The single greatest lesson

So Matt said something tonight that really struck me. During notes, he mentioned that one of the greatest tools an actor can have is empathy. It isn't even a tool; it's a life plan. That got me thinking a bit about how I approach characters. I always, consciously or subconsciously, have assumed that a character is something that can be "understood." This made me wonder if I view human beings in the same light. For it follows that if I were to give a character the full respect he or she deserves, I would have to give him or her the same respect I would give to any human being or loved one, especially if this is a character whom I hope to portray. And as I cannot say that I fully "understand" myself, how dare I presume to understand another human or, for that matter, a character in a play? For me to understand a character is for me to say that there is nothing left for him or her to offer me. I hope that this will never be the case.

I know it has been useful for me in the past to make the laundry lists of "things people say about me" and "things I say about myself" for the characters I approach, but I think this exercise only works as an observation. The moment my process becomes a quest for understanding, I think I am in serious trouble. A couple weeks ago in rehearsal, I expressed the frustration I had been feeling because I didn't understand "why" Andrew was in this script. I just couldn't figure out what he was doing in this play or where he fit in with this story as a whole. Thinking back on it, I am a bit embarrassed. While the argument could be made that I as an actor need to know more than my character does about the play, the fact of the matter is that I don't know why I am here. I don't know what my purpose is in my world. I know that I have friends, family, pets, enemies, loved ones, teachers, peers, and a bicycle, but I cannot even come close to venturing a "why" for all of this. Why should I expect anything different from a character?

So I guess for me the real lesson of last night was that I don't know why Andrew is in this play. But I do know who he loves and who he hates. I know who he merely likes and who frightens him. I know which characters confuse him and which ones comfort him. I know which conversations excite him and which ones bore him to tears. I don't understand Andrew, and I hope that I never will, but I can sure as hell empathize with him.