Playing a Role

“Play a role in the exterior… Say ‘Good morning’ as you always say good morning. But at the same time labor to keep up with the work we’re doing here internally… Do everything exactly as you are accustomed to doing, but play a role, without participating.” – George Gurdjieff
When we practiced the breaking of the glass exercise in September, one practitioner reported finding himself disconnected from himself. “It felt odd and a little eerie,” he reported; “I knew I was playing a role. It was as if I were observing another person without being attached to any of their emotions.” This had been the aim of our exercise: to create a gap between ourselves and our emotions. The resulting out-of-body description is common to all heightened states of consciousness and is a useful indication of what non-identification actually means. We continue being ourselves—speaking as we speak, moving as we move—except that our actions no longer flow out of us unconsciously; we enact them voluntarily.

In practice, we act all the time. If I tell you that I saw a bear while hiking the other day, I don’t just state it calmly. My tone of voice becomes excited, I extend my arms to show you the size of the bear, and assume an expression of amazement or terror. I use speech, movement, and emotion to convey my message in a much more effective way than if I merely said blankly, “I saw a bear.” Enactment is standard practice in human communication. The child slouches at the table and whimpers in the hope of escaping a meal they dislike. The salesman beams and beckons at us, hoping to draw customers into the store. The presidential candidate, while delivering teleprompter speeches, radiates emotional integrity and righteousness to capture our vote. The religious leader emanates reverence and divine connection, or alternatively, acts out an attitude of rebellion and reformation. Social networks overflow with selfies of staged smiles that vanish the moment the photo is posted. These and so many more ‘enactments’ are so widespread that we no longer consider them acting.

“All the world’s a stage,” wrote William Shakespeare, “And all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts…” But the actors of the world are acting unconsciously. They are unaware they are acting and believe in their own performances. We assume that this identification with our roles is necessary for enacting them convincingly, but professional acting refutes this assumption. Does the actor who plays a role in a theatrical performance, and then abandons it upon stepping off stage, not act convincingly, even though they know and have known throughout the play that they were not the role they were playing? Yet this knowledge did not take away from their investment in their roles. They play a king, a merchant or villain with the same seriousness we have in being ourselves (or they would not be professional actors), despite knowing all along that their roles will be laid aside at the end of the play. If we could maintain such knowledge, without it detracting from the care and seriousness invested in our roles, we would go through our lives unidentified; we would be conscious actors.

During October, to put into practice the concept of playing a role consciously, practitioners were invited to place themselves voluntarily in situations that stimulate negativity. For example, by calling someone who often annoys them, engaging in conversation with a colleague they habitually avoid, or chatting with a storekeeper who seems reserved or unfriendly. The aim of this exercise was to have interactions we habitually perform with identification and reenact them consciously. Placing ourselves voluntarily in situations that make us negative changes our attitude to the friction they cause; we are no longer victims, we have chosen the interaction and are responsible for our response.

One practitioner chose to call her mother-in-law for six days in a row. “Every interaction with her bristles with friction,” she reported. “Judgment surfaces instantly, and my need to be right demands expression. Yet under this exercise’s influence, I maintained my aim to play a role—listening, watching judgment arise, letting it pass without expression, observing its dissolution. The experience felt almost manipulative, like indulging a child’s belief in Santa Claus with cheerful agreement or, at least, silent acceptance.”

“On the sixth and last day, I deliberately introduced a topic I knew would provoke a lecture about my past conduct. Typically, such a conversation would have ignited my negativity, but I raised the topic casually, as if making ordinary conversation. The moment my mother-in-law launched into her lecture, I felt the familiar punch of resistance and briefly regretted my choice. Then, in a flash, I remembered my aim to enact myself. With this remembrance, everything shifted: I witnessed my identification and stepped cleanly out of it into conscious acting. I was both actor and observer, aware of a peculiar energy generated by this effort.”

“An analogy emerged: in previous days, I had been like someone rubbing sticks to make a flame, creating sparks but forgetting to bring the tinder close enough to catch fire. This time, I achieved true combustion. The resulting heat transformed my attitude. I extended the daily calls beyond the prescribed six days, now anticipating each challenge with eagerness. I found myself looking forward to these opportunities to transcend my habitual judgment and negativity. A fundamental shift had occurred.”

Inner farming pursues a radical aim: not mere character refinement, not the elimination of isolated habits, but a fundamental transformation of who we call ‘I’. This metamorphosis demands specific conditions, both internal and external—and among these catalysts, none proves more potent than voluntary suffering.