and renewed his question: “what would a music have to be like that would no longer be of romantic origin, like German music – but Dionysian?” (BT, “Self-Criticism,” 6). For the most part, Nietzsche left this question unanswered. It is, I think, an untimely question, one not well answered by the nineteenth-century symphonic music that was Nietzsche’s milieu. Rather, I think, the question looks (or listens) ahead to a very different music, one that would gradually develop over the course of the twentieth century. The music of the French American composer Edgard Varèse begins this trajectory (Cox 2003). In the early decades of the twentieth century, Varèse continually expressed dissatisfaction with classical music as it had come into existence since the Renaissance. In the 1920s he abandoned the term “music” in favor of the phrase “organized sound,” calling himself not a musician, but “a worker in rhythms, frequencies, and intensities.” At the same time, he complained that “the conventional orchestra of today precludes the exploitation of the possibilities of tone colors and range” and that “the division of the octave into twelve half-tones is purely arbitrary” (Varèse in Cox and Warner 2004: 20). Though he continued to compose for strings, brass, woodwind, and percussion, he began to introduce novel instruments such as sirens, theremins, and ondes martenot that would give his music a greater fluidity. Varèse was after a different sort of music: no longer a music of discrete tones and beautiful melodies but a deeply physical music of powerful flows and forces in tension. In a 1936 lecture he wrote: 508 christoph cox When new instruments will allow me to write music as I conceive it, the movement of sound-masses, of shifting planes, will be clearly perceived in my work, taking the place of the linear counterpoint. When these sound-masses collide, the phenomena of penetration and repulsion will seem to occur. Certain transmutations taking place on certain planes will seem to be projected onto other planes, moving at different speeds and at different angles. There will no longer be the old conception of melody or interplay of melodies. Il entire work will be a melodic totality. The entire work will flow as a river flows. (Cox and Warner 2004: 17–18) Varèse would later discover such a sound world in electronic music, to which he dedicated himself from the early 1950s until his death in 1965. Electronic music made a decisive break with the musical tradition. Dispensing with traditional musical sonorities and the various discrete instruments and instrumental families that produce them, it affirmed the univocity of sound, generating the entire musical field out of a stream of electrons emitted by an oscillator. Electronic music is a music of forces and flows, of mobile electronic particles contracted or dilated by filters and modulators. As such, it is often criticized as “cold,” “impersonal,” “dehumanized,” “abstract.” These descriptions are apt, for electronic music opens music to something beyond the human, the subject, and the person: the non-organic life of sound that precedes any actual composition or composer, the virtual realm of pre-individual and pre-personal forces and flows. Another decisive break was made by musique concrète, which emerged slightly earlier in Pierre Schaeffer’s Paris studio. Musique concrète exploited the resources of newly developed recording technologies – initially the wax cylinder and, by the early 1950s, the tape recorder. Effectively dissolving the distinction between “music,” “sound,” and “noise,” recording tape provided a neutral surface that could register any sound whatsoever and make it the raw material for composition. Hence, works of musique concrète freely mixed the sounds of percussion instruments and pianos with the sounds of train whistles, spinning tops, pots and pans, and canal boats. Though they began with documentary material, however, Schaeffer and his compatriots celebrated the fact that tape music could give access to sound itself, liberated from any reference to musical instruments (see Schaeffer in Cox and Warner 2004: 76–81). Via various techniques (eliminating a sound’s attack or decay, slowing it down or speeding it up, running it backwards, etc.), concrète composers succeeded in abstracting sounds from their sources, thus eliminating all referentiality and short-circuiting the auditory habits of listeners. Their ability to do this was aided by the fact that tape music was “performed” without any visual element to speak of: no performers or instruments, just pure sonic matter emanating from loudspeakers. John Cage moved even further along this path. He explicitly attempted to liberate music from human subjectivity, thereby opening up a transcendental or virtual field of sound.11 Cage insisted that music precedes and exceeds human beings. “Music is permanent,” he wrote; “only listening is intermittent” (Cage in Cox and Warner 2004: 224).12 “Chance” and “silence” were his transports into this virtual domain. “Chance” procedures allowed the composer to bypass his subjective preferences and habits in order to make way for sonic conjunctions and assemblages that were not his own, or, indeed, anybody’s. And “silence,” for Cage, named a sort of musical plane of immanence: not the absence of sound (an impossibility, he pointed out), but the 509 nietzsche, dionysus, and the ontology of music absence of intentional sound – a plane on which dance liberated sound particles.13 In his famous “silent” composition, 4'33?, Cage invites the audience to hear the flow of non-intentional, environmental sound – wind, rain, shuffling feet, creaking chairs, humming appliances, etc. – as a musical event. By offering a composition that, paradoxically, abdicates the role of the composer, Cage opens music to the Dionysian element, for, as Nietzsche puts it, “Only insofar as the genius in the act of artistic creation coalesces with this primordial artist of the world, does he know anything of the eternal essence of art” (BT 5). That “primordial artist” is, of course, the plane of immanence of nature itself. And composition of this sort is “imitation of nature” – not a reproduction of nature’s actual forms but an imitation of its virtual power, or, as Cage often put it, “imitation of nature in her manner of operation” (see Cage in Cox and Warner 2004; on this notion of “imitation of nature” as the imitation of the “art impulses of nature” see BT 2). Since the mid-twentieth century the experiments of Varèse, Schaeffer, Cage, Karlheinz Stockhausen, and others have given rise to a new sonic or audio culture that considers music-sound as a natural flow on a par with other such flows (geological, genetic, linguistic, etc.). In the noise composition of Merzbow, the concrète performances of Francisco López, the soundscape recordings of Chris Watson, and the electronic signals that course through the work of Carl Michael von Hausswolff and Kaffe Matthews, and in so much experimental music today is disclosed the field of musical becoming, the virtual domain of music that, in his first book, Nietzsche called “Dionysian.” Like the white noise of the seashore in which Leibniz and Deleuze heard the Dionysian, experimental music today offers “a musical mirror of the world” (BT 6): an aural image of the distinct-obscure world of natural becoming, the dissonant play of forces that makes possible the world of empirical particulars. Music, Science, and the Interpretation of Existence (Reprise) With this, we can finally return to and unpack the passage with which we began. Recall that, in GS 373, Nietzsche criticizes “scholars” for “never catching sight of the really great problems and question marks.” Among these scholars, he singles out “mechanistic material scientists” for their merely “human” horizons, interpretations, and perspectives. Such interpretations take the world to be composed solely of discrete, sensible, and quantifiable entities. And they take natural change to be a matter of the causal interactions of these entities. Such positivist, reductionist, and mechanistic interpretations, Nietzsche insists, are superficial, stupid, meaningless, and worthless. A the end of the passage, he briefly notes that music provides a potent counter-example, asserting that, insofar as it cannot account for music, positivist and mechanist science fails to provide an adequate interpretation of the world. At the outset, I urged that we take this musical example to be making not merely a phenomenological point or a point about aesthetic value, but a deep ontological claim about the way the world is. Here, as elsewhere, Nietzsche is urging us “to look at science in the perspective of the artist, but at art in that of life” (BT, “Self-Criticism,” 2), arguing that aesthetic interpretations of the world are better, richer, and more naturalistic than scientific ones. More specifically, I take him to be pointing back to his thesis in 510 christoph cox The Birth of Tragedy that music is an ontological echo that provides us with an aural representation of the very nature of things. What music shows us, I have argued, is that the domain of individuated, actualized, fully constituted, empirical subjects and objects is premised on the domain of becoming: a virtual, transcendental realm of differential forces. In The Birth of Tragedy Nietzsche calls this domain the Dionysian. Such a domain precedes and exceeds the horizon of the human and calls for a “transcendental empiricism in contrast with everything that makes up the world of the subject and the object” (Deleuze 2001: 25). Aptly enough, the symbol of Dionysus is the satyr, “that synthesis of god and billy goat” (BT, “Self-Criticism,” 4), a creature at once post- and pre-human. Tragedy (literally, goat-song) affirms nature and becoming as virtual powers that generate and supersede the human along with every other actual entity. “Dionysian art,” Nietzsche writes, wishes to convince us of the eternal joy of existence: only we are to seek this joy not in phenomena, but behind them. We are to recognize that all that comes into being must be ready for a sorrowful end; we are forced to look into the terrors of the individual existence – yet we are not to become rigid with fear: a metaphysical comfort14 tears us momentarily away from the bustle of the changing figures. We are really for a brief moment primordial being itself, feeling its raging desire for existence and joy in existence; the struggle, the pain, the destruction of phenomena, now appear necessary to us, in view of the excess of countless forms of existence which force and push one another into life, in view of the exuberant fertility of the universal will. (BT 17) Gay Science 373, then, offers an ontology, an ontology alternative to the ontology of positivistic science, an ontology guided by music, which, Nietzsche suggests, provides an image of natural becoming or, in other words, “will to power” as a “pre-form of life.” The passage perhaps invites the objection that Nietzsche, the perspectivist, has no right to offer such an account of the way the world really is. To which Nietzsche would no doubt respond, as he does in another passage in which he presents the will to power as an interpretation counter to that of mechanistic science: “Supposing that this also is only interpretation – and you will be eager enough to make this objection? – well, so much the better” (BGE 22). See also 3 “The Aesthetic Justification of Existence”; 6 “Nietzsche’s ‘Gay’ Science”; 8 “Nietzsche’s Philosophy and True Religion”; 9 “The Naturalisms of Beyond Good and Evil”; 12 “Nietzsche on Time and Becoming”; 30 “Nietzsche’s Theory of the Will to Power” Notes I thank Keith Ansell Pearson for insightful comments and suggestions that prompted this essay and shaped its argument, and Daniel W. Smith for helpful comments along the way. 1 This term is only suggested in the passage. Yet Nietzsche first introduces the term Übermensch earlier in The Gay Science (§143); and Book V, in which GS 373 appears, was added in 1887, following the publication of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, in which the Übermensch is a central figure. 511 nietzsche, dionysus, and the ontology of music 2 The argument that art trumps science is a key feature of The Birth of Tragedy and remains important throughout Nietzsche’s corpus. See e.g. BT, “Self-Criticism,” and GM III. 25. For more on this issue, see Cox 1999: ch. 1, esp. pp. 63–8. 3 In the literal, etymological sense in which Nietzsche often uses this term: meta: beyond or above; physics: nature. 4 For a more sustained anti-Hegelian reading of The Birth of Tragedy, see Deleuze 1983. 5 For Nietzsche, “being” has two related meanings. On the one hand, it names distinct and subsistent empirical particulars, individual entities. On the other hand, it names metaphysical entities that are not affected by becoming or change. As a naturalist, Nietzsche holds that there is only becoming and change and, hence, that, strictly speaking, there are no autonomous, subsistent empirical particulars. The illusion of empirical beings, Nietzsche holds, is due in part to the Platonist projection of metaphysical being into the empirical. 6 This notion of “unity” or “unit-hood” (Einheit) is surely different from that of the “primordial unity” (Ur-Eine) spoken of in The Birth of Tragedy. The former clearly refers to the (Apollonian) illusion of unity and individuation characteristic of empirical beings, while the latter refers to the indistinctness characteristic of the realm of becoming or the Dionysian. Aware of this potential confusion, the later Nietzsche qualifies his talk of becoming and the Dionysian as “unities,” describing them instead as continuums or multiplicities. 7 For a rich, Deleuzian and Nietzschean-inspired analysis of natural becoming, see De Landa 1997. 8 The passage invites comparison with Deleuze’s conception of being as both “univocal” and “multiple.” See Deleuze 1994: 35ff., 1990: 177–80. 9 This example (and the associated examples of the waterfall and watermill) are recurrent in Leibniz’s corpus. See also Discourse on Metaphysics, §33 (1989: 65), Letter to Arnauld (April 30, 1687) (1989: 81), and preface to the New Essays on Human Understanding (1989: 295–6). 10 The same is true of words, according to Nietzsche. See BT 6 and 19, for example. On the connection between concepts and words as abstractions, see also TL 81–4. 11 A composer, Cage remarked, should “give up the desire to control sound, clear his mind of music, and set about discovering means to let sounds be themselves rather than vehicles for man-made theories or expressions of human sentiments” (1973: 10). 12 Compare Deleuze and Guattari: “music is not the privilege of human beings: the universe, the cosmos, is made of refrains” (1987: 309). 13 “There is no such thing as an empty space or an empty time. There is always something to see, something to hear. In fact, try as we may to make a silence, we cannot” (Cage 1988: 8). “[T]o me, the essential meaning of silence is the giving up of intention” (Cage 1988: 189). 14 In his 1886 preface, Nietzsche, the rigorous naturalist, corrects the Schopenhauerian phrase “metaphysical comfort,” replacing it with “this-worldly comfort” (BT, “Self-Criticism,” 7). 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Audio Culture: Readings in Modern Music (New York: Continuum). De Landa, Manuel (1997). A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History (New York: Swerve/Zone). Deleuze, Gilles (1983). Nietzsche and Philosophy, trans. Hugh Tomlinson (New York: Columbia University Press). —— (1990). The Logic of Sense, trans. Mark Lester (New York: Columbia University Press). —— (1994). Difference and Repetition, trans. Paul Patton (New York: Columbia University Press). —— (2001). “Immanence: A Life,” in Pure Immanence: Essays on a Life, ed. John Rajchman, trans. Anne Boyman (New York: Zone). —— (2002). “The Actual and the Virtual,” trans. Eliot Ross Albert, in Gilles Deleuze and Claire Parnet, Dialogues II (New York: Columbia University Press/Continuum). Deleuze, Gilles, and Guattari, Félix (1987). A Thousand Plateaus, trans. Brian Massumi (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press). ———— (1994). What Is Philosophy?, trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Graham Burchell (New York: Columbia University Press). Kant, Immanuel (1929). Critique of Pure Reason, trans. Norman Kemp Smith (New York: St. Martin’s). Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm (1989) Philosophical Essays, ed. and trans. Roger Ariew and Daniel Garber (Indianapolis: Hackett). —— Discourse on Metaphysics, in Philosophical Essays. —— Letter to Arnauld (April 30, 1687), in Philosophical Essays. —— Preface to the New Essays on Human Understanding, in Philosophical Essays. —— Principles of Nature and Grace, Based on Reason, in Philosophical Essays. Leiter, Brian (2002). Nietzsche on Morality (London: Routledge). 513 nietzsche, dionysus, and the ontology of music Schaeffer, Pierre (2004). “Acousmatics,” in Cox and Warner (eds.), Audio Culture. Schopenhauer, Arthur (1965). On the Basis of Morality, trans. E. F. J. Payne (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill). —— (1969). The World as Will and Representation, vol. 1, trans. E. F. J. Payne (New York: Dover). Varèse, Edgard (2004). “The Liberation of Sound,” in Christoph Cox and Daniel Warner (eds.) 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