#1024 Acting Through Non-Action

Brain Food for Pioneering Spirits: What is “acting through non-action,” and why does it matter? That’s the question we explored in Room #1024 of the Deep Talk Club, under our overarching theme of “Action.” Listen in on the examples that came up and the perspectives that emerged in dialogue…

Note: This session was recorded live in German as part of the Deep Talk Club, so the video above is German-language audio only. What follows is an English translation of the conversation, lightly edited for readability — the back-and-forth between the moderator and participants is preserved, but the original timestamps and speaker names have been left out.

A very good morning to you all, on the topic of acting through non-action. What is this really about, and why does it matter? That’s the question we want to explore together today. I actually brought a quote to open with — let’s take this as a first impulse, this time from Yoga-Vicky: “Acting through non-action means not feeling like you are doing something, while still living up to your responsibility. Acting through non-action also means behaving in such a way that what needs to happen, happens. The goal is not to intervene, but to see yourself as part of the whole.” It’s an important concept, and there are various names for it depending on where it comes from. My thought was to pick this up especially because we’ve talked, in various contexts over the last few days, about teaching and learning formats. I know this, for instance, from didactic theory — in training or coaching, there are settings where, from the outside, there seems to be an expectation that you “put something in,” the way a learner in a classic learning unit expects to simply receive content. And then, to a certain degree, that content doesn’t come — because the actual goal is to reverse that: to hold yourself back, so to speak, and strike a balance through restraint, in order to let something emerge. It’s fascinating what can come out of that when you use it deliberately and consciously. With that in mind, I’d like to dive into this topic with you today. We’ve already talked a bit about non-action in general, but I’m really curious what first thoughts you have on this concept of acting — specifically intentional acting — through non-action, and what concrete examples we might use to work our way into it. Who’d like to go first?

I should mention, on Zoom there’s this feature where your raised hand stays up — that’s why I was waving. I’d love to follow on seamlessly from that, actually, that would have been my way in too. The first thing I found on the topic of acting through non-action was the term from Taoist philosophy: Wu Wei. I have a real affinity for anything to do with Asia, with Eastern mythology, philosophy and so on, and it’s described in exactly those words: Wu Wei is associated with a state of acting within a natural flow, without excessive effort or resistance. It’s the idea that by letting go of control and effort, you can often be more effective. Importantly, it’s not meant as passivity, but rather as the art of appropriate action — and here’s a wonderful phrase — the art of appropriate action in harmony with nature and circumstance.

That’s wonderful, truly fascinating, thank you so much. I’m curious what the others think.

I initially thought of the classic sense of non-action — I don’t actively act, and as a result, things simply happen without my intervention. But I actually do this quite consciously, for instance in meetings: when I notice a discussion developing in a certain direction, or when I have a thought myself and notice it’s forming in others too, I often just wait and watch that thought emerge and actually land in the room — without me having planted it myself. I stay ready to bring it up myself if it looks like it might otherwise get lost, but I genuinely like to wait it out.

Thank you so much for that. What’s going through my mind right now — and I have to be honest, I’d already thought about this topic beforehand and come to a conclusion of my own, but going a second round like this, other questions suddenly pop up. I do want to give a thumbs up, though, because today we’re talking about action explicitly. In our previous sessions, action always ended up connecting to some other, weightier topic that moved into the foreground; today it’s action itself. And I want to recall our very first sessions, where we tried to agree on a shared definition of action as a starting point. What I took from that was: it’s essentially a willed activity, an activity aimed — and this is the second key point — at bringing about change. Because everything we do, I’d argue, leads to change. Even if it’s only a change in my own status, then I move from being inactive to being active — that alone is already a change, call it splitting hairs if you like, but it’s true. So what stuck with me is: it’s an action carried especially by will and reason, aimed at achieving a specific goal and a specific change. And there was a thread we touched on before that I didn’t pick up on at the time, but noted for later: is the decision to do nothing — for whatever reason — already part of the process of acting, or is it really the cognitive threshold where I say “I’ve now decided,” and the result is that I don’t act, meaning no change follows? That’s a connection I can’t fully resolve yet, but my current instinct leans toward what Erik and Marc already touched on: you cannot not act. Though I’d say — it depends how you define “acting.” What consequences that has is a separate question, but that’s what’s occupying me on this topic right now. Thanks for listening.

Wonderful, thank you so much. While you were talking, I found myself circling back to that statement, “I cannot not act.” That was one thing. The other is wondering whether, if the intended withholding of action is meant to bring about that very change, it isn’t itself a form of acting after all — and that might be the really interesting question here. There can be different ways to approach that. For example — and Layla will speak to this in a moment — I remember we’ve picked up on this kind of thing before: there can be different techniques for it, like asking questions or framing questions. That would actually make you active in the moment, just acting differently than you’d typically be expected to in a conventional setting. I find that angle really interesting too.

Thank you so much for letting me add one more thing — something that’s actually a result of several previous rooms we’ve had on this topic, that I made sure to hold onto. You know I’m a fan of not just asking why, what for, and to what end, but also — when we talk about acting — asking what the preconditions are. And maybe that helps get to a conclusion: is this acting, is this not acting, is it actually acting after all? For me, the two essential grounds are reason and will. Because if I want to bring about change through actively intervening in a state that wants to change — through my acting — then there can be two grounds for that: on the one hand reason, or emotions; and the other, additive factor, not an alternative but something that comes on top, is will — that I actually want it. And so, I’ll say it again, the pendulum increasingly swings toward this for me: the distinction between acting and not acting becomes obsolete, because I decide — on the basis of both reason and emotion — that I want to not act right now. Or, as Erik put it so aptly, whatever changes around me becomes my change, and I accept it.

Wonderful, thank you so much. With that, let’s switch over to Layla — a very good morning to you. What do you think about this topic?

Good morning. I was just thinking this through myself, and I really liked what was just said, because I think it captures it well. We’re essentially dealing with the question of whether we can elevate passivity to a possible form of action. I found myself asking: is passivity already an action? Yes — if it’s a conscious one, the way we described with asking questions. And more people have thought about this before us; there are actual writings on practices of omission in European modernity. I do think that if it’s a conscious non-action — not a “can’t,” not a “won’t,” but something like observing, which is itself an activity — then is that still passivity, if I’m not moving into active action, into movement? That might be worth clarifying further, for a more precise definition. Thanks for listening.

Thank you so much. I’d like to pick up on the word “passive” here and maybe even set it aside in this context, because “passive” suggests that nothing is happening — but something is happening here. If it’s conscious and willed, aimed at bringing about change, then even if I don’t know whether change will actually follow, the intention alone means I am acting actively. Though, as you just said, not with the idea of movement in the classical sense — maybe it is an activity, but not the kind we’d typically picture as active movement. “Passive” might suggest “I’m not doing anything,” but in truth, in non-action I am doing something: I’m consciously holding myself back, and through that I’m actively engaging again — even if I’m not moving physically. What do the others think? Would anyone like to come in here?

Two things come to mind. Going back to the quote I read earlier, about the art of appropriate action — I’m currently facing what might be a legal challenge, and that reminded me: appropriate action, and I know I need to be careful here, is what lawyers always frame as “we won’t stand for this,” “we need to deal with this,” “let’s really go after it.” The longer it drags on, the more expensive it gets, I’m aware of that too. But appropriate action can also mean acting by saying: no, I’m not doing anything. There’s a quote a biologist friend once sent me: “being angry is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies.” I was very grateful for that reminder. My question, in that context — and I agree that non-action, or appropriate action, whatever we call it, is automatically also a form of acting — is what role the word “responsibility” plays here. Because non-action can also mean, if I substitute the word “acting” here: not informing yourself, not learning, not questioning things. And that can have very significant consequences. So non-action, in that other sense, can absolutely also be a form of acting — and at the same time I should be aware that I’m taking on a great deal of responsibility by doing so. Let me give you an example to illustrate: take the state of being in love. We’re in love, the hormones are flowing, we don’t question anything, we’re simply happy. I go to the bank with my partner — not with any bad intent — we’ve moved in together, and I say, “let’s open a joint account, and we need to go to the bank today so you get power of attorney over it.” “Oh, how sweet of you,” she says. So we open a joint account, and she gets power of attorney. And if, in that hormonal haze, she never asks what “power of attorney” actually means — and I’ve learned so much from you about how the meaning of terms can make all the difference at an important juncture — power of attorney does not mean being the account holder. So in that state of being in love, where I don’t question it, and where the other person maybe didn’t even mean any harm by it, it’s only at the end of the relationship, in the argument, that it comes out who the actual account holder is — the person who opened the account. And my power of attorney is worth nothing at that point. This non-action, and the responsibility I’ve now taken on with this new knowledge, means that once the account holder closes the account, the person who merely had power of attorney is left standing there dumbfounded. In that moment, I hadn’t acted — and there was no reason to, in the midst of harmony there’s no cause to act. But not informing yourself, not acting, not questioning, not learning — that’s what can end up being very, very costly.

Thank you so much. Let’s carry on with the thread.

I’m trying to build the bridge back to you here — my own thread had actually gotten a bit lost in the meantime, but at the end you brought it right back, on the theme of non-action again. And now I come back with my favourite question words: why, why, why. I’ve been turning this over myself — what actually leads me to decide, for myself, that I’m not going to act right now? You laid this out yourself in your example: action is called for there. And that’s exactly the opposing position — triggering a decision-making process, but in our case, deciding not to act. I do not act. And for me, three essential threads open up here, ones we keep coming back to. As far as I can tell, from my own perspective: the simplest reason I don’t act is that I don’t know — I lack the knowledge, in that specific position, in that specific situation. I simply don’t have the knowledge to act. The second one, also a theme of ours before, is that I lack the ability — I’m not the right person to support you with your problem. So I can’t act; that’s inability. And the third is: I don’t want to. I’m not going to deal with this. That’s been true for me the last couple of days, being fairly worn out, saying I’m just not going to engage with this right now. But here’s the crucial point for me: these are all just findings. They’re — I’ll call it this, even though it’s not quite right — states of knowing that I don’t know, that I’m unable, and that I’m unwilling. So my question, and I don’t have an answer to it, is: does that mean I stop becoming active? Do I simply resign myself to my inability, my ignorance, my unwillingness? Do I just let it go and say, well, that’s that? As you can tell, a lot of question marks are opening up for me today. Thanks for listening.

What I find important here too is to ask: is what you just described actually acting through non-action — or is it, in this context, precisely not acting through non-action, because you’ve opened up these three components, not-knowing, inability and unwillingness, which can all result in me not acting? But then, from my perspective — and I’m curious what you think — that wouldn’t really be the “acting through non-action” factor at play here. What do you think?

Thank you for that — it helps clarify things. For me, that is an active act: establishing what’s behind my not wanting to act would itself fall under “acting.” I’m not sure I can put this clearly enough, but that was the point where I asked whether this decision process itself — do I act or don’t I — this cognitive engagement, is already part of acting, or whether it’s something isolated that has nothing to do with acting at all. But by now I’ve landed exactly on the point you raised: yes, this is very much active engagement — consciously becoming aware of where this non-action might be coming from, whether it’s inability, ignorance, or simply not wanting to. And the crucial point for me still was: “letting it go” is, in fact, itself an act. The real question is whether, based on that realization — that I actually don’t want to — we then settle into stillness, remain inactive, and stay that way. And I doubt that we do. Thank you.

I’d love to bring Layla in here too, to look more closely at whether — we have this distinction between conscious and unconscious, I’d like to underline that distinction again, we can come back to that — and the other thing is that you raised this cognitive aspect, this process of reflection. But it could be that the reflection process alone isn’t enough; that it’s really the subsequent step of deciding not to act, against the backdrop of realizing “here there’s ignorance, here there’s inability, and maybe I don’t want to either” — that deciding not to act on that basis puts me back into the realm of acting. Whereas if I simply conclude the reflection process and nothing happens afterward, the question would be whether that’s still acting, or whether it’s just a cognitive reflection, an analysis carried out, without that conscious decision of “and therefore I am not acting.”

Layla, would you like to pick up on that, or did you have another point you wanted to raise?

That might actually touch on it a little. I think there’s a difference between thinking something through and circling around a thought over and over. You learn that quite quickly once you’ve been in therapy for a while — that thinking isn’t always “thinking,” and thinking isn’t always useful. What I wanted to add: I keep coming back to the terms tolerance and ignorance — that distinction matters a lot to me, because I think it helps separate things out. Acceptance, to put it briefly, means I adopt the other person’s stance, I actually engage with it. Tolerance means I engage with it too, but I don’t adopt it — I simply endure it, allow it to exist. Ignorance means I don’t engage with it at all, I simply ignore it — and that’s not a good option either. I’d say, coming back to this non-action question: if I tolerate something, that is itself an activity. That’s why I emphasized “passivity” earlier — I think we tend to picture only active doing as “acting,” and feel guilty the moment we associate action and non-action with “you didn’t do anything, you didn’t act, I should have done something.” There’s this sense that if I can’t help, I’m just in the way, that “being” is everything — I think that’s an attitude we’ve picked up along the way. And that’s why I find it so important: this thought process, this conscious engagement, coming back to the terminology, can actually lead to a mental engagement that carries within it a kind of toleration. And that’s different from ignoring something — because then I’ve actually engaged with it, and I can tolerate it, which doesn’t mean I accept it. I hope this example helped a little and that you could follow the thought. Thanks for listening.

Thank you so much. What do the others think?

My thoughts are circling too. Appropriate action is obviously clear when we’re exchanging views with other people about a situation and I know which decision we’re making. But it can also be appropriate action, if I’m not personally affected by a situation, to simply accept it — and as the person not affected, not act at all. Sometimes we simply have to accept things, and I’ve noticed in situations involving decisions that it sometimes just helps — speaking for myself, though I imagine others too — to be briefly embraced, in the sense of “I see you, I’ve noticed you,” and that alone already helps. But this idea of appropriate action — I got to thinking about whether there’s a scale to acting, whether there are degrees of it. We’re always acting; non-action is also acting. So even when I don’t act, I’m acting. And then we’re always deciding how affected we are — how far does this touch my own existence, how much am I personally affected by the situation. And depending on how much it concerns us, we decide, as with everything that comes our way, how much energy we put into acting on it, and how urgently necessary that really is. My favourite word for this, from Chinese and Taoist philosophy, is really “appropriate action.” And appropriate action arises out of reflection, out of feelings, out of reason and everything else — meaning we’re always applying a different degree, a different force of action, depending on our reflection and the situation at hand.

Let’s take a concrete example, that always helps build bridges here. But first let me hand over, and then I’ll gladly pick up two more aspects afterward where we might connect.

Thank you so much. In my own words — and thank you for that — we may not align explicitly on terminology, but content-wise I think it closes the circle back to the three pillars I raised earlier: knowledge, ability and will, as the determining factors that steer our acting at all. And there’s one more thing I’d noted down, I believe from something Erik or Marc said, that struck me as an important point too — a reason we might describe non-action as a special case of acting, the same way reflection is a special case of thinking, namely thinking about one’s own thinking. Specifically, it’s the two concepts of consequence and responsibility. Because even if, through my behaviour, it isn’t visible to others that I am acting, I am acting — in the calm and the passivity I take on — because I take on responsibility for that state, and I also take on the consequences: namely that, under certain circumstances, my surroundings might move on without me while I remain in passivity. So by now I’ve arrived at this understanding: for me, non-action is a subform of acting, but it is definitely a form of acting. Thank you.

Thank you so much. Another thought occurred to me: for non-action to count as a form of acting, I think it presupposes that there’s actually an alternative to non-action in the first place. That came to mind when, for instance, in that account example — if I have no knowledge whatsoever of a possible course of action, for whatever reason, and I don’t even know that I could do anything other than not act, then the question is whether that’s still what I’d call “active non-action.” Take an example: I’m on the street and I notice someone drops something. I have the option to point it out to them, to pick it up for them, or to simply ignore the situation. If I ignore it and don’t actively get involved, that, in my view, is acting through non-action. But if I don’t even notice that someone lost something — because I wasn’t looking, or I’m simply not there, someone loses something in another city where I’m not present — then I’m equally not acting, but there was never a possibility for me to act at all. Fundamentally, all the actions we don’t take are either conscious or unconscious, and the unconscious kind can arise simply from not being physically present, and things like that. So the real point is: is there even an option to not-act in the first place?

It looks like there are a couple more people wanting to come in on this, so let me pass it along. Thank you for that example.

Thank you for that question and that example. It occurred to me, when you say there might be no possibility to act at all — I’d say again: responsibility. In the account example, there is a possibility to act. And I chose that example deliberately — in the state of being in love, in a state where everything seems fine, I don’t see any necessity to act. Why would I act? Everything’s in order. But later I still carry the responsibility for not having questioned things, for not having asked what my actions could mean. And then that non-action, in the sense of “everything’s fine, the world is rose-tinted,” leads to results that aren’t so pretty, that come back to bite us. And the awareness we have to deal with later is looking in the mirror: I didn’t act, I consciously didn’t act — not because I had no possibility, no access to expertise or experts, but because I consciously chose not to, consciously saw no need to do anything. But I always, always have the possibility to act. Whether that later turns out to have been the right action or not, I always have the option to act, even out of not-knowing.

I could have hugged you on the spot for that — the scales just fell from my eyes. You know that question I keep raising: what’s actually the opposite of something? And based on what you just laid out, I’ve come to this conclusion: non-action is not the opposite of action. And that reinforces my view that non-action is a part of acting. The opposite of acting is counter-acting — opposing an action with something. So if someone else wants something and I don’t, or if I want to act and the other person doesn’t — that’s the counter-action, that’s the actual opposite. So thank you again, this really reinforces it for me — in the same way as with reflection and thinking: we really can’t not-act. Not, not act — sorry, thank you.

Wonderful, thank you so much — really fascinating stuff. Now let’s see if we want to open up one more concrete example. I’m not sure whether we should touch on both, or whether you’d like to pick one. As an option: yesterday and the day before, we talked about learning in connection with acting, and about education in connection with acting. And just yesterday, the topic of the current political situation came up too, against the backdrop of the attacks and the ongoing war in Israel and Palestine, and we picked up some examples there as well — that made waves, so to speak, over here too, and it has certain effects and things we can observe in that political context right now; there are a lot of discussions happening. So that’s one option, if we want to revisit it. The other option, maybe carrying a little less charge, and I’ll leave the choice to you, would be the example of Clubhouse itself, since we’ve talked about teaching and learning formats — the Deep Talk Club is itself a classic example of the kind of reflection spaces we create. If you think back, how were rooms like this, or other rooms, typically structured on Clubhouse? When someone opens a room, what usually happens? Often, the moderator goes in with a subject-matter topic and doesn’t just moderate, but actually contributes content themselves. Whereas Deep Talk, from the very start, has always leaned in a different direction — genuinely using it as a space for reflection, where the moderator does provide expert moderation, but at many points deliberately holds back first, and through that moderation creates a space in which certain learning processes can happen together — not just for the learner in the classic sense, the participant in the room, but for the moderator too, being both teacher and learner in that exchange, and quite consciously practising a kind of stepping back at many points, in order to let perspectives open up that people might not have thought of, or known, themselves. The guardrails are clearly set, the topic is set, but which direction the room develops in has a lot to do with the contributions that come in — and that’s exactly where this conscious non-action, this deliberate non-action, comes in, to let something quite deliberate and targeted emerge: namely enabling shared learning, against the backdrop of a reflection process taking place. So there are pillars everywhere defining what the goal is, but at many points non-action is called for — except when it comes to rule violations or similar, where deliberate intervention is needed to support things again.

I’ll take up your second suggestion, about the Clubhouse angle — the other one would require too much background knowledge and is a very emotional topic. You’ve basically just given the explanation for what I’ve observed on Clubhouse myself, and for why I feel so comfortable in this particular room. It’s not just because of the people, it’s because of the clear rules — the respect, letting people finish speaking, stepping in immediately to say “this isn’t about right or wrong, we want to grow together.” In a lot of other rooms I’ve always had this feeling of chaos. Nothing against a pub with people shouting over each other, that can be great too — but if, as a speaker, you’re not even thinking about it — and I do this too while I’m speaking, even when I sometimes talk too long, because I simply have too many thoughts in my head and still need to learn to express them in one sentence — but I really do think, with everything I say, about what value I can offer, what people can actually do with this information. I feel uncomfortable if all I say is something like “hey, it’s foggy today, awful weather, I don’t know what to do with myself.” That’s just noise, that’s just me having said something — nobody can do anything with that information. And through this steering, this development that you drive, and it’s very much your room, through the rules we’ve set and through the people who take part in it, this room, this Deep Talk Club, is an enormous source of value for me — a place where I’ve grown, where I’ve learned things, and where I simply feel good. And that sense of feeling good is also part of why we choose to surround ourselves with certain people or not. It’s not about just meeting up and shouting something together on a football pitch, but the goal, for me, is always: we have a topic, we approach that topic together, some will engage with it more than others, and I feel like it’s something shared — not a space where everyone just spends half an hour venting some emotion, shouting or mumbling whatever, but a room whose goal is to develop together toward a new insight. I’ve said this often already — thank you for that.

Thank you so much. Would you like to add to that?

Thank you especially for that second example you raised. If I transpose that away from Clubhouse specifically, onto the moderator and the situation as I understand what you described — that, for me, is the classic form of watchful passivity: a moderator who, true to the role, deliberately holds back, and here again are exactly those positions that, for me, fix and make concrete an act of acting, even if others don’t notice it. Even if others think the moderator is just standing next to a flipchart doing nothing — no, she’s doing something. She’s in a state of highly concentrated passivity, because behind it she has a goal. The moderator is pursuing a goal, namely to draw out self-developing learning processes from the group, in order to then steer them at a certain point. I’d even say this highly concentrated passivity is itself a genuinely demanding act — because acting, remember our definition, isn’t only physical and visible to others, we can also act mentally and emotionally. Being in that state, under that high level of tension and demand, precisely in order to consciously seize the right moment — noticing “I’ve reached my goal now” or “I need to step in as moderator” to stay on track — that, for me, over the course of this hour, is more proof that we cannot not-act. Thank you for that.

Wonderful, thank you so much — and I think that beautifully bridges into what I’d like to pick up tomorrow at the digital campfire, under “Action, Part 3,” where we can discuss one or two current topics against this backdrop together and open up the exchange. With that, and with an eye on the time, I’d like to move into our closing round for today, and carry this forward into tomorrow at 8am at Deep Talk — where, on one side, at the digital campfire, I’ll set the frame with a few impulses and theses, so we can look together at what develops, what you all think, how you see it. I’m genuinely curious what results emerge from that shared reflection. So let’s hear your highlights from today’s room, what you’d like to underline once more — in this order, please.

What struck me was that idea of targeted non-action — non-action as itself a form of acting that pursues a particular goal, and that can obviously have all kinds of backgrounds, selfish, altruistic, whatever else you can think of. Thank you.

Thank you so much. What particularly stuck with me, and I wrote this down, was “opposing an action with something” — and I’d add that you can do that either passively or actively. Thanks for that contribution.

Wonderful, thank you so much.

I knew it the moment I saw this title, and I was hoping for it too — if you’ll allow me to say so, we really dove into the depths of our overarching theme of action today, and given the many question marks I had along the way, and still have now, I have to say: what a great room. Heartfelt thanks to everyone, to all the listeners, and for your moderation. As my highlight, let me summarize from my own perspective: a couple of days ago we had the topic of education — learning first, then education, I believe. And the pyramid leading up to education was something I’d fixed in my mind as: the foundation of education is built, on one hand, from upbringing, then socialisation, then command over knowledge, both data and experiential knowledge — and all of that comes together, through a certain intellectual strength, into a certain self-determined form of education. I’d now like to add one more building block to that foundation: acting. Because I think it’s essential, for a person’s education, to understand what acting can mean, what it can imply, and what consequences can follow from acting — or from not acting. Thank you for that, and have a wonderful weekend.

Wonderful, thank you so much. There’s not much left for me to add. I also found this a fantastic room, with all the different angles we opened up through our questions — some are answered, and some are welcome to keep resonating with us. As I said, when we make the next connection tomorrow, let’s see which questions might get closed off through that, or which new ones come up that we’ll tackle together. So you’re all very warmly invited to join tomorrow at the digital campfire. I’m genuinely curious which direction the room will develop in together tomorrow — let’s just let ourselves be surprised. With that, I wish you all a wonderful Saturday, and I’m really looking forward to tomorrow morning at 8am, back here at Deep Talk. Until then — ciao.