On Spontaneity
Spontaneity
first requires that the senses be open to information from the environment.
To accomplish this receptor task, we must be in the moment, animal-like.
Second, we must be able to stand outside the moment to make sense
of what is occurring. We can then take action—that is, perform
a conscious act—which is no small achievement. This action will
in turn create a new environmental condition. Thus, spontaneity is
the ability to maintain a free-flowing constantly self-adjusting cycle
of sensory input, evaluation, and action. Bateson said, "It is
the attempt to separate intellect from emotion that is monstrous,
and I suggest that it is equally monstrous—and dangerous—to
attempt to separate the external mind from the internal. Or to separate
mind from body."
Spontaneity,
then, means more than quickness of action. It means choice of action.
This concept, existential in flavor, describes humankind dealing with
a phenomenologically dynamic social universe which our need for meaning
motivates us to try to understand. Faced with this condition, the
human mind, or what Bateson refers to as Mind, has a remarkable ability
for adaptation and invention. It is connected to our capacity for
play, but calls upon our highest intelligence. Improvisational performance
highlights this form of genius, reminding us publicly that spontaneity,
in the fullest sense, is the inheritance of us all.
On Service
One
of my favorite performances was for a group of Head Start teachers
(Head Start is an inner-city prekindergarten program). They wanted
us to come and perform on their staff development day, but they could
pay no more than a small part of our fee. They were meeting in a church
basement, a small, cluttered room, most unenterprising for our purposes.
However, it was their world, and we entered it gladly. Their need
for us was great, for their task was overwhelming—many of the
children they taught, and their parents, faced tremendous problems—and
the support the teachers received, in salary, work conditions, and
training, was minimal. While the teachers sat on kindergarten chairs,
we acted out their stories. They laughed till they cried. And they
simply cried. Afterwards I was euphoric. I felt, "This is what
we are meant for!" And all the while our support was no more
munificent or long-lasting than theirs.
Such
experiences confirm my belief in a citizen actor, who performs as
needed by the community, then melts back into the social fabric—a
modern answer to the aboriginals "of high degree" who live
as ordinary tribespeople except when they are needed.
Even
greater than the humility needed for such a concept is the courage
of the true healer. Life—yours, mine—is difficult enough,
but to voluntarily absorb the pain and problems of others, face the
challenge of their dilemmas, seek to guide them toward new visions—this
takes a particular kind of commitment.
Service
without security, without fanfare, without adulation.
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