In What Is Called Thinking? (1951/52), Heidegger says of man that he points into the withdrawal in that what must be thought eludes him. That that is so means that the event (Ereignis; the belonging-together of Being and beings, or of Beyng and beyngs) shows itself at the current moment in the history of Being in its withdrawal-form, as disown-event (Enteignis), and as we know, Heidegger does not cease to insist that this is not a lamentable circumstance but historic necessity: “What must be thought about, turns away from man. It withdraws from him. But how can we have the least knowledge of something that withdraws from the beginning, how can we even give it a name? Whatever withdraws refuses arrival. But—withdrawing is not nothing. Withdrawal is an event. In fact, what withdraws may even concern and claim man more essentially than anything present that strikes and touches him. Being struck by actuality is what we like to regard as constitutive of the actuality of the actual. However, in being struck by what is actual, man may be debarred precisely from what concerns and touches him—touches him in the surely mysterious way of escaping him by its withdrawal. The event of withdrawal could be what is most present in all our present, and so infinitely exceed the actuality of everything actual.” The “object” of thinking—the point toward which it remains directed even if that point withdraws from it—veils itself in obscurity. Once again it is necessary to insist that this obscurity is not simply the darkness of obscurantism. By no means does it equal the diffuseness that esoteric non-thinking conjures. It is what is most concrete; it is utterly present, presence par excellence. Its presence is a presence completed by its constitutive absence. The reality of the real is not itself real, just as the visibility of the visible is not visible. That is the great theme of the Platonic idea tou agathou, the idea of the good or the highest idea, of which the Politeia says that it is located beyond being, epekeina tes ousias. Thinking remains directed toward this beyond, but in such a way as to acknowledge its non-integral immanence, its status as immanentic transcendence. The concept of such an implicit real that indicates the bound of the field of immanence (of reality) represents the culmination of what we can call the Platonic Lacanianism of Alain Badiou. Badiou, as he is wont to, bases his argument on mathematics: “The most banal example is that the series that makes a finite whole number is not a finite whole number; indeed, it is an entity that is truly inaccessible. The immanent principle of that which is repeated or succeeded is neither repeated nor succeeded.” Is Heidegger saying anything else when he incessantly repeats that Being cannot itself be a being? Is not Heidegger’s Being in precisely this sense beyond being (beyond “metaphysical” being)? Does not therein lie the meaning of the ontological difference, in the distinction between transcendent Being and immanent being, between the Real and reality? Everything, no doubt, revolves around the question of how these two dimensions are connected (their separation is phantasmatic!). It is, “as always” when thinking touches upon the utmost, “about immanence and transcendence,” about their compossibility or, as Nancy writes, about the “‘outside the world’ in the very midst of the world,” a “transcendence of immanence.” Perhaps we should speak not of a transcendence of immanence but rather of a transcendence in immanence. Everything would henceforth depend on defining this in, which—in analogy to the analyses in Heidegger’s Being and Time that distinguish the being-in of being from mere insideness (the way, for instance, the water is inside the glass)—evokes a fundamental ontological trait of reality (of the world as immanence-space): that it is real in the Lacanian sense, i.e., ontologically inconsistent!