Dogma

We should start a philosophical movement, W. and I decide. What should we call it? Dogma, we say, remembering Lars Von Trier. And what are the rules? There should be many rules, W. says, and they should be constantly changing. And they should be secret, I say. No one should know them but us. And not even us!

The first rule, says W.: no publication. We're not to publish anything. Dogmas has to be live. And the second rule? No scholarship. No proper names. No footnotes. No quotations – not one. The third rule, he says, what should that be? Pathos – our papers should rely on emotion rather than argument. We should tear our shirts and pull out our hair. And we should weep -we should weep without end.

And what's the fourth rule to be? You speak with the greatest of seriousness, and only on topics about which you feel the greatest of seriousness. You should aim at maximum sincerity. Burning sincerity. Rending sincerity. You should be prepared to set yourself on fire before your audience, like those monks in Vietnam.

And the fifth rule? Dogma should always be collaborative. You must write with your friends. Your very friendship should depend upon what you write. It should mean nothing more!

W. remembers the collection, Radical Thought in Italy. It's always been a touchstone for him. It's pure Dogma, he says. They're all friends. No quotes, no references, they all have the same ideas and write about them as though they were world-historical. Oh yes, that's another rule – always write as though your ideas were world-historical. And always steal from your friends. Steal from everyone! In fact, that should be compulsory – you must always steal your ideas and claim them as your own.

We need a final rule, W. says. Tell no one about Dogma. No one! Unless they ask. And why should they?