To switch from the petulant gods who populate the Homeric world to the one Christian God already amounts to a sort of reduction of complexity. All thinking remains a form of reductive violence, and that violence is fueled by the phantasm of absolute controllability: of controlling the gods, fate, the traditional valences, passions and affects, in short: of controlling reality in its incommensurability-value. Now, the Christian God is the god who dies so that man may live. The world—if we set it aside as a world of fact, a homogeneous sphere of objective consistencies—resembles a “projection without project,” as Jean-Luc Nancy has put it in a neat formula: “fallen from a black exhalation of sudden energy, elemental wave, flickering of photons amid the density of a void cast into the abyss, turned into itself, dark and resounding cistern: pure being-outside-of-itself, crashing expansion far and wide, rift of the quarks, drawn-out metrical scansion, projection without project [jet sans projet], all-around projection [projection], creation of eruptions, tossing motion.” Projection without project and pure being-outside-of-itself, riven and endless text composed of innumerable blind and mute ciphers: that is the place where we are. It is here that every subject breathes, here that it lives and dies: in this ocean of inhuman matter. That God is dead means that the subject has no other choice but to make itself at home in this acosmic disaster, to confront in it the truth of its consistencies and of itself.