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Introduction

I.

Engaging in the project of “thinking the event” consists in undertaking a philosophical inquiry into what constitutes an event as an event, its very eventfulness: not what happens, not why it happens, but that it happens, and what does “happening” mean. Not the eventum, what has happened, but the evenire, the sheer happening of what happens. However, at the outset of such a work, one is immediately confronted with the following obstacle: the event has traditionally been understood and neutralized within a philosophy of substance or essence, a metaphysics of causality, subjectivity, and reason—in a word, subjected to the demands of rational thought. An event is interpreted either as the accident of a substrate or substance, as the effect or deed of a subject or an agent, or else it is ordered and organized according to causality, if it is not included within fate or a rational order. In all instances, it answers to the demands of the principle of sufficient reason, which states that no event happens without a cause or a reason. In the words of Leibniz, the “great” principle of natural philosophy and key metaphysical principle of truth is “the principle of sufficient reason, namely, that nothing happens without a reason why it should be so rather than otherwise.”¹ Leibniz posits that events must conform to the principle of sufficient reason and that no event can occur without a reason or a ground: in fact, every event must be as it were prepared in advance to be the event that it is, conditioned by a determinant reason: “For the nature of things requires that every event should have beforehand its proper conditions, requirements and dispositions, the existence of which makes the sufficient reason of such an event.”² Such reason can be a cause, as the principle of sufficient reason merges with a “principle of causality,” which states that every event is caused to be the event that it is. Indeed, Leibniz includes in the principle of reason a principle of causality: “Nothing is without reason, or no effect is without a cause.”³ Although not every reason is a cause, every cause is a reason.

Ultimately, as Heidegger demonstrates in his 1955–1956 lecture course, The Principle of Reason, the principle of reason self-deconstructs because it cannot apply to itself its own requirements without undermining itself: if the principle of reason states that everything that happens must have a reason, then what is the reason for the principle of reason? Does the principle of reason have a reason? “Indeed the principle of reason is, as a principle, not nothing. The principle is itself something. Therefore, according to what the principle itself tells us, it is the sort of thing that must have a reason. What is the reason for the principle of reason?” (GA 10, 17/PR, 11). Does the principle of reason have a reason? Nothing could be less certain. “Nihil est sine ratione. Nothing is without reason, says the principle of reason. Nothing—which means not even this principle of reason, certainly it least of all. It may then be that the principle of reason, that whereof it speaks, and this speaking itself do not belong within the jurisdiction of the principle of reason. To think this remains a grave burden. In short it means that the principle of reason is without reason. Said still more clearly: ‘Nothing without reason’—this, which is something, is without reason” (GA 10, 27/PR, 17, emphasis mine). One divines here how the principle of reason is caught in a circle (What is the reason of the principle of reason? What is the foundation of a foundation?) that will throw it into a self-deconstruction, that is, into the abyss of its own impossible foundation.

Indeed, in order to be a ground, the ground must itself be without foundation and therefore groundless. This led Gilles Deleuze to speak of the paradoxical nature of the logic of grounding, of the “comical ungrounding” of the principle of reason: “But who still speaks of a foundation, when the logic of grounding or the principle of reason leads precisely to its own ‘ungrounding,’ comical and disappointing.”⁴ The principle of reason does collapse (“run aground”) at the very place of its impossible foundation, “there where,” as Derrida puts it in Rogues, “the Grund opens up onto the Abgrund, where giving reasons [rendre-raison] and giving an account [rendre-compte]—logon didonai or principium reddendae rationis—are threatened by or drawn into the abyss.”⁵ Heidegger revealed this self-deconstructive aspect of the principle of reason by following the logic of the question “why?”: “Whenever we pursue the ground/reason of a being, we ask: why? Cognition stalks this interrogative word from one reason to another. The ‘why’ allows no rest, offers no stop, gives no support” (GA 10, 185/PR, 126, my emphasis). The question “why?” seeking a foundation, in fact reveals an abyss, betraying that reason itself may lack a rational basis. Kant spoke of reason as a drive, a Trieb, of an “interest” of reason (Interesse der Vernunft), thereby pointing to a certain nonrational basis of reason, which led Derrida to ask: “The honor of reason—is that reason? Is honor reasonable or rational through and through? The very form of this question can be applied analogically to everything that evaluates, affirms, or prescribes reason: to prefer reason, is that rational or, and this is something else, reasonable? The value of reason, the desire for reason, the dignity of reason—are these rational? Do these have to do wholly with reason?” (R, 120). Is reason rational? Is the principle of reason rational? Does reason have a reason? These questions reveal the aporia harbored in the principle of reason.

In fact, each time unpredictable and incalculable, an event always exceeds or “suspends”⁶ the demands of the principle of sufficient reason. As Jacques Derrida states, an event can only challenge the principle of sufficient reason “insofar as reason is limited to ‘giving an account’ (reddere rationem, logon didonai).” It is not a matter of complying with the demands of such reason rendering, but instead of not “denying or ignoring this unforeseeable and incalculable coming of the other.”⁷ No longer placed under the authority of the principle of sufficient reason, the event must be rethought as the incalculable and unpredictable arrival of what will always remain other—and thus inappropriable—for the one to whom it happens. In that sense, the event also comes as an excess in relation to the subject and can only “naturally take by surprise not only the addressee but also the subject to whom and by whom it is supposed to happen.”⁸ It would then be a matter, in order to give thought to the event in its eventfulness, of freeing the event from the demands of the principle of sufficient reason.

A clarification is necessary at the outset: by the project of “thinking the event,” I do not mean the appropriation by thought of the event, under the authority of the principle of reason. Thinking here is not appropriative, not “in-scription,” but rather, as Jean-Luc Nancy calls it, “ex-scription.”⁹ The event remains outside of thought, “exscribed” in it. “Thinking the event” means to give thought to its very eventfulness, its sheer happening, which necessarily exceeds both reason and subjectivity. Indeed, one could say that the event, in its disruptive and unpredictable happening, exceeds both the concept and the anticipation of a subject. This is why a further obstacle in the attempt to think the event is the predominance of transcendental modes of thought, which claim to provide prior conditions of possibility for experience and for the occurrence of events. Indeed, it may well be the case that events are precisely eventful when not preorganized or prepared by some transcendental conditions, or anticipated by a transcendental subject, when they break or “pierce” the horizon provided by transcendental conditions. Not being made possible by a prior condition, the event, as Jean-Luc Nancy points out, “must not be the object of a programmatic and certain calculation. . . . It must be the possibility of the impossible (according to a logic used often by Derrida), it must know itself as such, that is to say, know that it happens also in the incalculable and the unassignable.”¹⁰ An event cannot be reduced to what can happen: it does not happen because it can happen, but rather happens without being made possible in advance and to that extent can be called “impossible,” Jean-Luc Marion going so far as to state that the event can only be impossible, the impossible itself: “Moreover, [the event] always appears to us at bottom as impossible, or even as the impossible, since it does not belong to the domain of the possible, of that of which we are able.”¹¹ The impossible, in this context, does not mean what cannot be or happen. Rather, the impossible, or the im-possible, as Derrida writes it, means: that which happens outside the conditions of possibility offered in advance by a subject of representation, outside the transcendental conditions of possibility. Thinking the event will require to break with a certain transcendental mode of thinking, as the event deconstructs the transcendental as such.

In the philosophical tradition, the notion of event has been neutralized under the authority of reason and causality. With Kant, the event is conceived in terms of and on the basis of causality, its independence reduced to a causal order. As one knows, Kant assumes the universal determinism of nature, a universal causal determinism for everything that happens and according to which “everything in the world happens solely in accordance with laws of nature.”¹² Such universal natural causality is taken by Kant as a given and not in dispute. This is not surprising, if it is the case, as Heidegger argues in The Essence of Human Freedom, that “Causality, in the traditional sense of the being of beings, in common understanding as in traditional metaphysics, is the fundamental category of being as being-present-at-hand [Vorhandensein].”¹³ The causality of nature is traditionally the paradigm to think the being of beings, the very meaning of being. One cannot stress enough the importance of the motif of causality in traditional metaphysics. As Jean-Luc Marion puts it, “Metaphysics knows nothing but the cause.” It “knows nothing except through the cause, either as cause or as effect” (NC, 181). This is why causality is not one category among others but “the universal category for all beings” (BG, 161).

Kant posits this paradigm in the “Analogies of Experience” (second analogy) in The Critique of Pure Reason, which state that all events happen according to causality. “All alterations [Veränderungen] occur in accordance with the law of the connection of cause and effect” (CPR, A 189/B 232, 304). Every event occurs following a causal rule since “everything that happens presupposes a previous state, upon which it follows without exception according to a rule” (CPR, A 444/B 472, 484). The succession of events follows the order of causality, and an event becomes the effect of a prior cause. The event is not something new, an original phenomenon disrupting and breaking the course of time, indeed generating time, but the product or result of a prior process. For Jean-Luc Marion, this proves that the kind of events mobilized by Kant in the second analogy are not properly events but rather what he terms impoverished events, that is, events reduced to what reason demands of them: predictability, repeatability, and foundation in causality: “the analogies of experience concern only a fringe of phenomenality—phenomena of the type of objects constituted by the sciences, poor in intuition, foreseeable, exhaustively knowable, reproducible—while other levels (and first of all historical phenomena) would make an exception” (BG, 207). The events of the analogies of experience are not properly events but intraworldly facts that are subject to causality. “Eventful” events, as will be noted, are not subject to causal determinations; rather, in their original happening, they indeed do not follow but constitute new causal networks and thereby reconfigure if not create a new world. An event “worthy of the name,” as Derrida would say, represents the surge of the new through which precisely it does not “follow” from a previous cause. By introducing the new in the world, indeed by bringing forth a new world, does an event not disqualify prior causal contexts and networks? To that extent, an event could not be “explained” by prior causes because its occurrence has transformed the context on the basis of which it could be explained. To that extent, an event has no cause. Jean-Luc Marion writes: “Inasmuch as it is a given phenomenon, the event does not have an adequate cause and cannot have one. Only in this way can it advance on the wings of a dove: unforeseen, unusual, unexpected, unheard of, and unseen” (BG, 167). Kant, however, thinks in the perspective of the demands of the principle of sufficient reason. This is why he reduces events to the law of causality and then attempts to establish a perfect symmetry, or reversibility, between event and causality: “If, therefore, we experience that something happens, then we always presuppose that something else precedes it, which it follows in accordance with a rule” (CPR, A 195/B 240, 308). Conversely, as soon as I perceive in a sequence “a relation to the preceding state, from which the representation follows in accordance with a rule, I represent something as an occurrence, or as something that happens” (CPR, A 198/B 243, 309–310). This structuring accomplishes what Leibniz had posited, namely that events must conform to the principle of sufficient reason.

In addition to this rational enframing, one also notes an egological reduction of the event in the philosophical tradition, as one finds for instance in a hyperbolic or paroxistic form in the work of Jean-Paul Sartre. On the basis of the view that we are responsible for what happens to us, Sartre claims that whatever happens happens to us, and what happens to us happens through us. Ultimately for him, I choose the meaning of events. Sartre attempts to reduce the alterity and surprise of the event, as it is immediately appropriated by the self in its responsible engagement. Any event becomes a call to my responsibility: I am engaged by the event. Even a war declared by others becomes mine. For Sartre “everything takes place as if I bore the entire responsibility for this war.”¹⁴ Everything that happens is mine, and nothing human is foreign to me, which means there is no radical alterity in the world, and thus no events I have not chosen. I can decide on the nonhuman, but “this decision is human, and I shall carry the entire responsibility for it” (BN, 708). Sartre posits here a subjectivity as appropriation of all that happens, as appropriation of the event. Any event is immediately taken over by my freedom, and there are no events without my appropriating them and making them my own. “Thus there are no accidents in life,” and “any way you look at it, it is a matter of a choice” (BN, 708). This hyperbolic inflation of appropriating subjectivity implies the reduction, appropriation, and overcoming of the alterity of events.

The event has thus traditionally been grounded in reason, made to follow the order of causality, and reduced to what thought can grasp or to what a subject-agent can will. In all these instances, the event finds itself neutralized as it has been situated within a metaphysics of essence, causality, subjectivity, and reason. However, I will question whether there might not be other ways to conceive of an event—doing justice to its eventfulness—once the categories just mentioned are put into question in post-Nietzschean thought. What would an event mean if not enframed in a philosophy of essence, as it were enveloped in an essence? If no longer conceived as the deed of a doer, the act of a willful subject? If it was no longer interpreted in relation to a subject or a substrate? If it resisted the attempt to integrate it within a rational order? If it was, finally, freed from the laws of causality? With respect to the reliance on causality, one can indeed wonder: does the category of cause pertain or even apply to the eventfulness of the event? Is an event, as event, “caused”? Or instead, as suggested prior, does the very eventfulness of the event precisely not point to a certain excess with respect to causality? Marion speaks of “the character and the dignity of an event—that is, an event or a phenomenon that is unforeseeable (on the basis of the past), not exhaustively comprehensible (on the basis of the present), not reproducible (on the basis of the future), in short, absolute, unique, happening. We will therefore call it a pure event.”¹⁵ It is that “pure event,” freed from causality and the demands of rational thought, that remains to be thought and is the focus of this work.

The category of the event has become a major concern in contemporary continental thought. It is the ambition of this work to reflect on the place and importance of this phenomenon and to show how the very senses of the event have been transformed. My underlying hypothesis is that in the wake of the end of traditional metaphysics (the twilight of the metaphysical idols of substance, reason, causality, identity, agency, and subjectivity of which Nietzsche spoke), and the withdrawal of transcendental modes of thought, the event becomes the main motif from which to rethink traditional philosophical problems. Ultimately, I seek to show how, in the wake of the exhaustion of traditional metaphysics, the notion of the event has come to the fore in an unprecedented way, with key implications for philosophy, ontology, ethics, and theories of selfhood.

Nietzsche’s critique of metaphysics has opened the way for phenomenological and ontological interpretations of the event, which I propose to investigate in this work. A philosophy that no longer relies on a metaphysics of substance can begin to pay attention to how phenomena happen and can describe these events phenomenologically. Being itself no longer appears as the substantial or atemporal presence of the tradition but as the event of presence. Heidegger recognized that in the tradition being was indeed understood as presence, Anwesenheit. However, its proper eventfulness was neutralized in the reference to constant presence (beständige Anwesenheit), substantiality, Heidegger speaking of how in such tradition of substantiality the temporal meaning of Anwesenheit was “repressed” (abgedrängt).¹⁶ In fact, the very term Anwesenheit, presence, harbors the motion of an event: the an- in An-wesen or An-wesenheit suggests a movement from concealment to unconcealment, a coming into presence, in a word, an event of presence. This implies, in turn, a break with the model of constant presence, that is, with a kind of “stability” that suppresses the temporal happening in the phenomenon of presence. It is a matter of hearing again the temporal meaning of presence and breaking with the notion of a constant presence, that is, with the metaphysics of Vorhandendeit hat has governed the Western philosophical tradition.

Beginning with Nietzsche’s claim that the event exceeds causality and is not based on some substrate, I will attempt to develop a phenomenology of the event, giving thought to its very eventfulness. Nietzsche spoke of the radical unaccountability (groundlessness) of all things, of the radical innocence of life and becoming. No intention, no design, no author, no cause, and no agent direct the event of a life that happens in a tragic and innocent play. This innocence and unaccountability of all things captures the sense of the event as groundless play of existence. Further senses of the event emerge once the metaphysical constructs of reason, causality, and subjectivity are deconstructed: event as innocence of becoming, as excess (to reason and subjectivity), as impersonal happening, as groundless existence, as the very advent of the world, as the interruption of otherness, as the “impossible” itself, ultimately as the inappropriable coming into presence of being. To think the event will amount to consider these senses. In the end, as Nancy puts it, thinking the event, the surprise of the event or the event as surprise, will amount to thinking being surprised, or “over-taken” (sur-prise) by the event, for the event always exceeds thinking. The event is both the origin and the end of thought: it ends it in its claims to mastery while opening it to the infinite work of interpretation.

The task of thinking the event leads to the following questions: what constitutes an event as an event? What does “to happen” mean? How can one describe the phenomenon of the event? Is the event even a phenomenon, if it is the case that a phenomenon is what appears while an event seems to evade the presence of a present being and to be properly invisible? Is there a concept of an event, or, on the contrary, is an event not always extraconceptual? In her 1946 essay “What Is Existential Philosophy?,”¹⁷ returning to the roots of existential philosophy, Hannah Arendt makes the radical claim that existence happens outside of thought. With that insight, a genuine thinking of the event in its eventfulness is made possible. Hannah Arendt argues that in the tradition the event in its sheer happening was suppressed and neutralized, reduced to causality, thought, reason, essence, or the meaning posited by the human mind. In her words, the “that” was subjugated to the “what,” and existence reduced to a concept or an essence, thereby negating its eventfulness. However, Arendt insists forcefully, “the What will never be able to explain the That” (WEP, 167). The “what” and the “that” are not homogeneous; the event of existence is extraconceptual. This opens the way for encountering the event of being as such, no longer mediated by a reason or a concept. The event is irreducible to the powers of “com-prehension” of the concept. It is in this sense that Hannah Arendt refers to Jaspers’s “border situations”: whether death, guilt, fate, or chance, these events provoke thought and “drive us to philosophize,” not because they can be thought, but precisely because they cannot. Arendt indeed speaks of the essential failure of thought, the failure to capture in a concept the event of existence: “Philosophic thought can never get around the fact that reality cannot be resolved into what can be thought.” The event happens outside of thought and is irreducible to it. It is as if thought became the thought of its own impossibility, a thought of the aporia: what it has to think cannot be resolved into thought. The very purpose of philosophic thought is not to reduce the event but instead to “heighten . . . the intellectually irresolvable” (WEP, 185).

The event happens outside of thought, yet while happening to it. This is the true aporia (and secret resource) of thought: what it has to think lies outside of it, forever inappropriable. The origin of thought cannot be appropriated by thought: “If thinking necessarily fails to grasp its beginning, perhaps it is because the beginning does not depend upon thought.” Otherwise put, “Philosophy fails in its search for a first concept, because beginning does not depend on it” (POE, 56). The event is “outside the concept” (hors-concept), a concept now placed in relation to an outside that will always remain inappropriable for it. As Deleuze stresses, it is a matter of “affirming the relation of exteriority that links thought to what it thinks” (POE, 51). Thought does not begin from itself, but is the traumatized response to an event. Events are always traumatic. As Derrida writes, an event is traumatic or it is not an event: “What is a traumatic event? First of all, any event worthy of this name, even if it is a ‘happy’ event, has within it something that is traumatizing. An event always inflicts a wound in the everyday course of history, in the ordinary repetition and anticipation of all experience.”¹⁸ At the origin of thought there is a singular accident, a trauma, an encounter, a violent shock. As Deleuze puts it, “Truth depends on an encounter with something that forces us to think and to seek the truth. . . . It is the accident of the encounter that guarantees the necessity of what is thought” (cited in POE, 56). The relation between thought and the event is radically contingent. Indeed, an encounter is not accountable by reason, not subject to the principle of sufficient reason: “An encounter is always inexplicable” (POE, 57). To think the event is to think such absolute contingency.¹⁹ No reasons will ever measure up to the happening of the event. “The analysis of conditions of possibility, even existential ones, will never suffice in giving an account of the act or the event. An analysis of that kind will never measure up to what takes place, the effectivity—actuality—of what comes to pass—for example, a friendship which will never be reduced to the desire or the potentiality of friendship.”²⁰ Born from an accident, a contingent event, from chance, thinking is always “circumstantial,” event-based, an absolutely unnecessary phenomenon or occurrence. “Thought is born of chance” (POE, 57). When thought assumes its eventful origin, when it engages in “an authentic relation to the outside,” it gains its authentic vocation and “affirms the unforeseeable or the unexpected.” Now, the notion that philosophy is born out of an event that it does not control is “a shock to reason” in its quest for ultimate foundations. For “how is it supposed to find a foundation [assise] in that which defeats it, in the inexplicable or the aleatory?” The logic of foundation of the principle of reason leads to its very ungrounding, its “collapse” in an abyss. Thought “stands on a movable ground that it does not control, and thereby wins its necessity.” In the end, what transpires is that “we cannot give the reason for an event” (POE, 57) because the event occurs outside of thought.

One finds in Nietzsche’s work an attempt to think this outsideness of the event with respect to thought with his claim that the event happens both outside and before the cause. Nietzsche frees the event from both causality and the belief in a subject or substrate. According to him, one of the constitutive errors of the metaphysical tradition has been its reliance on causality, the imposition of causes on every existence, on every event, as their substratum. “We have created a world of causes, a world of wills, and a world of spirits. All happening is considered a doing, all doing is supposed to be the effect of a will; the world is understood as a multiplicity of doers; a doer or subject ‘was imputed to everything that happened.’”²¹ Metaphysics creates a doer distinct from the deed and inverses the relation between cause and effect through the imaginary position of a cause beneath the event and the retroactive imputing of such cause to the event. In fact, far from preceding events as their substrate, causality follows the happening of the event, an “after the fact” reconstruction. There is a kind of “inversion of temporality,” an Umkehrung der Zeit, by which the event is said to follow the cause, when in fact, the cause is retroactively injected. “I’ll begin with dreams: a particular sensation, for instance, a sensation due to a distant cannon shot, has a cause imputed to it (untergeschoben) afterwards (nachträglich)” (TI, 32–33). Once the cause has been introduced, after the event, then, it is then alleged to exist prior to the event, an event that has now been transformed into necessity and meaning, a meaning that has been introduced: “In the meantime, the sensation persists in a kind of resonance: it waits, as it were, until the drive to find causes allows it to come into the foreground—not as an accident anymore, but as ‘meaning’” (TI, 32–33). What was first a sheer event, perceived outside of any causal network, is later integrated in the dream and reconstructed in terms of causation in the narration. The event is now said to be happening according to causality. In fact, one must invert this inversion and posit that the event happens before the cause. Only after something has happened can one begin to account for it causally. That something happens is the original fact. In a sense, as Claude Romano argues in Event and World, there is nothing before the event. “Pure beginning from nothing, an event, in its an-archic bursting forth, is absolved from all antecedent causality.”²² An event, as he continues, “has no cause, because it is its own origin” (EW, 42).

The error is to distinguish in the event a doer from a deed, to “add” a doer to the deed, and to introduce a fictitious substrate under the event. “We separate ourselves, the doers, from the deed, and we make use of this pattern everywhere—we seek a doer from every event.”²³ Nietzsche insists that one cannot attach a doer to deeds, that “there is no ‘being’ behind doing, effecting, becoming,” and that the doer “is merely a fiction added to the deed.”²⁴ A subject-doer as cause of its effects, of its deed, these are grammatical-metaphysical fictions, prejudices, that Nietzsche characterizes in The Genealogy of Morals as a “seduction of language” along with the “fundamental errors of reason that are petrified in it” (GM, 45). Just as the “popular mind” distinguishes the lightning from its flash, just as it reifies the “it” in the “it rains,” just as it conceives of the event as an action requiring a subject, just as it “doubles the deed” (“it posits the same event first as cause and then a second time as its effect,” GM, 45), the metaphysician distinguishes a subject from its effects. In fact, “there is no such substratum; there is no ‘being’ behind doing, effecting, becoming; the doer is merely a fiction added to the deed—the deed is everything” (GM, 45). “The deed is everything”: this expression calls for another conception of the event, no longer anchored in a cause-substrate, no longer based on some subject or author, but happening from itself. Events do not emanate from nonhappening substrates: they happen from themselves, that is, without ground.

The event rests on no substrate, has no author; this is why it is always impersonal: it happens. What of this “it”? Reflecting on the impersonality of the expression es gibt (“it gives,” “there is”) in On Time and Being, Heidegger notes that the risk when discussing this “it” is to posit some “indeterminate power” that somehow would cause the event.²⁵ The problem might reside in the very structure of language, in a certain grammar that divides subject and predicate, that determines the “it” as a separate entity with an efficiency of its own, leading to the belief in a metaphysical substrate. As such, this grammatical structure neutralizes the eventfulness of the event. It is a matter of no longer isolating the “it” from the happening of the event. The “it” does not refer to a subject existing under the event of being, but is coextensive with such event. If I say “it rains,” the “it” designates the raining itself, that is, the event of raining. The “it” designates the impersonal eventfulness of the event.

The event is a radically impersonal phenomenon, enacted by no one, no subject, no self: the event occurs outside the subject. As Derrida states, an event is “something that happens in some sense without or before any subject, without or before anyone’s decision” (For Strasbourg, 10). The event exceeds the capacity of a subject, the power of a self. This is why Derrida will ultimately reject the notion of the performative to think the event, as it still relies too heavily on the action of a subject. One often associates the performative with the enacting of an event. “We traditionally say that the performative produces events—I do what I say, I open the session if I am presiding over it, I produce the event of which I speak. In general, we thus relate the possibility of the event that is produced to a performative initiative and thus to a performative responsibility” (For Strasbourg, 67). However, in such a performative, the event is neutralized by the position of a powerful subject. “A performative produces an event only by securing for itself, in the first-person singular or plural, in the present, and with the guarantee offered by conventions or legitimated fictions, the power that an ipseity gives itself to produce the event of which it speaks” (R, 152). Just as so-called “constative” language, the performative also misses the eventful in the event. “Now, just like the constative, it seems to me, the performative cannot avoid neutralizing, indeed annulling, the eventfulness of the event it is supposed to produce” (R, 152). Certainly, Derrida concedes, something does happen with the performative, but what is eventful exceeds it: “I am not saying that nothing then happens, but what happens is programmable, foreseeable, controlled, conditioned by conventions.” Therefore, “it can thus be said, I would dare say, that an event worthy of its name is an event that derails all performativity” (For Strasbourg, 67). It is a matter of thinking the event outside of a problematics of power, “beyond all performative mastery, beyond all power,”²⁶ as the event undoes both will and power. The experience of the event “defeats my will.”²⁷ With the event, it will be a matter of a letting, not a doing. When it comes to the event, it is a matter of abandoning the will and letting the event happen, as opposed to making it happen, a “making happen” that always mobilizes the power and will of a subject. “Must there not be an absence of the will to abandon, whence the question of letting-happen rather than making-happen?” (For Strasbourg, 92).

The event undoes the power of the subject, as the event happens of itself, placing us, as it were, no longer in the position of actors, but, as Jean-Luc Marion suggests, of witnesses. As he clarifies, the term witness signifies the undoing of the transcendental subject constituting the event as object: “With the name witness, we must understand a subjectivity stripped of the characteristics that gave it transcendental rank” (BG, 217). To the constituting subject, “there succeeds the witness—the constituted witness” (BG, 216). The event happens of itself, not constituted by a transcendental subject: “The phenomenon of the passing reached me and, so to speak, constituted me as not constituting it—to the point that all I have is recognize myself as the mere witness (the one who certainly saw what he has seen, but does not understand what he has seen), and I renounce my claim to be its transcendental subject” (NC, 186). The event happens of itself without anyone conducting it. Hence, in Waterloo, the battle “passes and passes away on its own, without anybody making it or deciding it. It passes, and each watches it pass, fade into the distance, and then disappear, disappear like it had come that is to say, of itself” (BG, 228). Let me stress here the capital importance of this motif of passing in the thinking of the event. The event “is” not but essentially passes. The event belongs to the fundamental category of passing; not “being” in the sense of a substantial presence, but passing. As Marion explains, “First, it is not self-evident that in order to be, a being must subsist in permanence: indeed, what is proper to the event, by definition, is not to be insofar as it subsists in permanence, but insofar as it passes” (NC, 89, my emphasis). The event passes (passe) and passes of itself (se passe) while exceeding us from all sides.

The event happens of itself, i.e., is impersonal, and yet it always happens to someone, bringing forth an eventful self, that is to say, a self that is constituted (but also undone) by the event. Heidegger shows how being is an event (Ereignis) in which we have a part as human beings. The human being is not the ego cogito of the Cartesian tradition in a position of subject, but the one who is concerned by the event of being and happening from it. This new perspective requires that the self, far from designating some substantial ego, itself must be understood as arising from an event. In that sense, the self as such is an event, coming to be as a response to the eventfulness of being. It will be necessary, in our understanding of the event, to think together the impersonality of the event with the arising and responding of a self, as if the es gibt was the site of an I to be, a self that is corresponding with an otherwise impersonal phenomenon. In this respect, one ought not to be too quick to set apart the impersonality of the event with the selfhood that is engaged by it. The event is impersonal, happens of itself, but it engages a self that consists precisely in the reception of such event, in which the I suffers the “shock” of the event. What is at stake here in the task of thinking the event is to reveal how the self itself is an event, happening, as it were, in and from the happening of being. The self cannot be presupposed as a pregiven or preconstituted subject but rather originates in and as an event.

This selfhood, however, is not appropriative, not synonymous with the possessive appropriation of otherness in an absolute “at-home,” since to be a self is to be exposed to an event that remains inappropriable for it. Derrida insists that the experience of the event is always that of an inappropriable: “The undergoing [l’épreuve] of the event, that which in the undergoing or in the ordeal at once opens itself up to and resists experience, is, it seems to me, a certain inappropriability of what comes or happens [ce qui arrive]” (PTT, 90, trans. slightly modified). For Arendt the event always remains outside of thought, happening from without, a pure “that” that no “what” can ever explain. This is why we will have to approach the event in terms of such inappropriability, an expropriation or “secret” to which we are exposed. Heidegger indicated the irreducible expropriation (Enteignis) at the heart of the event (Ereignis), going so far as to state: “Expropriation points towards what is most proper to the event.”²⁸

II.

In chapter 1, I attempt to reconstitute the twisting free of the event from the demands of rational thought. I have indicated how the event has traditionally been understood within a philosophy of causality, subjectivity, and reason and how its eventfulness was neutralized by the postulate that events happen according to causality. In contrast with this tradition, which ultimately places the event under the requirements of the principle of sufficient reason, I follow the emergence of a thinking of the event after Kant (but in a sense already with Kant), drawing from Hannah Arendt’s 1946 essay “What Is Existential Philosophy?” Hannah Arendt argues that in the tradition the event of existence was neutralized by and reduced to the power of the concept, a project that culminates in Hegel’s work. Even in Husserlian phenomenology, the notion of an intentional consciousness establishes the reduction of the happening phenomenon to what a consciousness can transcendentally constitute: the event is not allowed to escape the constitutive powers of subjectivity. To think the event in its eventfulness will require a break with that reduction of being to thought, that is, with the postulated identity of being with thought in which the event is made to conform to the power of the concept and of consciousness.

Arendt evokes the “philosophical shock,” the very shock or wonder (thaumazein) that is at the origin of thinking and philosophy. The event happens outside of thought and remains inappropriable for it. This is, for instance, the shock of the resistance of singularity to conceptual generality. An event is each time singular, a singularity that interrupts the mastery of thought and the form of conceptuality. Derrida speaks of the event as “what comes to pass only once, only one time, a single time, a first and last time, in an always singular, unique, exceptional, irreplaceable, unforeseeable, and incalculable fashion” (R, 135). It is the shock of an event that does not occur within a pregiven structural whole, such as “the world,” but “pierces” its horizon. It is the shock of facticity in the face of thought, the “that” before the “what.” It is the shock of sheer existence before meaning. In each case, the event exceeds the form of the concept. I follow this freeing of the event from the power of the concept in Arendt’s reading of Kant, in particular in: (a) his account of synthetic judgments; (b) his refutation of the ontological proof of God’s existence; and (c) his notion of transcendental freedom.

I pursue in chapter 2 this emergence of the event outside of the dominance of causality and subjectivity by showing how for both Nietzsche and Heidegger, the event escapes the schemes of causality, subject or substrate, and reason. Two fundamental errors stand in the way of letting the event come forth in its eventfulness: the reliance on causality and the belief in the subject. With respect to causality, instead of the event following the cause, I suggest that the event is the original phenomenon. Events do not simply follow predetermined sequences. An event “worthy of the name” represents the surge of the new through which precisely it does not “follow” from a previous cause. A new understanding of temporality is here required: not a ruled sequence coming from the past to the present, but an eventful temporality, coming from the future, disrupting the causal networks, and transforming the entire complex of temporality, indeed transforming the past itself. Another conception of the event is called for, no longer anchored in a cause-substrate, but happening without ground.

This groundlessness of the event is revealed by Heidegger in his course, The Principle of Reason, in which he reflects on a principle that is precisely supposed to ground events: the principle of reason (der Satz vom Grund). As noted, it is paradoxically the very claim of the principle of reason, that is, that all events must be founded in reason, that turns out to be itself without reason and thus groundless. An abyss is here formed, which is the abyss (Ab-grund) of the ground that, in order to be the ground, must itself be without a ground. To the question of “why,” which asks for reasons and foundations, Heidegger opposes the “answer” of the because through his citing of the sixteenth-century poet and mystic Angelus Silesius:

The rose is without why: it blooms because it blooms,

It pays no attention to itself, asks not whether it is seen

The rose is without why, but blooms because it blooms. For Heidegger, that tautology, far from saying nothing, says everything, that is, the entire eventful facticity of the being: it happens as it happens. The event becomes the highest reason. The reason given is harbored entirely within the fact of the being, that is, within the being itself, “the fact of its being a rose or its rose-being [ihr Rose-sein]” (GA 10, 84/PR, 57, trans. slightly modified). We are asked to leave the why (the cause) for the because (the event). Heidegger cites Goethe, who wrote in his Collected Sayings from 1815: “How? When? and Where?—The gods remain mute! You stick to the because and ask not why?” (GA 10, 185/PR, 126). The because (weil) is, as ground, groundless. In contrast with the why, always in quest of foundations, the because remains groundless. “What does ‘because’ mean? It guards against investigating the ‘why,’ therefore, against investigating foundations. It balks at founding and getting to the bottom of something. For the ‘because’ is without ‘why,’ it has no ground, it is ground itself” (GA 10, 186/PR, 127). The event of being is groundless, without reason, without a why.

In chapter 3, I investigate the phenomenological senses of the event revealed by this dismantling—deconstruction—of the metaphysical categories of causality, subjectivity, and reason/ground. Once the event is no longer referred to the demands of the principle of reason, no longer anchored in a subject-cause, it becomes possible to let it give itself in its eventfulness, in the way it happens each time. “Thinking the event” would here mean not subjecting it to reason, but letting it be (especially if thinking itself is approached as a kind of letting, letting-be or Gelassenheit²⁹), and indeed grasping phenomenality itself as an event. Following Heidegger in paragraph 7 of Being and Time, phenomenology is a bringing to light of the phenomenality of phenomena, that is, the event of their givenness. Phenomenology is concerned, not with the ontical given, but with phenomenality itself, with the event of givenness. The phenomenon is here taken in its verbal sense, as a self-showing. This suggests that phenomena themselves must be taken as events. This is why I argue that phenomenology, in its most authentic sense, ought to be reconsidered in terms of the event and recast as a phenomenology of the event.

Certain commentators have claimed that there is an antinomy, an incompatibility of sorts, between phenomenology and event on the account that phenomenology would always be directed at the present phenomenon while the event exceeds the present, and even the horizon of presence. To the extent that the event is not a present being or object, that is, is “not ‘presentable,’” it would “exceed” the resources of any phenomenology.³⁰ I argue, however, that phenomenology is about that very excess. Drawing from Jean-Luc Marion’s description of the “saturated” phenomenon, I approach the event as excess. Unconditional eventful phenomenality exceeds any encompassing horizon and reverses the subject into the recipient (indeed, as we saw, the “witness”) of the impersonal passing of the event. As such, the event becomes unpredictable (for Derrida, “it’s an event insofar as what’s happening was not predicted,” CIP, 456), outside the domain or sphere of the subject and happening to it from without. An event is that which happens in excess of our subjective anticipations. Phenomenology is transformed by such eventful phenomenality, and thinking the event means here how thinking is affected and traumatized by the event.

In light of this phenomenology of the event, I investigate in chapter 4 the extent to which “things” themselves should be taken as events. Once things are referred back to the event of their givenness, they in turn become affected by such presence and find themselves participating in the proper mobility and happening of being so that they are precisely not simply “mere” things but events themselves. For Heidegger being is never without beings and does not subsist in some separate sphere: there is no being without beings. This is why beings participate in the event of being, an event that cannot happen without things “sheltering” it. With respect to thing and world, one can state that things become events by participating in a world that is never given but exists only as happening. “The world worlds,” Heidegger writes in “The Origin of the Work of Art.”³¹ This verbality of the world reveals that the world is not given but is an event that happens, each time, by way of things. This is shown in Being and Time, where Heidegger describes things, not as discrete, separate, individual entities, but as constitutive and formative of a world. Things that appear within the world are not first simply “present-at-hand” (vorhanden), as Heidegger calls them, but must be taken instead as “ready-to-hand” (zuhanden), that is, as participating in the event of the world. Further, Heidegger presents in Being and Time what could be called a “thingly self,” that is, a self that comes to itself from things, revealing that the event of selfhood is inscribed in things.

Things are thus events. I analyze Heidegger’s rethinking of the thing in later texts, where it is precisely taken in its eventful and verbal sense. Heidegger seems to recognize that a thing is indeed properly an event, and to that extent, he offers a verbal form for the term, dingen, Das Dingen, at the risk of stretching the limits of language: the “thing things,” Das Ding dingt, the thing is a thing insofar as it “things.” As he puts it in the essay “The Thing”: “The jug presences [west] as a thing. The jug is the jug as a thing. But how does the thing presence? The thing things [Das Ding dingt].”³² The thing as noun becomes the thing as a verb: to thing, the “thinging” of the thing. The thing is neither the Roman res, nor the medieval ens, nor an object, and nor a present-at-hand entity. Rather, the thing is a thing insofar as it happens, that is, insofar as “it things”: “The presence of something present such as the jug comes into its own, appropriatively manifests and determines itself, only from the thinging of the thing” (GA 7, 179/PLT, 175). The being of the thing lies in its eventfulness, not in objective presence. This presencing of things is the way in which the thing harbors, shelters, the event of presence. There are no things prior to such thinging; rather, there is a thing insofar as there is “thinging.” Things are properly events, and this reveals in turn that events are “thingly.”

In chapters 5 and 6, I explore the thematic of an “event of being” and how the event comes forth as the main feature of being. In the wake of the deconstruction of the categories of reason and causality that have in the tradition enframed and neutralized the event in its eventfulness, I noted how it became possible to do justice to the phenomenon of the event, indeed to grasp phenomenology itself as a phenomenology of the event. Now, according to Heidegger, the original phenomenon of phenomenology is being itself. Unlike his former mentor, Husserl, Heidegger does not define phenomenology in relation to consciousness but to the event of being. “With regard to its subject-matter, phenomenology is the science of the being of entities—ontology.”³³ Phenomenology is approached as the very method of ontology, and the phenomena are to be referred not to a constituting consciousness, but to the event of being as such. Now, if on the one hand phenomenology is to be recognized as a phenomenology of the event, and if on the other hand the distinctive original phenomenon of phenomenology is being as such, then it becomes possible to finally grasp being itself as event, as opposed to some substantial ground. Indeed, Heidegger develops a powerful thought of the event, seizing being itself as eventfulness and temporal happening, as presence and presencing. By approaching being in distinction from beings, and in particular in distinction from any reference to a supreme being, substrate, or substance (which in the ontotheological tradition had determined the meaning of being), Heidegger makes it possible to approach being as an event, away from the tradition of substantiality and the metaphysical categories of atemporal permanent presence. Levinas rightly underlined this fundamental contribution of Heidegger’s thought: namely, to have grasped being no longer as a noun, but as a verb. In one of his last classes taught at the Sorbonne, on November 17, 1975, he explained: “The most extraordinary thing that Heidegger brings us is a new sonority of the verb ‘to be’: precisely its verbal sonority. To be: not what is, but the verb, the ‘act’ of being.”³⁴ Heidegger understands being as event: being, as such, happens. In this way, it becomes clear that it is not necessary to go beyond being, beyond ontology, to think the event (as some allege), for being itself happens as an event.

In chapter 5, I follow Heidegger’s critique of substantiality so as to reveal the eventfulness of being, which he approached in his early works as the proper motion or “unrest” (Unruhe) of “factical life.” Understanding being itself as event was made possible, first, by deconstructing the inadequate mode of substantiality, and further, by revealing the motion and eventfulness of historical life. I trace the retrieval of the eventfulness of life in Heidegger’s early work on history and in his thematization of “hermeneutical life,” which displays a motion or motility (Bewegtheit) that always involves a radical expropriation, which Heidegger names “ruinance.” I identify several features: (a) Being (which Heidegger approaches in these early texts terminologically as “life” and “factical life”) is not some substantial presence, but an event and a happening. (b) This event is irreducible and the ultimate phenomenon: it is not anchored in any other reality that itself would not be happening. (c) This event is marked by an expropriation or negativity, an expropriation or “ruinance” already identified in the thematic of the event occurring “outside” of thought. (d) To such event is assigned thought as the counter-event or response to its coming.

In chapter 6, I pursue this thinking of the event of being by first developing its temporal dimension. In Heidegger’s early work, “factical life” (later renamed “Dasein”) is described in terms of a temporal singularity as each time its own (Jeweiligkeit). Dasein is each time the being it has to be. I elaborate this logic of the each, revealing key features of the event: singularity, discontinuity, and difference. In Being Singular Plural, Nancy insists on the singularity of being, understood in terms of the temporal givenness of an “each time,” suggesting that being itself happens “au coup par coup,” blow by blow, going so far as to claim that the essence of being is the stroke or the shock of the instant (le coup). Each time, “being” is always a stroke or blow (un coup) of being. This could also be said in this way: the essence of being is the event. Being happens each time as a “stroke of being”: “a lash, blow, beating, shock, knock, an encounter, an access” (BSP, 33). The event of existence is and can only be singular: there is no “general” or continuous existence. Indeed, “each time” does not mean “always” and in fact indicates the interruption of any continuity. Any “constancy” is derived from the interruption of the event, from the succession of an “each time” that is not unlike what Merleau-Ponty wrote of time, which he compared it to a fountain whose renewed thrust can give the appearance of permanence: “We say that there is time as we say that there is a fountain: the water changes and the fountain remains, because the form is preserved; the form is preserved because each successive burst takes up the functions of the previous one.”³⁵

I further explore how the event can be articulated in terms of possibility. Derrida stresses that any event must be structured around the possibility of a perhaps. “There is no event, to be sure, that is not preceded and followed by its own perhaps,” he writes.³⁶ The perhaps or the maybe of the event is the primary and irreducible form of experience, the primary tense of being. This perhaps represents the most authentic sense of the event: “the thought of the ‘perhaps’ perhaps engages the only possible thought of the event” (PF, 29). This is indeed what Heidegger showed when he explained that Dasein’s being is its own possibility. “As a being, Dasein always defines itself in terms of a possibility which it is” (SZ, 43). Dasein is a being that never “is” what it is (as a present-at-hand being), but is instead approached in terms of an event that is in the process of happening. The event is tied to the possible, to the event of an existence that is each time “to be.” Nonetheless, I will in chapter 8 radicalize this thinking of the possible by showing how possibility needs to be located in an exposure to the “im-possible,” as if the possible was “possibilized” by the impossible. Indeed, a possibility that would be merely possible can only be a neutralization of the irruptive nature of the event. “For a possible that would only be possible (non-impossible), a possible surely and certainly possible, accessible in advance, would be a poor possible, a futureless possible, a possible already set aside, so to speak, life-assured” (PF, 29). Such a possible would not be eventful, but the predetermined realization of a prior plan or program. If the event must be approached first on the side of the possible, it must be recognized that the impossible proves to be the secret resource of the possible. “If all that arises is what is already possible, and so capable of being anticipated and expected, that is not an event. The event is possible only coming from the impossible” (PM, 74).

I pursue this thinking of the event of being in terms of a reflection on presence. As noted, Heidegger approaches being as an event, as the event of presence. Instead of supposing an underlying permanent substance and foundation, it is a matter of understanding being as the event of givenness (and withdrawal), as well as a letting. Indeed, “letting” is for Heidegger the “deepest meaning of being.” For an event happens of itself so that an event is never prepared, produced, or made, but precisely let be. To the letting of being corresponds the fundamental disposition of thinking as Gelassenheit, as letting-be. “Thinking the event” would mean here: letting . . . the letting, letting the letting be. Through a close reading of the 1962 lecture “On Time and Being” and other texts of that late period, such as Four Seminars, I engage Heidegger’s approach to being as event of presence (Anwesenheit) or presencing (Anwesen). What then appears is how the proper of time and the proper of being involve the event (Ereignis) of the givenness of the es gibt, that is to say, the event of being and time and the human being as recipient of such event. This is why in a last section, I show how the self happens in and though the event of being, a self that is no longer the substantial subject of the tradition, but the one who is the recipient of the event of being, happening through the happening of being. The thinking of being approached from the giving of Ereignis leads to a pure thinking of the event, that is, to the eventfulness of the event, an eventfulness that nonetheless always entails an irreducible expropriation.

In chapter 7, I explore such expropriation in the happening of the event in terms of what Jean-Luc Nancy calls a withdrawal of essence. This withdrawal is apparent in the fact that nothing preexists the event of being, no principle, arche, or prior substance. “Being absolutely does not preexist; nothing preexists; only what exists exists” (BSP, 29). To that extent, being is nothing but the event of itself and does not refer to any other instance than its own happening. The event is no longer anchored in a principle that itself would not be happening. Preceded by nothing and grounded in no essence, the event can only come as a surprise. Indeed, for Nancy, the surprise is not the mere accompanying aspect of an event, but its defining characteristic (“What makes the event an event is not only that it happens, but that it surprises,” BSP, 159), going so far as to write that “the event surprises or else it is not an event” (BSP, 167). The event cannot unfold predictably, following an essence, a direction, or some principle, but can only happen “by way of surprise” (BSP, 159). Thinking the event here would mean thinking the surprise, which immediately reverses into: thinking is surprised by the event; surprised, or, to follow literally the French, sur-prise: “over-taken.” Nancy writes that “philosophy is surprised thought” (BSP, 165).

I unfold this essencelessness of the event in terms of what Nancy calls the “creation of the world.” In spite of its theological provenance, the motif of “creation,” certainly used provocatively by Nancy,³⁷ is to be taken in a radically nontheological way as a creation “without a creator.”³⁸ In fact, creation is even characterized as the nodal point in a deconstruction of Christianity to the extent that it is a creation ex nihilo, a nothing in which God as author disappears. Nancy suggests that the God of ontotheology, in a peculiar kenosis or self-emptying, was “progressively stripped of the divine attributes of an independent existence and only retained those of the existence of the world considered in its immanence” (CW, 44). Creation, understood is a nontheological sense, is the mark of the event of the world: the world is not given, not resting on some prior principle of arche, but exists rigorously as the event of itself, as creation of itself. This is why Nancy clarifies that “the world is not given” and that, in fact, “the world is its own creation” (CW, 109).

In a third section, I explore this thinking of the event in terms of abandonment, which designates the unsubstantial character of an event as deprived of principles, ground and arche, a condition or rather “incondition” in which we find ourselves in the wake of the exhaustion of metaphysical principles and from which we are called to think. Nancy characterizes existence as abandonment and sheer exposure, a “leaving” or “abandonment” of any prior essence. It is “from an abandonment that being comes forth: we can say no more. There is no going back prior; being conveys nothing older than its abandonment.”³⁹ The only ontology that remains, according to Nancy, is precisely no longer an ontotheology, but an ontology characterized by the feature of abandonment, that is, abandonment as the sole predicate of being. Abandonment must not only be understood as an abandonment by but also an abandonment to a law, Nancy clarifies. One finds here the motif of law and obligation intertwined with that of “abandoned being.” The event of being amounts to a being-obligated: to be is having to be, obligated and called to be. One can speak of a categorical imperative of the event of being: one must be! A certain dignity, or ethicality, is hence conferred to the event of being, which is always a call that one must answer.

Finally, I explore the extent to which this event of being is always—each time—the event of a coexistence, as for Nancy being rigorously means: being-with. Nancy approaches such being-with as an event in his rethinking of democracy, of what one may call the event of democracy. Nancy’s claim is that it is a matter of understanding democracy “metaphysically,” and not in its traditional exhausted sense as a political regime. “Democracy is first of all a metaphysics and only afterwards a politics.”⁴⁰ What Nancy gestures toward here is to approach democracy not as a political form or regime, but as an event. Indeed, democracy is characterized as a power of imagining, of invention, without subject or mastery and in excess of identity of any given form. Democracy is not only in excess of the political, it is also in excess of itself, that is, of its own idea, form, or concept, precisely to the extent that it is first of all an event, which, as seen with Arendt, always exceeds its own concept. Therein lies what Nancy calls the “inadequacy” of democracy, an inadequacy with respect to itself that Nancy refers to Derrida’s “democracy to come” in a perspective that combines the eventful character of democracy with its incompleteness and perfectibility. I argue that such incompletion or inadequation—indeed différance—must be also thought from the eventful character of democracy.

In chapter 8, I focus on the inappropriability of the event, a motif that has been a constant thread in the course of this work. As I have hoped to show, the event permeates every instance of being and existence to such an extent that to be means: to happen. And yet, it remains inappropriable, frustrating any attempt to reduce it to a present being or an identity. It only happens, in the flash of a disjointed, discontinuous, and anachronic temporality preventing any gathering in a present. The event has, as it were, the structure of the trace as Derrida describes it: “The trace is not a substance, a present existing thing, but a process that is changing all the time. It can only reinterpret itself and always, finally, it is carried away” (PM, 159). The event remains inappropriable, resistant to anticipation and even to comprehension, irreducible to reason. It “belongs to an atemporal temporality, to a duration that cannot be grasped: something one can neither stabilize, establish, grasp [prendre], apprehend, or comprehend. Understanding, common sense, and reason cannot seize [begreifen], conceive, understand, or mediate it.”⁴¹ As such, the event constitutes a challenge to reason and understanding: “The event is what comes and, in coming, comes to surprise me, to surprise and to suspend comprehension: the event is first of all that which I do not first of all comprehend. Better, the event is first of all that I do not comprehend. The fact that I do not comprehend: my incomprehension.”⁴² For Derrida, an event is always inappropriable. I discuss the presence of this inappropriable in terms of what Derrida calls the “secret” (note that the French secret translates in Derrida’s text Heidegger’s Geheimnis). Through the leitmotif repetition of the expression “il y a là un secret” or “il y a là du secret,” “there is something secret” (literally, there is there something secret), Derrida seeks to emphasize that it is first a matter of recalling, not what the secret would be, but rather that there is a secret at all; as if, through this shift from the “what” to the “that” of the secret, it was a matter of remembering, or removing from its necessary oblivion, the presence of a secret in the experience of the event.

I then engage Derrida’s thinking of the “im-possible” as it pertains to the event. Indeed, for Derrida, “only the impossible happens” (PM, 87). In what was to be his last appearance on television, in June 2004 with France 3, answering the question of the journalist who had asked him what deconstruction is, Derrida replied: “deconstruction is what happens [la déconstruction, c’est ce qui arrive],” and then he added: “that is to say, the impossible.” The impossible, he concluded, is “the only thing that happens [la seule chose qui arrive]”!⁴³ This is no hyperbole, but a rigorous understanding of the intertwining between the possible and the impossible as it pertains to the event. “‘The impossible is what takes place.’ Madness. I am tempted to say of this utterance, itself impossible, that it touches on the very condition of thinking the event. There where the possible is all that happens, nothing happens, nothing that is not the impoverished unfurling or the predictable predicate of what finds itself already there, potentially, and thus produces nothing new, not even accidents worthy of the name ‘event’” (OT, 57). As I alluded to prior, the impossible becomes the secret resource of the possible and the condition of any event “worthy of the name.”

Finally, in a concluding chapter, I sketch the contours of an “ethics of the event” and how the happening of the event opens onto a welcome to what comes in the event, a saying yes to being overtaken and taken away by its secret. Here appear the thematics of a hospitality to the event. Throughout this work, it has been an issue of freeing the pure eventfulness of the event from the traditional attempts to neutralize it, whether through the demands of a principle of reason or through the position of a willful ego, of letting the event give itself. The happening of the event is the coming of the arrivant, an arrival that is welcomed by an original hospitality. Indeed, the ethics of the event, as I approach it here, is to be taken as an ethics of hospitality, a welcome of the event in its irruptive coming. I am, before the event, caught by surprise, and without resources, an absolute weakness before its happening. In fact, an event exposes the utter vulnerability of the one who is exposed to it, the powerlessness and radical passivity of the one to whom it happens. Derrida writes that the event “is there, before us, without us—there is someone, something, that happens, that happens to us, and that has no need of us to happen (to us). And this relation to the event or alterity, as well as to chance or the occasion, leaves us completely disarmed; and one has to be disarmed. The ‘has to’ says yes to the event: it is stronger than I am.”⁴⁴ The ethics of the event would designate this vulnerability, this unconditional openness to the other. From such exposure to the otherness of the event, always happening from without, one understands better in what sense the event weighs on thought from the outside (how it exscribes it) and how thought is nothing but the thinking of this shock, in wonder before it, even if it means never being able to comprehend or appropriate it.