I just finished reading John Ralston Saul's book A Fair Country: Telling Truths About Canada. Quite a hefty read for the holidays, but worth it in the long run, I'd say.
A Fair Country revolves around Saul's argument that Canada is a 'Métis Civilization'*. The reason we have such an identity crisis as a nation is because we aren't asking the right questions. He believes that the mythology that our country is based on a European, Enlightenment-era model of a monolithic nation-state is an inaccurate portrayal of ourselves. Rather, our society is based on the values and principles Aboriginal culture: egalitarianism, social welfare, complexity, and balance with the environment. This current runs through our collective unconscious and has for the past four hundred years, Saul believes. The problem is that it remains in the unconscious, not our consciousness.
The reason we stumble as a nation is because we fail to acknowledge this, and when we succeed and excel as a nation it is not merely by accident. Medicare, Peacekeeping, Multiculturalism--ideas spearheaded by ambitious and forward-thinking Canadians--are not things that came about in spite of our national character, but because of it. He argues that Canada was based on three cultural pillars: the French, the English, and the Aboriginals. It is by acknowledging and restoring this third and senior pillar that we can find a balance and unleash our power as a nation. For the first settlers and traders to survive in the harsh conditions of Canada they had to develop strong and trusting relationships with the indigenous peoples, who already lived there. Every model of industry we inherited from Europe, from government to agriculture, only worked when we compromised them and found a balance with the Aboriginal way of life.
The same is true now for our survival as a healthy society. We suffer from an inferiority complex because, as a former colony, we judge ourselves by an imperial yardstick. The idea of linear progress, of a monolithic, racially defined nation-state devoted to Enlightenment ideals, and a Judeo-Christian, Manichean worldview--these elements together do not work for Canada. When we resort to this worldview, we are imagining someone else, not ourselves. And when we see the reality come short of our self-image, we think there is something wrong with us. These European-U.S. models of thinking are not inherently wrong (except maybe for the racially defined part). At least, they certainly aren't inherently ineffective. They worked well for other countries at other times. But what worked for the U.S. will not work for us.
Our greatest blunders are often a result of this colonial thinking, where we defer power and authority to someone else--we didn't do anything unless it had London's approval, and now we don't unless it has Washington's approval. This, Saul argues, has affected every level of Canadian society, but especially its elite. He credits individual initiatives to make the country a better place, but he argues that unless there are sweeping changes in elite thinking and institutional initiative, real change won't be possible. The part of the book where he levels an attack on Canada's elite--business managers, politicians, administrators, leaders in both private and public sectors--he titles 'The Castrati', implying that our elite has been emasculated and weakened as a group by this kind of colonial thinking. The reason we remain in this colonial mind-frame is because we believe that we are the direct inheritors of European thinking. Saul suggests that if we realize that we owe more to the First Nations, Métis, and Inuit for our identity than we do Europe and the Enlightenment, we might be able to break free from our dependancy on Empire for self-worth.
At the very foundation of his whole argument is that Canada's healthy sense of self is linked to the well-being of the Aboriginal peoples in Canada. The former is dependant on the latter. It sounds like a stretch, but even when his arguments are on the verge of collapsing under their own weight, he somehow ties them together. It all kind of makes sense. At least, I'm willing to give the idea a shot.
He's not suggesting that we abandon our European roots that actually do exist--some of these things work!--and start mimicking Aboriginal culture. This would be a superficial act, disrespectful to all parties involved, and beside the point. Nor does it mean that those who are non-Aboriginal need to romanticize, worship and elevate indigenous people to superior status in order to find who we are. What we need to do is own those fundamental principles we have inherited from our indigenous roots as a nation, and recognize that to lose Aboriginal culture is to lose a vital part of ourselves, as much as it would be to lose our Anglophone or Francophone roots.
I'm not really doing the book justice. He talks of Canada being a 'Métis Civilization', that our motto 'Peace, Order, and Good Government' should be 'Peace, Fairness, and Good Government, and that while these are minor details, being careful and precise about the language we use to describe ourselves will have enormous impact on our social imagination. He mounts argument after eye-crossing, head-splitting argument to show the validity of this point. I also might be oversimplifying or misrepresenting some aspects of his ideas, so I suggest reading it for yourself to decide whether or not there's actually something to what he's saying. I'm drawn in by his theories, because it looks to me like he is giving historical evidence for the reasons we fail, and why we are great, which is something I haven't seen anybody else do before. Not so thoroughly, anyway. I'm very green in Canadian politics and history, but I can tell that this is the kind of book that can make waves. Big ones. Andrew Cohen points out the major problems with Canada and proposes solutions, but Saul takes us to the root of the problem, which might strengthen our efforts to improve this country in the long run.
I think a great thing I've taken from reading this book is that, if what he is putting forward is true, then I don't have to be so cynical about our leaders, and politicians in general. I haven't seen much in our leaders today to have hope, but Saul cites examples of gutsy and effective leaders who really did listen to their people and changed the country for the better. Canadian politics may seem childish and ineffective now, but it hasn't always been, nor will it always be that way for all time. Andrew Cohen said that while we haven't produced a Stalin or Hitler, we haven't produced a Churchill or Roosevelt either. The more I learn about our history, the more I have to question that. What made Churchill and Roosevelt great leaders? They spoke to their people in a way that they needed. The words and actions of these men resonated deeply and directly with a certain time and a certain place, and for that they are immortalized. I think that we had leaders just like this, who connected with the people and place of their time. If one must parade our individuals like shiny trophies before the world, then I could list Lester Pearson (Peacekeeping), Pierre Trudeau (Multiculturalism, Charter of Rights and Freedoms), Tommy Douglas (Universal Healthcare), the Fathers of Confederation, who negotiated our independence--making ours the first colony to do so entirely without bloodshed. This is quite extraordinary in that context, and anybody who doesn't recognize that is simply ignorant. I realize that all of these examples are white males. Yes, we obviously have a long way to go. But that's also me not knowing enough of our country's history, its movers and shakers, so I have to throw in that disclaimer. (That's not even counting the legions of brilliant minds that have emerged from our country: Margaret Atwood, Emily Carr, Mordecai Richler, David Suzuki, Leonard Cohen, K'Naan, Alexander Fleming, Marshall McLuhan, Douglas Coupland, Louis Riel, Robertson Davies, Neil Young, Rohinton Mistry, Michel Tremblay, Robert LePage, Tomson Highway). My point is, that although treating these achievements like scores in a competition is silly, we would have no problem dropping names. We have a culture of highly influential people. If this proves nothing, and people still feel that we are immature as a society, then just wait. If this is true, Saul is wrong and we are simply a baby nation, I think Robertson Davies has the best rebuttle to that. "Cabbages can be grown quite quickly; an oak takes longer, and I do not think my country should be contented with a cabbage culture." Either way, I don't think Saul is wrong. It is also our responsibility to embrace our history and actively participate in our communal affairs so we don't repeat the atrocities committed by our forebears. This is an age-old, tired argument to use, but it must be repeated until we get the point. So not only is it crucial that we rise above apathy and cynicism, but it is entirely possible too.
I find that the more I read these kinds of things, the more I understand the full meaning of Citizenship. For a long time I resisted the concept of citizenship as being more than a legal title (I am a Canadian Citizen because the bureaucrats need a way to categorize me). It couldn't possibly have any deeper connection to my identity. Why couldn't I be a member of the human race who happened to be from Canada? Why, like, narrow your definition of self when you're like, so much more universal than that, man? Citizenship implied patriotism, which implied a worship of the Nation-State as an unshakeable entity that will always exist in its present form. Patriotism is so easily confused with Nationalism. But even so, it just didn't seem to be a big part of my life. But the more I have learned about Canada, the world, and myself, the more I realize that I am who I am because of where I am, when I am, and whom I engage with. I think this is what it means to be a citizen. To be an individual and take part in one's community is to be a citizen. I live in a land called Canada and engage with other Canadians as a Canadian myself. I owe nothing to some abstract idea called Nation über alles. That, I think, would no longer be patriotism, or even citizenship. That would be secular idolatry. Rather, I have a responsibility to the land I live in and the people I live in it with. Canada has proven to have far more to do with me than I would have preferred. But that's the nature of the beast. So, I am learning to embrace the term citizen in a deeper, broader, and simpler meaning.
Now Saul goes into great detail about how this colonial mindset has affected the elite, but I think it has seeped into every corner of Canadian society. Our favourite word is 'sorry'. I find myself saying it, not even meaning it, but as a verbal tick as common as 'like' or 'um'. So often at my university I hear people say, with a dash of contempt, 'how Canadian of you' to someone who decides to take the middle road on an argument, seeking a happy medium--as if there were something really wrong with that. It's one thing to be laughed at and scorned by other countries, but when we ourselves don't have much self-respect, that is when I have to draw the line. I'm tired of 'being Canadian' being spoken of in a pejorative sense, as if it was the worst thing you could be.
As actors in training one of our biggest hindrances, we are told, is our Canadian dialect. It is higher-pitched, nasal, and tight-jawed. I'm tired of this being the outward trappings of Canadian. Of course, it is good for an actor to be able to have mastery over many dialects--as many as possible--but we forget that our own can be of great value as well. We need to start associating 'Canadian' with our strengths as well as our weaknesses.
As much as I'd like to think that my identity has nothing to do with my country's identity, everything is interconnected from macro to micro, so any issues with self-confidence I may possess might be related to something that runs deeper in us as a people. This is somewhat a relief, but also rather troubling. We need to learn to own what we have. Really own it. I'm tired of being led to believe that my school is sub-par because it is not American, and my training is not British. I have to face the facts that the quality of training might be elsewhere, but it is tied in with this vicious cycle of self-confidence. So I simply can't think that way anymore. I've seen too much diligence, skill, talent, and extraordinary intellectual and creative energy abounding right where I am to believe that it is of lesser value because it didn't come from somewhere else. I've seen too much weakened self-confidence in others around me and myself to accept that this is okay. We have something great, where we are in this country, and it needs to be identified and embraced.
*He uses Métis in a very loose sense, speaking of Canada being a marriage of European and Aboriginal, but not necessarily the specific group of people that emerged over time.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
The Spiritual Actor, or, Where Religion and Theatre Bump into Each Other
AH! The holidays have arrived for yours truly, which means I can spend more time on here! To kick off my holiday blogging, I'm going to bore you all to death with the essay I wrote in Theories of Acting. In it I look at where the art of acting intersects with the central ideas of certain world religions. What I've focused on are Buddhism, Shamanism, and a sprinkling of Christianity for good measure. Feel free to question, comment, critique or condemn at your leisure. I love feedback!
I have often heard actors being identified as “high priests” of theatre—usually meant as no more than a metaphor. But I wonder if there is perhaps some validity in that remark after all. Otherwise, why would the comparison be made so often as it is? Surely there are some spiritual dimensions to the actor’s art. Notable theatre practitioners of the 20th century, including Stanislavski and Grotowski have used these dimensions to inform their work in theatre. One might assume that these spiritual aspects were superimposed on acting from the outside, and that is when they became spiritually endowed. But this seems like an oversimplification of the art, and I believe the conclusions these individuals drew would not have been possible had there not been some spiritual qualities latent within this ancient tradition. But if so, what are those qualities? How does acting resemble a spiritual journey? In observing certain religions and faith traditions of the world, one can draw parallels between the actor’s process and performance, and certain ideas and roles in religion. An actor has all the potential to be a kind of monk on the road to enlightenment, a model for ethical behaviour, a shaman healing the community through story, and a heretic who goes against establishment to keep it from stagnating.
One of the actor’s primary intentions is to pretend to be someone else. In acting training we are taught that to accomplish a truthful portrayal of a character it can only come with the acceptance that we are capable of any kind of behaviour. In studying the art of Half-Mask, we improvise with the mask to find a character, depending on what kind of impressions the mask makes on our bodies. It would be incorrect to say that what develops, what character arises, is not the person from whom it arose. The character is an aspect of the actor, and the mask is a channel that gives that person license to act and behave in ways they would not under everyday circumstances. Even the language used about the creation, finding a character, implies that they were waiting to be discovered rather than consciously contrived by the actor. If we are to agree with Erving Goffman’s theory that all human interaction is acting, then this notion does not seem so farfetched (252). When we embrace a wider view of our Selves, we see that the things we assume to make us us are not as fundamental as we thought. My “Self” is a combination of genetic inheritance and experiences. Free will comes into play of course, but we act largely as a result of these factors. This is a central idea in Buddhist thought about the Self. The Sanskrit word Atman means “Self”, but Buddhism subverts this, and rather acknowledges Anatman, “No-Self”, the idea that there is no fundamental I upon which a person builds their identity (Prebish, 48). Acting as an art form recognizes this plasticity of human nature more than most. The “Magic If” tool used by actors challenges the belief that our identities are solid and unchanging.
A term I always hear when applied to acting is being in the moment. An actor’s hope is to be able to perform with all of their attention focused in the present moment onstage. They are not to be thinking about what they are supposed to be doing next or what their next line is, and must be focused on their character’s objective. Actors must make themselves innocent in a sense, becoming open and childlike to what may happen onstage. This sounds strangely like the Biblical passage about how Jesus’ disciples would never enter the Kingdom of God unless they entered it with the open-eyed consciousness of a child (New International Version, Mark. 10:15). The focus of achieving a character’s objective in a play is a highly complex task, and paradoxically simple. It is as difficult for people every day to live in the present as it is for actors to live in the present of their performance. Often actors use tools to help them attune their bodies and imaginations to the specific needs of the role, a warm-up which can often manifest as a kind of meditation. To be rooted in the present, an actor is like a monk in the Buddhist tradition practicing Mindfulness meditation (Eckel, 63). This often involves physical tasks a monk carries out, to be fully in that task, with their mind not wandering, daydreaming, or thinking to the future while they are carrying it out. The hope is that when a person is doing something, they must do it one hundred per cent with all of their energy. This is exactly what an actor is doing.
As actors we are taught to not “anticipate”. We must not try to play for an effect or a quality, but play the action of the character only, and trust that the desired effect will arise naturally. This is also directly related to the concept of dethroning the ego, which is perhaps the most central element of all of the major religions. “On action alone be thy interest”, says the author of the Hindu text, the Bhagavad Gita. “Never on its fruits; let not the fruits of action be thy motive, nor be thy attachment to inaction” (14, 2:47). It is this doing something for its own sake, and not for results, money, or approval of critics or the audience, that is prized most in an actor. This says more about human nature than it does about acting, and it might be questionable that acting can even make a person more selfless and trusting, rather than these qualities making a good actor. But it might work on a person in that way. Stanislavski said that “unless the theatre can ennoble you, make you a better person, you should flee from it” (276). He believed it could make people more enlightened, more in tune with the world; and I do not think he was alone. The goal of letting go of self-consciousness in order to become a better actor might be a way of indirectly helping somebody on that path, helping them because they are relieved of the pressure of being aware that they are on it.
This is an extreme claim to make, connecting the path to spiritual enlightenment to the art of the actor—after all, a good actor is not necessarily an enlightened, or even a good person. But many prominent theatre practitioners have argued that this compartmentalizing of art and life is actually counterproductive. Grotowski argued that for an actor to even take part in the act of creation, “his health, physical condition and all his private affairs cease to be just his own concern. A creative act of such quality flourishes only if nourished by the living organism” (260). This comment is echoed in other artists who worked in a more traditional theatre setting. “If you should feel schizophrenic about attempting to stay an honest artist and worker in our present-day theater,” said Uta Hagen, “for the health of your soul and mind, remember that what makes you an artist is your private domain…only when you are functioning can you try to influence or make a better theater” (212). Stanislavski said that the actor’s “part is not played out when the curtain goes down. He is still bound in his everyday life to be the standard bearer of what is fine. Remember this from the very beginning of your term of service to art and prepare yourselves for this mission” (280). The ethical side has been addressed more than once. Theatre is such a highly social art form and demands working as an ensemble to create quality art, so its very nature forces artists to cooperate, which also demands an adherence to moral principles. As a positive result, it creates a strong sense of community under ideal conditions.
A shaman is a figure in non-industrialized cultures that acts as a spiritual leader, a mediator between the world of everyday humans and the realm of the spirits. The job of a shaman is to use ritual and technique to enter this spirit world, in order to bring healing and protection to the community. In a secular, post-Enlightenment society, belief in spirits is a minority. But that does not mean the shaman disappears; rather, he reappears in a form that is compatible with that society. Anthropologist Piers Vitebsky says that a shaman covers the roles which in “industrial societies are played separately by the doctor, psychotherapist, soldier, fortune-teller, priest and politician.” Vitebsky ought to add ‘Actor’ to that list. Although a shaman may be all of those things, he fulfills these needs through theatre, something which only actors actually recognizes as part of their occupation. Vitebsky says the shaman must be able to “sweep the audience along with the power of his or her performance” (52). I think Vitebsky uses terms like “performance” and “audience” to describe what the shaman does, because it is unavoidably theatrical. However, this is not to reduce what the shaman does to mere charlatanry. Rather, if we recognize the spiritual dimension of the actor’s craft, this comparison somewhat elevates expectations of the actor to that of community healer, and spiritual voyager. An actor plumbs the depths of their imagination and subconscious in the way the shaman plumbs the depths of the spirit world (An Actor Prepares, 305). Both must not get lost there, but externalize the experience in the form of a narrative for the audience. Both use a conscious technique or ritual to achieve this balance (Vitebsky, 65). He is careful to note that shamanism is more than ‘only acting’, as if to imply something false. The shaman’s performance transforms the consciousness of everyone involved, which “makes the question of trickery irrelevant” (120). This might separate the shaman apart from the actor, but that might not give the actor full credit for their potential as an artist. I believe an actor is more than a charlatan; but someone who takes part in a public narrative ritual like the shaman, says and does things that need to be said and done for that community, when nobody else can do it. Whether or not one believes in the spirit world, the shaman’s efficacy in healing is in part because of the reality the community believes in. “Shamanic cultures have particular assumptions about what exists (ontology) and how things happen (causality),” says Vitebsky. “If one shares these assumptions, then the possibility of effective shamanic action follows” (143). Likewise, the power the actor has to heal the community relies on a community that is literate in the actor’s art, and the actor’s sensitivity to the things that carry meaning for that community.
But what does the work of the shaman for the community have to do with the actor in the 21st century performing repertory at a regional theatre in North America? Maybe nothing. Does the content have to be a particular type to benefit society? If so, perhaps only the theatre of a highly moral or overtly religious tone would be permissible. This would leave no room for non-canonical, non-religious drama, subversive or slapstick comedy, spectacle, or art for art’s sake. In that case, the actor’s performance cannot always benefit the community as a whole on a spiritual level. But I think this implies a very narrow view of spirituality, and even morality. The stories we tell ourselves survive because they have something to do with the human spirit. We operate in the theatre with the belief that the spirit can be enriched by joy, silliness, and pure imagination, as much as morality. Humour, even that of an irreverent, scathing flavour has a place in a moral universe. When Augustine of Hippo called theatre an anti-temple, with anti-rituals, and actors its anti-priests, he probably would not have imagined that eventually he would be doing us a huge favour (Barish, 64). If we are to agree with his statement, we must take this as a great complement and a great responsibility. This might be where an actor least resembles a priest. A priest upholds a tradition that a community generally puts their faith in. The actor, as an artist, doesn’t necessarily buy into it as well. That is why the actor must play the role of Heretic. He must be the Outsider who challenges the rites and rituals of the Establishment, not to replace it, but to keep it in check and offer a broader view of the human condition. The actor does this by daring to create new rites, by daring to laugh at the Establishment, and by daring to laugh at himself.
The answer to the question of how acting intersects with religion is complex. At the end of the day an actor is not quite a monk, a priest, or a shaman. An actor is an actor. To overlook the differences of each would do a great injustice to all of them. I am not trying to elevate the status of actor to someone better than anybody else, within the theatre or without. There's nothing worse than that kind of moral superiority complex that runs amok in art and religion. And there is also a danger of mystifying acting in making these kinds of claims. But I believe there is also practical value and technique in what a monk or a shaman do, so the comparison isn't as outlandish as one might think. I also think that there is room for mystery in art, so let's not look on it as a bad thing. And while acting isn’t a spiritual vocation by necessity--sometimes it can't be--it has all the potential to become one. Even in my own experience I have been unable to avoid the parallels. Those parallels imply that there is something in acting as an art that goes beyond itself. It is not simply what story the actor is telling that causes some sort of vague religious experience. It is the act itself—the event of summoning one’s courage, discipline, cooperation and imagination to share something with a community, to share the community with itself—where those spiritual dimensions can be most tangibly found.
Works Cited:
-Barish, Jonas. The Antitheatrical Prejudice. Berkeley: University of California Press,
1981.
-The Bhagavad Gita. Trans. Franklin Edgerton. New York: Harper & Row, 1964.
-Eckel, Malcom David. Buddhism. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.
-Goffman, Erving. Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Doubleday Publishing, 1959.
-Grotowski, Jerzy. Towards a Poor Theatre. New York: Routledge, 2002.
-Hagen, Uta and Haskel Frankel. Respect for Acting. New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons,
2008.
-The Holy Bible: New International Version. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1984.
-Prebish, Charles S. and Damien Keown. Introducing Buddhism: Second Edition. New
York: Routledge, 2010.
-Stanislavski, Constantin, Elizabeth Hapgood trans. Building a Character. trans. Elizabeth
Hapgood. New York: Routledge, 1989.
---, An Actor Prepares. trans. Elizabeth Hapgood New York:
Routledge, 1989.
-Vitebsky, Piers. Shamanism. University of Oklahoma Press, 1995.
Whew! You made it! Well, thanks for reading. Hope you got something out of it!
I'm thinking about writing another Christmas-themed tale this year, but we'll see. Either way, I'll be back shortly!
-Liam
I have often heard actors being identified as “high priests” of theatre—usually meant as no more than a metaphor. But I wonder if there is perhaps some validity in that remark after all. Otherwise, why would the comparison be made so often as it is? Surely there are some spiritual dimensions to the actor’s art. Notable theatre practitioners of the 20th century, including Stanislavski and Grotowski have used these dimensions to inform their work in theatre. One might assume that these spiritual aspects were superimposed on acting from the outside, and that is when they became spiritually endowed. But this seems like an oversimplification of the art, and I believe the conclusions these individuals drew would not have been possible had there not been some spiritual qualities latent within this ancient tradition. But if so, what are those qualities? How does acting resemble a spiritual journey? In observing certain religions and faith traditions of the world, one can draw parallels between the actor’s process and performance, and certain ideas and roles in religion. An actor has all the potential to be a kind of monk on the road to enlightenment, a model for ethical behaviour, a shaman healing the community through story, and a heretic who goes against establishment to keep it from stagnating.
One of the actor’s primary intentions is to pretend to be someone else. In acting training we are taught that to accomplish a truthful portrayal of a character it can only come with the acceptance that we are capable of any kind of behaviour. In studying the art of Half-Mask, we improvise with the mask to find a character, depending on what kind of impressions the mask makes on our bodies. It would be incorrect to say that what develops, what character arises, is not the person from whom it arose. The character is an aspect of the actor, and the mask is a channel that gives that person license to act and behave in ways they would not under everyday circumstances. Even the language used about the creation, finding a character, implies that they were waiting to be discovered rather than consciously contrived by the actor. If we are to agree with Erving Goffman’s theory that all human interaction is acting, then this notion does not seem so farfetched (252). When we embrace a wider view of our Selves, we see that the things we assume to make us us are not as fundamental as we thought. My “Self” is a combination of genetic inheritance and experiences. Free will comes into play of course, but we act largely as a result of these factors. This is a central idea in Buddhist thought about the Self. The Sanskrit word Atman means “Self”, but Buddhism subverts this, and rather acknowledges Anatman, “No-Self”, the idea that there is no fundamental I upon which a person builds their identity (Prebish, 48). Acting as an art form recognizes this plasticity of human nature more than most. The “Magic If” tool used by actors challenges the belief that our identities are solid and unchanging.
A term I always hear when applied to acting is being in the moment. An actor’s hope is to be able to perform with all of their attention focused in the present moment onstage. They are not to be thinking about what they are supposed to be doing next or what their next line is, and must be focused on their character’s objective. Actors must make themselves innocent in a sense, becoming open and childlike to what may happen onstage. This sounds strangely like the Biblical passage about how Jesus’ disciples would never enter the Kingdom of God unless they entered it with the open-eyed consciousness of a child (New International Version, Mark. 10:15). The focus of achieving a character’s objective in a play is a highly complex task, and paradoxically simple. It is as difficult for people every day to live in the present as it is for actors to live in the present of their performance. Often actors use tools to help them attune their bodies and imaginations to the specific needs of the role, a warm-up which can often manifest as a kind of meditation. To be rooted in the present, an actor is like a monk in the Buddhist tradition practicing Mindfulness meditation (Eckel, 63). This often involves physical tasks a monk carries out, to be fully in that task, with their mind not wandering, daydreaming, or thinking to the future while they are carrying it out. The hope is that when a person is doing something, they must do it one hundred per cent with all of their energy. This is exactly what an actor is doing.
As actors we are taught to not “anticipate”. We must not try to play for an effect or a quality, but play the action of the character only, and trust that the desired effect will arise naturally. This is also directly related to the concept of dethroning the ego, which is perhaps the most central element of all of the major religions. “On action alone be thy interest”, says the author of the Hindu text, the Bhagavad Gita. “Never on its fruits; let not the fruits of action be thy motive, nor be thy attachment to inaction” (14, 2:47). It is this doing something for its own sake, and not for results, money, or approval of critics or the audience, that is prized most in an actor. This says more about human nature than it does about acting, and it might be questionable that acting can even make a person more selfless and trusting, rather than these qualities making a good actor. But it might work on a person in that way. Stanislavski said that “unless the theatre can ennoble you, make you a better person, you should flee from it” (276). He believed it could make people more enlightened, more in tune with the world; and I do not think he was alone. The goal of letting go of self-consciousness in order to become a better actor might be a way of indirectly helping somebody on that path, helping them because they are relieved of the pressure of being aware that they are on it.
This is an extreme claim to make, connecting the path to spiritual enlightenment to the art of the actor—after all, a good actor is not necessarily an enlightened, or even a good person. But many prominent theatre practitioners have argued that this compartmentalizing of art and life is actually counterproductive. Grotowski argued that for an actor to even take part in the act of creation, “his health, physical condition and all his private affairs cease to be just his own concern. A creative act of such quality flourishes only if nourished by the living organism” (260). This comment is echoed in other artists who worked in a more traditional theatre setting. “If you should feel schizophrenic about attempting to stay an honest artist and worker in our present-day theater,” said Uta Hagen, “for the health of your soul and mind, remember that what makes you an artist is your private domain…only when you are functioning can you try to influence or make a better theater” (212). Stanislavski said that the actor’s “part is not played out when the curtain goes down. He is still bound in his everyday life to be the standard bearer of what is fine. Remember this from the very beginning of your term of service to art and prepare yourselves for this mission” (280). The ethical side has been addressed more than once. Theatre is such a highly social art form and demands working as an ensemble to create quality art, so its very nature forces artists to cooperate, which also demands an adherence to moral principles. As a positive result, it creates a strong sense of community under ideal conditions.
A shaman is a figure in non-industrialized cultures that acts as a spiritual leader, a mediator between the world of everyday humans and the realm of the spirits. The job of a shaman is to use ritual and technique to enter this spirit world, in order to bring healing and protection to the community. In a secular, post-Enlightenment society, belief in spirits is a minority. But that does not mean the shaman disappears; rather, he reappears in a form that is compatible with that society. Anthropologist Piers Vitebsky says that a shaman covers the roles which in “industrial societies are played separately by the doctor, psychotherapist, soldier, fortune-teller, priest and politician.” Vitebsky ought to add ‘Actor’ to that list. Although a shaman may be all of those things, he fulfills these needs through theatre, something which only actors actually recognizes as part of their occupation. Vitebsky says the shaman must be able to “sweep the audience along with the power of his or her performance” (52). I think Vitebsky uses terms like “performance” and “audience” to describe what the shaman does, because it is unavoidably theatrical. However, this is not to reduce what the shaman does to mere charlatanry. Rather, if we recognize the spiritual dimension of the actor’s craft, this comparison somewhat elevates expectations of the actor to that of community healer, and spiritual voyager. An actor plumbs the depths of their imagination and subconscious in the way the shaman plumbs the depths of the spirit world (An Actor Prepares, 305). Both must not get lost there, but externalize the experience in the form of a narrative for the audience. Both use a conscious technique or ritual to achieve this balance (Vitebsky, 65). He is careful to note that shamanism is more than ‘only acting’, as if to imply something false. The shaman’s performance transforms the consciousness of everyone involved, which “makes the question of trickery irrelevant” (120). This might separate the shaman apart from the actor, but that might not give the actor full credit for their potential as an artist. I believe an actor is more than a charlatan; but someone who takes part in a public narrative ritual like the shaman, says and does things that need to be said and done for that community, when nobody else can do it. Whether or not one believes in the spirit world, the shaman’s efficacy in healing is in part because of the reality the community believes in. “Shamanic cultures have particular assumptions about what exists (ontology) and how things happen (causality),” says Vitebsky. “If one shares these assumptions, then the possibility of effective shamanic action follows” (143). Likewise, the power the actor has to heal the community relies on a community that is literate in the actor’s art, and the actor’s sensitivity to the things that carry meaning for that community.
But what does the work of the shaman for the community have to do with the actor in the 21st century performing repertory at a regional theatre in North America? Maybe nothing. Does the content have to be a particular type to benefit society? If so, perhaps only the theatre of a highly moral or overtly religious tone would be permissible. This would leave no room for non-canonical, non-religious drama, subversive or slapstick comedy, spectacle, or art for art’s sake. In that case, the actor’s performance cannot always benefit the community as a whole on a spiritual level. But I think this implies a very narrow view of spirituality, and even morality. The stories we tell ourselves survive because they have something to do with the human spirit. We operate in the theatre with the belief that the spirit can be enriched by joy, silliness, and pure imagination, as much as morality. Humour, even that of an irreverent, scathing flavour has a place in a moral universe. When Augustine of Hippo called theatre an anti-temple, with anti-rituals, and actors its anti-priests, he probably would not have imagined that eventually he would be doing us a huge favour (Barish, 64). If we are to agree with his statement, we must take this as a great complement and a great responsibility. This might be where an actor least resembles a priest. A priest upholds a tradition that a community generally puts their faith in. The actor, as an artist, doesn’t necessarily buy into it as well. That is why the actor must play the role of Heretic. He must be the Outsider who challenges the rites and rituals of the Establishment, not to replace it, but to keep it in check and offer a broader view of the human condition. The actor does this by daring to create new rites, by daring to laugh at the Establishment, and by daring to laugh at himself.
The answer to the question of how acting intersects with religion is complex. At the end of the day an actor is not quite a monk, a priest, or a shaman. An actor is an actor. To overlook the differences of each would do a great injustice to all of them. I am not trying to elevate the status of actor to someone better than anybody else, within the theatre or without. There's nothing worse than that kind of moral superiority complex that runs amok in art and religion. And there is also a danger of mystifying acting in making these kinds of claims. But I believe there is also practical value and technique in what a monk or a shaman do, so the comparison isn't as outlandish as one might think. I also think that there is room for mystery in art, so let's not look on it as a bad thing. And while acting isn’t a spiritual vocation by necessity--sometimes it can't be--it has all the potential to become one. Even in my own experience I have been unable to avoid the parallels. Those parallels imply that there is something in acting as an art that goes beyond itself. It is not simply what story the actor is telling that causes some sort of vague religious experience. It is the act itself—the event of summoning one’s courage, discipline, cooperation and imagination to share something with a community, to share the community with itself—where those spiritual dimensions can be most tangibly found.
Works Cited:
-Barish, Jonas. The Antitheatrical Prejudice. Berkeley: University of California Press,
1981.
-The Bhagavad Gita. Trans. Franklin Edgerton. New York: Harper & Row, 1964.
-Eckel, Malcom David. Buddhism. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.
-Goffman, Erving. Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Doubleday Publishing, 1959.
-Grotowski, Jerzy. Towards a Poor Theatre. New York: Routledge, 2002.
-Hagen, Uta and Haskel Frankel. Respect for Acting. New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons,
2008.
-The Holy Bible: New International Version. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1984.
-Prebish, Charles S. and Damien Keown. Introducing Buddhism: Second Edition. New
York: Routledge, 2010.
-Stanislavski, Constantin, Elizabeth Hapgood trans. Building a Character. trans. Elizabeth
Hapgood. New York: Routledge, 1989.
---, An Actor Prepares. trans. Elizabeth Hapgood New York:
Routledge, 1989.
-Vitebsky, Piers. Shamanism. University of Oklahoma Press, 1995.
Whew! You made it! Well, thanks for reading. Hope you got something out of it!
I'm thinking about writing another Christmas-themed tale this year, but we'll see. Either way, I'll be back shortly!
-Liam
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