What do actors know?

Acting is an ancient and deeply human way to create vibrant connections with one another. And it's accessible to everyone.

By: John Britton, former actor and director who works with artists and creators through an approach he calls Yourself with others [Self With Others] / Aeon
Translation: Agron Shala / Telegrafi.com

It is a paradox of our time that, while we are more connected than ever before, we are also lonelier than ever. We live in an age of unprecedented interactivity, communicating instantly with people all over the world, with deep insights into the intimate lives of others. Yet we feel increasingly disconnected from ourselves, from each other, and from the world around us. Amidst all this connectedness, we are experiencing an epidemic of loneliness and social isolation.

“Loneliness” and “social isolation” are different concepts. Loneliness is a subjective experience, self-reported, while social isolation is measurable: an indicator of one’s participation in collective activities. However, their effects are intertwined, with loneliness generally considered more detrimental to health. Both are manifestations of a deeper state: disconnection.

Studies suggest that this disconnect is growing. Writing for Harvard gazette In 2023, Tyler VanderWeele, professor of epidemiology at the Harvard School of Public Health, described his latest findings:

By some measures, about 50 percent of Americans report feeling lonely... We have good evidence that loneliness has been on the rise in this country over the past few decades, at least to a moderate extent for a significant portion of people.

A 2023 report by the U.S. Surgeon General contained a startling statistic: a lack of social connections is as dangerous as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. The report listed several specific areas of health affected by disconnection, including cardiovascular disease, hypertension, diabetes, anxiety/depression, a weakened immune system, and cognitive impairment (including an increased risk of dementia). Disconnection can be, quite literally, deadly.

Technology seems to help with this anxiety. For many, it has been a lifesaver during the Covid-19 lockdown. However, far from reversing the trend towards disconnection, it is perhaps exacerbating it. This may be partly explained by the way our primary online interaction – social media – presents an edited and embellished version of others’ lives, which encourages unfavourable comparisons with our own messy and real-life experience. And the hours we spend chasing our addiction to instant gratification through online communication are time we would have otherwise spent engaging in meaningful interactions.

However, the paradox of disconnected connection takes us deeper. It suggests that connection through digital devices lacks a quality that is essential for mental and physical health. Despite, or perhaps because of, our increasing reliance on external technologies to facilitate connections, we are losing the human technologies of connection—the ones that enabled us to evolve over the centuries. How can we better connect with each other without relying on digital technology?

We possess proven ways to create and maintain vibrant connections. They are ancient and deeply human, and they remain accessible to each of us. These ways are found in the legacy of a technique that we today call "acting."

The essence of an actor's job is to create and maintain connection - to build a shared experience with his or her audience. I call these connection technologies What do actors know? [What Actors Know]. You don't have to be an actor to use the technique. What do actors know?, just as you don't have to be a philosopher to explore ideas, or a chef to cook dinner. This is a wisdom that is born within each of us and that has enabled us to evolve as social animals.

Our exploration of What do actors know? we will begin far from the world of spectacle or the emotional intensity of the rehearsal room. Performance happens when the self meets the other self - so, to understand What do actors know?, we need to examine what we mean by “self”.

A common perspective on "self" is one that essentially portrays us as isolated from one another. Our selves are seen as separate and clearly distinct. This hyper-individualistic paradigm leads to what activist and author Charles Eisenstein calls The story of separation: the divided self in the world of others.

But this kind of individualism has not been the dominant perspective for most of our human history. Within their indigenous wisdom systems, Native American scholars Darcia Narváez and Wahinkpe Topa have written in Restoring the Kinship Worldview (2022) that: “All things in the world live and share a mysterious network of interconnected energy.” In the book Sand Talk (2019), Australian Aboriginal author Tyson Yunkaporta also argues for “your true status as a single node in a collaborative network. [You] retain your autonomy, while being deeply interconnected and dependent on others.” Similar ideas are also emerging in contemporary science: for example, in the book Being You (2021), British neuroscientist Anil Seth asserts that "our internal universe is part of nature, not separate from it."

What do actors know? refers to the skills that actors use to connect and communicate with others. These skills are modern expressions of ancient human capacities, essentially social, that have guided our evolution as interconnected beings. The bearers of this knowledge have not always been called actors. In different contexts they have been called storytellers, diviners, priests, healers, shamans. Although their functions have changed over time and place, the essential knowledge and techniques have survived.

Like contemporary actors, they connected and communicated.

In every society there have been individuals who have interpreted the visible and invisible world for their communities. In the book Inside the Neolithic Mind (2005), David Lewis-Williams and David Pearce analyze the art and architecture of Neolithic settlements. They suggest that early shamans/priests created stories that united their communities by drawing on the universal, embodied human experience of sleep, dreams, and hypnagogia (the transition between waking and sleeping). Those who were best able to access, articulate, and communicate a state on the edge of consciousness became the first seers, priests, shamans, and storytellers.

These ur-actors articulated shared realities, perceived mysteries (because we all have dreams) in ways that connected with their listeners. They described journeys from one dimension to another, communions with animals and plants, conversations with the dead, encounters with gods. In existence they imagined cosmologies and religions. They created communal bonds. Echoes of their stories lie in the carvings and architecture their communities left behind.

Shamans wove tapestries of connection in which their audiences could imagine their place. To paraphrase the theatre director Peter Brook, they made the invisible visible. The stories they told resonated because they articulated half-remembered experiences of their listeners themselves. As Lewis-Williams and Pearce write:

“[No] ... every member of a community experiences the full range of altered states of consciousness ... Those who do not experience states at the completely hallucinatory end of the spectrum of consciousness manage to see in their dreams something of what visionaries experience. This is their certainty ...”!

These early shamans developed skills to hold their listeners' attention long enough to share their visions - visions that stemmed from their ability to look within themselves and make public what they found there. These techniques still guide the actor. Actors still look within themselves to their unique humanity and, at the same time, outside the audience and the world. They use techniques to develop their integrated and interconnected humanity.

The first and most important task of an actor is to connect. Without connection, there is no communication. The connections that the actor makes are multidirectional and dynamic. He connects internally - with the imagination, the body, the senses, the breath, blockages, fears, memories and every other aspect of the "inner self". At the same time, he connects externally with the people he performs with - real or imaginary - and with the audience.

Connections are dynamic. He does not release information for others to absorb. Nor is his inner world a noisy classroom waiting to be controlled by reason and will. He simultaneously changes and is affected by what he connects with, inside and outside. He simultaneously shapes and is shaped by imagination or memories and by how others respond to him. He develops, but is also defined by his own physical (dis)abilities. He sends quanta of connection to his co-creators and audience, and is affected by what comes back: an unusual pitch of voice, a moving audience member, an unexpected laugh. If he “overacts” or otherwise misperforms, the audience responds with mockery, discomfort, bewilderment, or boredom. They break the circuit of connection he has initiated.

Acting is based on a dynamic, multidirectional connection. I refer to this connection as “interconnection.” What do actors know? it is a connectivity technology.

For the first time I noticed What do actors know?, the wisdom of live performance, working in live theater. I began in the Western tradition and gradually expanded my work to many art forms and cultures. I have performed, directed, and taught extensively on nearly every continent, with actors, physical performers, improvisers, clowns, musicians, puppeteers, circus artists, singers, and many others who do not fit into any category. I became particularly interested in physicality, mind-body integration, presence, and ensemble. In all my work, including corporate training or community development, I have observed universal, interdisciplinary techniques and skills: a common substructure for effective connection.

It is not a substructure that actors are necessarily aware of. A musician may not "know" the harmonic theory upon which the music he creates is based, but he still works within it. Similarly, when an actor creates and shares a performance with others, he relies on What do actors know?, even if he doesn't name it that way.

There are seven elements of What do actors know?. Each supports the fundamental role of the actor: to connect. Each, if we apply them to our lives, helps us to connect better both within ourselves and with what is outside, fundamentally counteracting loneliness and social isolation.

Although each of these seven elements is important, if there is one foundation upon which everything else is built, it is this: the actor develops the capacity to be present with both the internal landscape and the surrounding world. This is the first element of What do actors know?.

You're sitting in a coffee shop, chatting with a friend. Suddenly, he's not listening anymore. Nothing has changed. He continues to nod, smile, and say "hm-hm" at appropriate times - but you know he's thinking about something else. In evolutionary terms, this signals danger. Maybe he's aware of something you don't, or he's lost interest in you, and you're in danger of being excluded from the community your friend is part of. Humans are naturally programmed to recognize and respond to presence as well as to its absence.

Presence attracts attention. The disruption of presence distracts. This is the foundation of an actor's work: he must be present with the people (or the camera) for whom he is performing. So he holds the audience's attention. He connects, then maintains the connection. Both require constant presence. Without presence, the performance is lifeless: a display of technical capacity, a demonstration rather than a lived experience.

The presence that an actor develops involves quieting the mind, eliminating distractions, developing conscious awareness of internal and external impulses, and an ability to respond spontaneously and appropriately. It is a reciprocal, two-way flow of stimulus and response. It simultaneously guides the journey of the performance and is influenced by the other performers and the audience. If it is not present, it can neither notice nor react to what is happening. It is detached.

Improving our ability to be fully present is profoundly beneficial to health. It is a topic widely covered in self-help, spiritual, and other literature. Jill Bolte Taylor, writing in the book My Stroke of Insight (2006) about her journey of recovery from a stroke, describes presence as essential to calming an anxious mind: “The first step towards experiencing inner peace is the willingness to be present here and now.” In All About Love (1999), Bell Hooks quotes Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh on the power of being present with the world outside the mind: "Our encounter with life is in the present moment. The encounter place is right here, in this place."

But, once presence is established, how does an actor maintain the connection? Inseparable from this is the second element of What do actors know?. Actors must develop the ability to shape time, energy, and space. Audiences are cut off by monotony. Speaking without changes in tone and pace is deadly. It drags on, without emotional charge, pauses, dynamics, or a satisfying sense of closure. It is difficult for us to stay focused on someone who speaks like a poorly trained automaton.

To avoid this, the performer initiates, develops, and terminates gestures, phrases, and movements. Intensifies, sustains, and releases concentration. Builds the performance by introducing new details, tone, and content, or by deepening and developing what already exists. Learns the rhythms of building, sustaining, and closing. Effective and engaging communication—verbal or otherwise—requires dynamic shaping. If you watch Denzel Washington, Ian McKellen, and Patrick Stewart deliver the same monologue Tomorrow and the day after tomorrow from Macbeth, you will clearly see how their ability to shape time, energy, and space radically changes the meaning of the text.

Actors risk public failure, rejection, and shame by facing the (primitive) fear of community exclusion. A stage is, in itself, a hostile environment. As John T. Cacioppo and William Patrick write in their book Loneliness (2008): "A lonely person often assumes the worst, tenses up, and goes into the psychological equivalent of a defensive position." Stage fright is remarkably similar to loneliness, rooted in our evolutionary need for belonging. In a journal article The GuardianIn 2020, psychotherapist Linda Brennan anonymously quotes famous actors describing their experiences with stage fright. “I become hyper-reactive,” said one, “and any sound, movement or comment can make me scream — or scream.” Another spoke of “feelings of shame and humiliation … like they were going to die.”

Mastering communication skills counteracts the impulse to sink into a "defensive position." This enables us to take action. We take control of the multidirectional flow of communication. We replace fear with empowerment: counteracting our feelings of powerlessness. We come out of hiding.

Maintaining the essential “liveliness” of performance requires actors to train the third element of What do actors know?: how to be flexible and adaptable. In the face of danger, we tend to seek control, to have a detailed plan. But neither reality nor the external world are under our control. Life is dynamic. As Heraclitus noted 25 centuries ago: you cannot step into the same river twice. It is not the same river, and you are not the same person. Because, as he also wrote: “Everything flows.”

When we remain rigidly bound to a plan, we try to inhabit a reality that does not exist. The actor who rehearses a performance and then reproduces it regardless of the size of the audience or the audience, without being influenced by co-performers, is neither dynamic nor alive.

Many years ago, I attended a performance at a student performance. It involved two lovers sitting on a park bench under a streetlight, singing a duet. Unfortunately, the bench was not set up properly. When one of the lovers leaned toward the other, the bench tilted and made a noise; then, when they leaned away, the same thing happened, and the noise became a counterpoint to the duet. It was very funny—or at least it would have been, if the actors had been attuned to what the audience could see and hear. Unfortunately, they continued on the same path, devoted to what they had planned during rehearsal. Even though we tried not to laugh, the audience laughed. The connection between their intention and our perception was severed. They were performing in a “controlled” reality, a reality that does not actually exist.

A skilled communicator treats mistakes as opportunities, using whatever happens to enrich the audience’s experience: a forgotten line, an unexpected question, a restless audience member, a misplaced prop. They can adapt sensitively, changing the entire direction of a performance. They can adapt appropriately, shifting details of energy or tone.

You've probably experienced meetings or classes where the speaker rambles on from a prepared text, ignoring what's obvious to everyone: people have lost interest, don't understand, or don't have pressing questions. It's a deadly experience. By balancing purpose with flexibility, the actor—and the rest of us—can use the connection to create conversation, not lecture.

Connection is essential to creating community. The fourth element of What do actors know? is this: actors balance individuality and collectivity. Contrary to the common perception of a profession filled with incurable egoists, acting is collaborative: shared in both creation and outcome. Some actors can be egocentric and self-absorbed, but the art of acting is based on a balance between self and others, knowing when to take the stage and when to make room for others.

An actor negotiates the nexus between individual and collective expression. Recognizes when he or she is at the center of an unfolding moment and develops the confidence and discipline to act without fear. Also understands when someone else is in focus and finds the best way to support them. Empowers and encourages others, without sacrificing personal action. Shines and enables others to shine.

A performance in which one player monopolizes attention, ignoring everyone else, quickly becomes unbearable. Performance, even a virtuoso solo, is often simply self-expression. In the larger world, the person who always has the last word, who takes the end of a story for themselves, or who turns every conversation into their own brilliance—no matter how interesting or intelligent—eventually becomes boring. We may be initially attracted by their wit, but we soon tire of their selfishness.

Performance develops an empowered humility. When someone refuses to step off center stage or, just as importantly, refuses to stay center stage, their performance dies. There is no place on stage for tyrants or passengers. Connection requires exchange, not domination. This perspective, which is essential to understanding the functioning of the ensemble, offers a powerful model for community: everyone has an action, no one is isolated. Everyone is in service—both to their own personal needs and to the common purpose of the group of which they are a part.

Developing from the notion of healthy integration between the individual and the collective, we encounter the fifth element of What do actors know?. Creative processes require participants to move beyond binary thinking. Actors do not act from an “I or you” stance, but “I with you”; not self or other, but self with others.

There is an oft-quoted line from the poet Rumi: “Beyond the notions of right and wrong action, there is a field. I will meet you there.” In this field, the actor’s work begins. Binary thinking is based on a forced choice: one or the other. It presupposes separation. It is a way of thinking that reinforces The story of separation, treating detachment as the default state in which we exist.

On a technical level, notions of right or wrong are sometimes useful: the lines and movements must be memorized and reproduced accurately. But beyond the technical level, binary thinking gets in the way. There is no right or wrong way to play Hamlet. There is no right or wrong way to dance. Creativity operates on a spectrum of choices—more/less appropriate, more/less conventional, more/less accessible. The actor embraces spectrum thinking: working with choices, not with certainty. Spectrum thinking recognizes that between apparent opposites lie many possibilities. From within, an actor sometimes creates choices that contradict one another.

When we bring binary thinking into a relationship, we replace awareness of what actually exists with an insistence on what we think should exist. A teacher may desire respectful silence or lively interaction. If this does not occur, they may act as if something is “wrong.” This hinders the ability to respond to what is actually happening in the room at that moment. This hinders authentic connection.

Putting aside binary thinking helps us connect. It reminds us to treat each moment as a unique opportunity to create unique connections. Every unexpected response or “inappropriate behavior” becomes an opportunity to redirect the connection. We meet people as they are and invite them to meet us as we are. We move into different environments with a spirit of generosity and discovery.

The sixth element of What do actors know? It is a well-known, but nevertheless essential truth: actors play. “To play” means to try something without the risk of major consequences. Play fuels creativity. Creativity leads to discovery, and discovery leads to learning. Play is the internal learning mechanism for mammals. The rehearsal is where actors play, discovering things without being observed by a critical audience.

The actor does not stop playing when he performs. He remains a “player,” “playing” a role. Play, or ease in touch, is an integral part of the unwritten contract between actor and audience. The bond breaks without it. If the audience believes that an actor is really hurt, really being hit, really dying, other human impulses such as concern, disgust, or the desire to help take precedence. No matter how serious the content of a performance, we assume that the actor is experiencing pleasure, reward, or benefit.

How much of a player an actor is, depends on the material he is performing. How much of a player you decide to be in a meeting or conversation also depends on the context. Always, however, an element of ease or detachment feeds the flow of energy between you and others. This is not easy when you feel oppressed by a sense of responsibility or fear of failure. Playing without fear is rigorous self-discipline.

One of my main tasks in performance training is to encourage honest play, inviting participants to set aside feelings of shame and right/wrong. When things go in unexpected directions, we can, without fear, use those moments to create honest, open, and sensitive connections - within ourselves and with the world.

Ultimately, the actor must trust the process. This is the seventh and final element of What do actors know?. The actor has no product. He constructs a creative process which he then passes on to the audience. He communicates through the connections he creates and maintains. Every connection is a process: a sequence of moments that unfold.

The elements of What do actors know? enable this process. They show us how to connect through presence, shaping communication, adaptability, balance between self and others, overcoming binary thinking, and developing a lightness in touch.

These are not acting skills. They are human skills. They draw on intrinsic human competencies, including imagination, attention, awareness, empathy, mind-body integration, and neuroplasticity. They enable us to overcome isolation and, through connection, build community. They have shaped our evolution and can shape our progress toward a shared future.

Analyzing the millennia of human evolution from which we have emerged, Cacioppo and Patrick write about the adaptive evolutionary imperative of interconnectedness:

Survival of the fittest led to creatures that were compulsively social. These were creatures deeply connected to one another through an intricate web... Individual success was driven by the ability to overcome selfishness and act on behalf of others. The selfish gene had given birth to the social brain and a different kind of social animal.

Since prehistory, storytellers, those who learned to connect, maintain connection, and communicate powerfully, have built bridges between isolated individuals and, in doing so, created a social being. They built the “social brain.”

What might a full embrace of the What do actors know?? Each of us can begin by paying attention to the areas I have described. You can notice and resist distraction—by increasing presence—by setting aside the judgmental nature of binary thinking, by embracing play and flexibility, by paying attention to the shaping dynamics of each moment, by balancing personal action with the empowerment of others, and by trusting in the unfolding nature of lived experience.

The opportunities to do so do not come solely from personal choice. They can also be supported by public and organizational policy. Schools, businesses, health services, governments, and community organizations can recognize connectivity as an integral part of health, and structure it accordingly. Performance—both to watch and to participate in—can become, as it once was, a central tool for education, community, politics, eldercare, healthcare: as essential as good food, clean air, and clean water. We can foster lifelong opportunities for people to remember, develop, value, and cherish their inherent human capacities for communication, rather than increasingly delegating them to technology.

Re-centering performance doesn’t just mean improving cultural mass, although that is a strategy. It means each of us using deep performance skills to connect and communicate in meetings, in classrooms, at political events, in discussion groups. In doing so, we increase our capacity, internally and externally, to integrate, to connect, and to be fully human.

Can we commit, unconditionally, to the revitalization of our interconnected humanity? I am not suggesting a romantic return to a past that never existed. I am suggesting a humane move forward. Can we embrace what our ancestors, from Neolithic shamans to contemporary actors, discovered? That we become whole through connection, inside and out. That we all become interconnected.

Utopian? Maybe. Maybe we need some new utopian stories to live by, if we are to counteract the isolated, lonely, and inhumane dystopia that threatens to engulf us all. /Telegraph/