Of course, there are Dogmatists everywhere – those who follow what we call Dogma without ever having formulated a rule, or put together a movement.
They are beacons to us, and whenever they speak, we sit at the very front, our notebooks on our knees. Did he really use the word enphoria? Is he really speaking of his time as a pastry chef? And the pathos! We feel drenched in pathos!
We're moved, terribly moved. Is he weeping? Are we? Our notebooks are full. We're close to the secret. What have we learned? We're on the brink of something terribly important, we know that. We're at the edge of something; it's very close.
What is Dogma?, we ponder. What has been vouchsafed to us – and why us, why we two, of all people? It must be our overwhelming sense of our stupidity. Our sense that we are at the end of things and that we are, in some sense, the end of things. And then, at the very end, when the sun is about to fall into the sea: what was shown, and to us?
That there is a secret order among thinkers, and among thoughts. That there's a secret kingdom of thinkers unknown even to those who belong to it. And who are we, amidst it all? The power behind the thrones? The jesters in their jangly caps? It's greater than us, we know that. We should give our lives over to it, serve.
What does it matter what we write or think in the first person? Thought must be collective, or not all. It must leap from thinker to think as lightning leaps down from a cloud. Every instinct in us was developed for this. Our lives will only make sense in respect of this.
Retrospective redemption: it will have made sense. From the perspective of Dogma, of the secret kingdom, won't it always have made sense?
Lars Iyer's Blog 