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2. MY TEACHER - PLATO

The aim of this book is not to describe the history of the origin of dialogue. There will be people who are able to do that much better than myself. It’s important for me to turn your attention, first and foremost, to what you need to know for your practice in theatre, when and how to use it.

It would be correct to start from the Bible, because the Bible is itself a dialogue. Its knowledge arrives through the voices of the prophets in the strong desire to listen to the voice of God. For the Jews, knowledge unfolds in the mutual relationship through dialogue, and not through submission. The Jewish culture was quite different to the Ancient Greek, but in any case, let me start there, where the tree of Dialogue truly blossomed for the first time. Among the ancient Greeks, dialogue (in Greek διάλογος – original meaning: a conversation between two individuals) was understood as a normal verbal exchange between two collocutors. The Greeks, passionate about dialogues in pairs, realised the special quality of dialogues in revealing new knowledge. This became a huge step forward in understanding the nature of dialogue and marked the first distinguishing characteristic between dialogue and normal conversation. To discover the world together turned out to be more interesting and productive than by oneself. Dialogues became so popular that they were specially organised as entertainment for citizens in the form of verbal tournaments. They were at least as successful as the famous theatre performances. I’m certain that a well-made dialogue is always a guarantee of success with spectators. So, this interest and success pushed the ancient philosophers and writers to look at dialogue as a special form of the development of philosophical as well as other deep and meaningful themes. The philosophical teachings of Plato are known to us through his dialogues. I want to point out right away that if you want to become an expert on Dialogue, you won’t be able to do so without studying his work. It’s practically impossible for an actor to make a good and deep analysis of dialogue without a base of philosophical knowledge. But most importantly, in his works, you’ll find the main principles of the construction of all types of dialogue from antiquity to the present day. It is a wonderful practical tool. That’s why you shouldn’t put it off for later; read Plato now.

I will try not only to convince you how contemporary his understanding of dialogue is, with brief examples and conclusions, but also to direct your attention to its main laws. First of all, look at how beautifully and how simply Plato and his pupils define the essence of dialogue. For them, Dialogue is the cosmos. Not “you said – I said’, but the cosmos. It’s not shallow, not a line, but an infinity – just as in dialogue the speech of different individuals is heard in conformity with what befits each person, there are also higher and lower natures in the cosmos… and the soul, being in the cosmos, joins first to one, then to another. (…) In dialogue, too, there are characters, asking and answering, and our soul being a judge between them, as it were, leaning towards first one, then the other. 2 In this way, the authors of antiquity used dialogue to juxtapose different ideas, and the listener joins first to one and then to the other, until he arrived at certain knowledge. Thus, asking questions and answering their own questions, participants of a dialogue would force the spectator to think and ask the questions of himself. They could lead the listener to agree with their own conclusions in the very same way that the dialectics, according to Plato’s teachings, forces the soul to reveal what is hidden inside itself. I want to turn your attention to the way that in all of Plato’s dialogues, the truth does not strive to be taught or captured. It is born. And it does not strive to be asserted for a century. There is no room for dogmatism in Plato’s field of dialogue. Each time, truth should be born anew, in a new dialogue, each time with a new partner. Thanks to the absence of dogmatism in their thoughts, both partners always have an equal share of hope that they are participating in its birth. From the very beginning of the dialogue, the opinion of the other is permitted, and nobody stubbornly insists on their own opinion. The position is this: “I am ready to change my point of view if I see a journey to peaceful coexistence, to agreement and through that – to a joint revelation.” In Plato’s dialogues, both participants, always joyfully search for “a territory of agreement”. Look for this “territory of agreement” in each dialogue that you are working on or will work on. I am certain you will manage to find one. Even if they are tiny, or they live momentarily, they must necessarily be there: in a word, glance or staging. From this moment of agreement, you can build a whole dialogue. Of course, if you understand dialogue as a battle, then the rules of war will be at work – there are no equals on the battle field. But if dialogue means agreement to you, then we need to use another rule – on the peace field, all are equal.

In 1933, two weeks before the Nazis brutally seized power, an event occurred which revealed the extreme heights and measure of a true Dialogue of agreement: on the 14th of January, the Jewish theologian and philosopher, Martin ­Buber, and protestant theologian Karl Ludwig Schmidt met in Stuttgart and, in the process of dialogue, declared their contempt for antisemitism as well as their belief in the spiri­tual kinship of Christianity and Judaism. 3 But before ­beginning their dialogue, they found a general field for it. “The great divine gates are wide open for all religions” – this was the territory of their agreement. The territory of agreement, where you can speak the differences and incompatibilities of your views, does not in any way mean refuting your own religious, artistic, or even just human, preferences. It’s a territory of peace with no room for enmity.

It is always present in Plato. His work has everything: ingenious moves, suspense, traps which attract and demoralise his “rival”, tricks of meanings, knocking him to the side. In his dialogues, he can bring his adversary to mental paralysis or lay him out cold, as the saying goes, but then hold out his hand to him and help him back up onto his feet. And that’s wonderful. You will see how this is reflected in some of the exercises I have suggested in the training section, such as “Balance”, in which you need to disrupt your partner’s balance, but at the same time look after him, not letting him fall, and at the critical moment, offering him an assisting hand. Pay attention to the way not one of the protagonists in Plato, however savagely they are leading, never has the desire to finish off, dismiss or destroy his partner. Even the idea of that cannot arise, let alone become an aim. This is very important for a general understanding of Dialogue.

Unfortunately, throughout our history, we have learnt to see what separates us more clearly than what unites us. And the fruits of this “science” are clearly felt in the work of directors and in the game of the majority of actors. I think that this is the destructive path of dialogue. We need to ­escape constant aggression, irreconcilability, scandalous expansionism, on stage. There’s little you can achieve like that. We should free ourselves from that, on stage. Dialogue is never a mortal fight. Look again at how benevolent the characters of Plato’s dialogue are, in their very essence. So much humour, irony and elegance. Does that hinder a serious relationship with the dialogue’s theme or a sincere striving to reveal the new? Of course, in dialogue there is an element of competition, of game, and that’s wonderful. The process of playing can be more important, in them, than the result, and at times the game itself is their result. Well, the opponents haven’t revealed anything specially new but we have played joyfully, beautifully. And both players are pleased. At times, dialogue is needed for the sake of dialogue. Dialogue, in order not to stop. Dialogue – as the only way for all of us to live together, peacefully and happily. From the very beginning, when the art of dialogue was conceived, it was seen as an instrument for unification, for revelation, and not for the destruction of the adversary and his ideas. Of course, the form of dialogue can be very much like battle. It is fine to make a revelation into a thorny discussion, at the edge of the possible, powered by explosions of energy. As the Russian expression goes, only a heated debate can give birth to the burning truth. But even that is not the general rule. The famous Socrates, the main participant of nearly all of Plato’s dialogues, was not even remotely a hero, like Odysseus, or a warrior, like Achilles. He’s more like a benevolent and sociable joker, not at all an aggressive person. He discovered that the world around us is perceived so differently by each and every individual. And that made him happy.

The differences are important. They are important for energy – which is one of the most important concepts in the life of a dialogue. It is these juxtapositions of differences which give rise to, nurture and develop the energy of a dialogue. But the energy of differences is only part of its overall energy. First, we need to open the energy of the source, the energy of motivation of the dialogue. Think about this: why does Socrates, in Plato’s dialogues, start up a dialogue in the streets, in the squares, by looking for passers-by on the roads? What does he need? Where is the energy of his original interest? (Let me point out immediately: All of these questions are built on a psychological premise and are not quite right for an analysis of the work of Plato. His psychological movements are not so important as the movement of thought itself. Nevertheless I am ready to make this mistake for the sake of gaining an understanding of the basis of the laws of dialogue.) Notice how Socrates enters a dialogue with people not to convince them of something but in order to find out who they are and for something else as well. Socrates enters a dialogue, based on the fact that he knows only one thing – that he doesn’t know anything. The energy for the beginning of a dialogue is concealed in this already famous position of Socrates. It is the energy of taking “being unprepared” as one’s own position.

Notice that the originating essence of energy from the Socratic position does not consist of wasting energy in planting one’s own thoughts and images in the head of the collocutor – a vulgar, primitive teaching – but it is rather the “cultivating” of thoughts and what is born out of each of our own creative potentials. It is the energy of the artist kindling the artistic in another person; this is the task of the actor in relation to the audience; to awaken the artistic in a person’s soul, to help the artist to be born – the Socratic dialogue serves this aim, and this is the basis for the other part of its energy.

But there is also one other source of energy. Notice how it’s no less important for Socrates to participate in the re­velation, in the process of dialogue with his partner. It’s important for him, too, to reveal a truth – together with his partner. Make a note of the fact that the revelation is not only important for the other but also for you yourself. In a dialogue, it’s important not only to reveal a truth, but also to reveal yourself against the background of this truth. This is another powerful motivation for the start of a dialogue – to find out about yourself! And it’s a huge source of energy. Looking at the main theme of the dialogue, engaging in a search for truth, both sides simultaneously examine themselves: their own spiritual, moral and aesthetic values.

“For me,” says Socrates in the dialogue Protagoras, “the main thing is investigation of the question itself, however it can happen incidentally that we investigate the one who is asking, in other words, myself as well as the person who is answering.” And at another place in the same dialogue: “you and me (…) we should speak from within, with each other, to investigate the truth and ourselves” 4.

I was taught: “I” is not important in dialogue, only “You”, your partner. He’s important for you and you’re important for him. That’s true but I’m certain that in dialogue you have to also hear your own “I”. If there’s no “I”, then there won’t be a “You”. The actor in dialogue must always find time for himself. He must say to himself – it’s also my dialogue and it’s personally important to me to come to an agreement with myself. In this way, Socrates constantly searches for an agreement with himself. He never finds peace. He is ceaselessly searching. He constantly starts dialogues, for that reason. He always searches but it seems that he never finds it. In this “never” is hidden his energetic “perpetuum mobile” – the unending search for unity with himself. In this very same way, the actor should search for this unity inside himself, in the process of dialogue. This is essential for the actor. This striving for unity, for harmony, is also essential for each character.

But this still isn’t everything about the initiating energy of dialogue. One wise old saying goes: “if you want to gather everything together, throw everything into all four corners”. This expression means that you can only arrive at unity by unavoidably going through a phase of division. Remember Plato’s Symposium – and if you don’t, or if you haven’t read it yet, then read this work as quickly as you can in order to feel the source energy – the striving for unity. Here is an ancient myth about human “halves” which were once upon a time separated and even to this day are searching for each other. Here I share with you a shortened version:

…Once, our nature wasn’t as it is now; it was completely different. First, there were three sexes among people, not two as there are now – male and female, for there existed another, third sex, which unified the signs of both the other two; it disappeared, and only its name remained, becoming a curse – androgens, and it was clear that they combined in their appearance and nature both sexes, male and female. Besides that, all of their bodies were round, their backs were no different from their chests, they had four arms, as many legs as arms, and each one had two faces on their round necks, completely identical; their head was shared between these two faces, looking in opposite directions, two pairs of ears, two shameful areas, and you can imagine the rest for yourself from everything which has already been said. This type of person moved either forwards, the same as us now – but in either of the two directions forward, at its full height, or if in a hurry, it would travel as a wheel, pushing its legs out and rolling along its eight extremities, which allowed it to run forwards quickly. And there were three of these sexes, and they were so because from time immemorial the male comes from the Sun, female from the Earth and the joining of both of these from the Moon, in as much as the Moon combines both of these natures. As far as the ball-natured beings are concerned and their round movements, they were affected by the inherited traits of their forefathers. Fearsome with their strength and power, they harboured great dreams and they even encroached upon the authority of the gods – and what Homer says about Ephialtes and Otus applies to them, too: they tried to make an ascent into the heavens in order to attack the gods.

And so Zeus and other gods came to confer about what to do with them and they couldn’t decide: kill them, by striking the human race with thunder, as they had done once with the giants, - then the gods would lose the honour and gift of people; but to make peace with such excess was also not possible. Finally, after a great effort, Zeus thought something up and said:

“I think I have found a way of keeping people, and putting an end to their unruly conduct by diminishing their power. I will cut each of them in half and then they will, firstly, become weaker and, secondly, be more useful for us, because the number of them will increase. And they will walk on two legs. But if they don’t calm down after that, and begin to behave riotously again, I will cut them in half again, and they can jump around on one of my legs” he said.

Saying that, he began to cut people in half, the way that rowan berries are cut in half before they are preserved or the way that eggs are finely sliced. And Apollo, on Zeus’ order, had to take each one who had been cut and turn their face and half of their neck towards the cut so that, looking in the direction of their mutilation, people would become more modest, and it was ordered that all the rest could heal. And Apollo, turning their faces around and, pulling off the skin, the way they tighten a bag to one place, now called the stomach, he tied up the resulting piece at the opening in the middle of the stomach – it now has the name ‘navel’. Flattening out the creases and giving distinctive features to the chest – for this, he used a tool similar to a cobbler’s last which he uses to flatten out the leather – Apollo left some crinkles on the stomach and around the navel, in memory of their former state. And so when their bodies were cut in half, in that way, each half – filled with desire – rushed to another of its halves, they embraced, linked together and, passionately wishing to grow together, died from hunger and generally from lack of activity because they didn’t want to do anything apart. And if one half died, then the one which was still alive sought out another half and linked up to that one, regardless of whether it came across half of a former woman, in other words what we now call a woman, or a former man. (…) So, from long ago, it is characteristic of people to feel a love attraction for each other which, by joining up former halves, tries to make one out of two and thereby heals human nature.

And so, that’s why each of us half people, cut in two parts, resembling flat-fish, is always searching for its corresponding half. (…)

When anyone, whether a lover of youths or anyone else, happens to meet their exact half, both are seized with such a surprising feeling of attachment, proximity and love that they truly do not want to part even for a short time. And people who spend their whole lives together cannot even say what precisely they want from each other. You know, it’s impossible to assert that it’s only for the satisfaction of lust that they strive so jealously to be together. It’s clear that each one’s soul wants something else; what exactly, it can’t say and only guesses at its own wishes, only vaguely hints at them. And, when they lie together, if Hephaestus were to appear before them with his tools and ask them: “What do you want, people, from each other?” – and then, seeing that they have trouble answering, ask them again: “Maybe you want to be together as long as possible and not be apart for a day or a night? If that is your will, I am ready to meld you and join you into one, and then from two people you will become one, and, while you are alive, you will live with one shared life, and when you die, there will be one corpse in Hades, for you will die a shared death. Think about this, is this what you thirst for, and will you be happy if you attain this?” – hearing this, we are certain that each one would not only refuse such a suggestion and would not express any such desire, but would consider that he had heard precisely what he had dreamed of for so long, possessed by the striving to join and merge into one being with his loved one. The reason being such was our original nature and we constituted something whole.

In this way, a hunger and a striving to be whole is called love. To repeat – before, we were something whole, and now, we have been re-made separately by the gods, like Lacedaemonian Arcadians. (…) Our race will reach bliss when we fully satisfy Eros and each finds their corresponding object of love in order to return to our original nature. But if the best must come from what there is now, then it’s best to admit what is the closest to being the best: to meet an object of love who is akin to you. And consequently, if we want to praise god, who gave us this gift, we ought to worship Eros: not only does Eros bring us great benefit now, directing us towards what is close and akin to us, he promises us, if we only honour the gods, a beautiful future, for he will make us happy and blessed, making us whole and returning us to our original nature. 5

Don’t you agree – that’s another originating source of ­energy of Dialogue – the crazy hunger for wholeness. It’s ­beautiful! Who can say it better than Plato, who let ­Aristophanes tell this myth?! Dialogue – is this meeting between two separated halves… of one from the other: Romeo and Juliet, Masha and Vershinin, Estragon and Pozzo. They have been separated for hundreds of years and just now, at fate’s will, under our gaze, they are meeting and recognising each other as their half. The period of loneliness was compressed like a spring – that’s energy! and now it is beginning to work. That’s the spring of dialogue. This period of separation is over. Everything which happened to me is mine, but is also yours, ours. It is not disappearing anywhere but is poured into the shared foundations of the dialogue. In ­Thomas Mann’s novel Joseph and His Brothers, there is a description of the first meeting of Jacob and Rachel – they recognise each other immediately, at first sight, as well as their whole history, everything which was and everything which will be. They enter into a conversation, not understanding the language spoken by the person in front of them, as if they are continuing a dialogue begun by them long, long ago.

This is the EXERCISE for actors, this is the task – to begin a dialogue on stage in this way. As if without beginning, without a first line, but as if continuing a conversation which began a hundred years ago, as if you are participants of one whole which was separated infinitely long ago.

It’s that simple – one character and another character; they have so many differences, so many subjects for debate, in brief, there’s plenty of material for a living dialogue. But let’s look at them in a different way. Imagine that a hundred thousand years ago they came out of one place, breathed in one air, spoke in one language, moreover – they were one whole being and they were separated. Now, hundreds of years have passed, each one has had their own life, separate from the other, and now they meet. It seems as if there is nothing shared between them, no shared language unites them, no worldview, no faith, nothing. But they know by some scent, sound, feeling, sub-subconscious, that they are parts of one whole, that only together will they create an authentic whole being. What is that? What is the meeting with your second half? What exactly is wholeness? All wholeness of individuality, which before seemed to us to be final, suddenly appears only as part of a something new, unknown. And now you feel some obscure, but strong attraction, a premonition of a unique dialogical contact leading you to a new Unity. In that way, people remember their kinship with the cosmos. There are no facts and therefore it’s not just human memory. It is non-human memory. It is no memory at all, but a metaphysi­cal attraction. That’s energy! Metaphysical energy is always present in dialogue. How little we actors think about this but we want to play dialogue well. Rarely do we reminisce about our involvement in the Absolute.

Look at the scene when Rachel meets Jacob in Thomas Mann’s novel Joseph and His Brothers. Please excuse me for jumping from Plato to the twentieth century. But this scene is so beautiful and it will explain everything to you better than I, or even, Plato could.

Thus first he beheld her, his heart’s destiny, his soul’s bride, for whose lovely eyes he was to serve fourteen years, the mother sheep of lamb (…)

“Here am I,” said she; like a short-sighted person she contracted her eyes, but then lifted her brows in surprise and delight as she added: “Lo, a stranger!” (…)

“Whence cometh my lord?” He pointed westwards over his shoulder and said “Amurru”.

She turned towards Jerubbaal and laughing beckoned him with a motion of her chin.

“So far?” said she, in words and gestures. And then she asked in more detail, saying that the west was wide, and naming two or three of its cities.

“Beersheba,” Jacob answered.

She started and repeated the word, and her mouth, which he had already begun to love, shaped the name of Isaac.

His face twitched, his mild eyes ran over. He did not know Laban’s people and would not have been eager for contact with them. He was an outlaw, stolen to the lower world, not here of his own will, and felt not much cause for soft emotion. But his nerves gave way; under the strain of the journey they had gone soft. He was at his goal, and this maiden, with eyes so darkly sweet, uttered his far-off father’s name and was his mother’s brother’s child.

“Rachel,” said he, with a sob, and put out his arms to her, his hands trembling. “May I kiss thee?”

“How canst though claim such a right?” she asked, and retreated in smiling dismay. She gave no sign of suspecting anything, just as before she had not seemed to mark the presence of a stranger.

But with one arm stretched out towards her he pointed to his own breast. “Jacob, Jacob,” he said. “I! Yitzchak’s son, ­Rebecca’s son, Laban, thou, I, child of mother, child of brother…”

She gave a little cry. She put one hand on his breast and so held him away from her as together they reckoned up the kinship between them, laughing, but with tears in both their eyes. They cried out names, nodded their heads, making out the genealogical tree by signs to each other, putting their forefingers together, crossing them, or laying the left across the tip of the right.

“Laban - Rebecca,” cried she. “Bethuel, son of Nahor and Milka! Thy grandfather and mine!”

“Terah,” cried he. “Abram - Isaac, Nahor - Bethuel! Abram - forefather, thine and mine.”

“Laban - Adina,” cried she. “Leah and Rachel! Sisters, cousins, thine!”

They nodded to each other over and over, amid tears, while they came to the conclusion as to the blood relationship between them, through both his parents and through her father. She gave him her cheeks and he kissed her solemnly. Three dogs sprang at them baying, as the creatures do when men, for good or evil, lay hands on each other. The shepherds applauded rhythmically, singing in high head-tones: “Lu, lu, lu!” So he kissed her, first on one cheek then on the other. He forbade his senses to perceive more of her femininity than just the softness of her cheeks, he kissed her reverently; but the friendly darkness of her eyes had bewitched him already, and he felt favoured to have received her kiss at once. Many a one must look longingly, desire and serve, before there would be incredibly vouchsafed to him that which had fallen at once as it were into Jacob’s lap, because he was the cousin from afar. 6

Look what happens to the dogs and shepherds! The ­energy of the meeting overcomes them too, that is why they are happy, they jump and sing like mad people. The real dialogue always produces a mass of energy and everyone present in the field of energy (in theatre – it’s the spectators) will be affected by it. This kind of Dialogue is constructed on the energy of confluence, contact, striving towards one’s own self-­development and the revelation of the Other; on the ­energy of joy of the transformation of oneself and the other. Without the energy of creation, the energy of revelation, the energy of artistry, there won’t be a dialogue.

Dialogue is – recognising yourself in another. That is what I discovered in Plato. To unconditionally trust another, as yourself. And yourself, as another. You have seen how the things around us begin to communicate with us, open up their essence to us, show their character, not when they act contrary to our intentions and plans but at the moment that they sense our trust. That is when they begin to reveal their secrets. Then, we understand – a dialogue is being created between us and them! As if the magic words ring out – “We be of one blood, thou and I!” Remember the Jungle Book by Joseph Rudyard Kipling. I remembered those magical words my whole life. The jungle is a difficult battle where each fights for their own survival, and when these words ring out, and the connection opens up, a dialogue begins. Masters know that the violin will never call out if the wood does not trust its creator, bread will not be made if the dough does not trust the baker. The exact same thing happens between us in a dialogue – if there is a mutual trust, then the hidden possi­bilities in us open up. This trust towards each other is what Plato’s dialogues are built on.

I probably haven’t told you everything that was revealed to me in my teacher Plato’s dialogues. Go to his school. Read his words yourself, speak to him, and I am sure that he will reveal many other secrets to you. You will be persuaded that his dialogues are not only contemporary in their content but are also the best possible school for us actors. Therefore, when you are beginning to work on any form of dialogue, and their exist many and they are very different, remember the great philosopher who first revealed the beauty of Dialogue; remember his main principles of the construction of dialogue which he discovered, and you will be convinced that they can help you to resolve your most difficult tasks.

And one further piece of advice – don’t forget that Dialogue arose in the heart of the young Greek democracy. Which means that Dialogue significantly helped to build free, democratic relations. It could be built on thorny competitiveness, hard battle, but anyway, it’s foundations were agreement between people. We be of one blood, thou and I! Never forget this. And try to start work on each dialogue from that perspective.

2 Plato (1994), Complete Works [Sobranie socinenija], Anonymous Prolegomena, vol. 4, p. 367. Moscow.

3 R. Müller: Stuttgart zur Zeit des Nationalsozialismus. Stuttgart, 1988. pp. 37

4 Plato, Protagor. 1994, Complete Works [Sobranie socinenija], vol. 1. p. 418. Moscow.

5 Plato, Pir., 1993 Complete Works [Sobranie socinenija], vol. 2. p. 98. Moscow.

6 from Joseph and His Brothers by Thomas Mann, 1933, translated by H. T. Lowe-Porter, published by Secker & Warburg, pp. 148-150. Reprinted by permission of The Random House Group Ltd.