The Value of Nothing: Out of Nothing Comes Something. That was an essay I wrote when I was 11 years old and I got a B+. (Laughter) What I'm going to talk about: nothing out of something, and how we create. And I'm gonna try and do that within the 18-minute time span that we were told to stay within, and to follow the TED commandments: that is, actually, something that creates a near-death experience, but near-death is good for creativity. (Laughter) OK.
Eimillegi väärtus: eimillestki sünnib midagi. See oli essee, mille ma kirjutasin 11-aastaselt ja ma sain hindeks 4+. (Naer) Millest ma rääkima hakkan: eimiski millestki ja kuidas me loome. Ning ma proovin seda teha 18-minutilise ajavahemiku jooksul, millest meil paluti kinni hoida, jälgides TEDi reegleid: See on tõepoolest miski, mis loob surmalähedase kogemuse, kuid surmalähedane kogemus on loomingulisusele hea. (Naer) OK.
So, I also want to explain, because Dave Eggers said he was going to heckle me if I said anything that was a lie, or not true to universal creativity. And I've done it this way for half the audience, who is scientific. When I say we, I don't mean you, necessarily; I mean me, and my right brain, my left brain and the one that's in between that is the censor and tells me what I'm saying is wrong. And I'm going do that also by looking at what I think is part of my creative process, which includes a number of things that happened, actually -- the nothing started even earlier than the moment in which I'm creating something new. And that includes nature, and nurture, and what I refer to as nightmares.
Ma tahaksin veel selgitada, kuna Dave Eggers ütles, et ta hakkab mulle vahele hüüdma, kui ma peaksin ütlema midagi, mis on vale või üldiselt loomingulisuse kohta mittepaikapidav. Ma olen selle nõnda teinud poole publiku jaoks, kes on teadusega seotud. Kui ma ütlen "meie", ei räägi ma ilmtingimata meist kõigist; ma pean silmas iseennast ning oma paremat ja vasakut ajupoolkera, ning seda, mis on seal vahel, ehk tsensorit, mis ütleb mulle, et see, millest ma parasjagu räägin, on vale. Ning oma kõne jooksul pean ma silmas ka asju, mis minu arvates on olnud olulised minu loomeprotsessis, see hõlmab paljusid asju, mis juhtusid, tegelikult eimiski algas juba varem kui hetk, milles ma loon midagi uut. See hõlmab loodust, hoolitsust ja minu mõistes luupainajaid.
Now in the nature area, we look at whether or not we are innately equipped with something, perhaps in our brains, some abnormal chromosome that causes this muse-like effect. And some people would say that we're born with it in some other means. And others, like my mother, would say that I get my material from past lives. Some people would also say that creativity may be a function of some other neurological quirk -- van Gogh syndrome -- that you have a little bit of, you know, psychosis, or depression. I do have to say, somebody -- I read recently that van Gogh wasn't really necessarily psychotic, that he might have had temporal lobe seizures, and that might have caused his spurt of creativity, and I don't -- I suppose it does something in some part of your brain. And I will mention that I actually developed temporal lobe seizures a number of years ago, but it was during the time I was writing my last book, and some people say that book is quite different.
Looduse osas vaatame, kas me oleme looduse poolt varustatud millegagi või mitte, näiteks mõni ebatavaline kromosoom meie ajus, mis tekitab selle muusaliku efekti. Mõned inimesed ütlevad, et see on meile sünniga kaasa antud mõnel muul viisil, ning teised, näiteks nagu mu ema, ütlevad, et ma saan inspiratsiooni oma eelmistest eludest. Mõned inimesed ütlevad, et loomingulisus võib olla mõne neuroloogilise vea tagajärg -- van Goghi sündroom -- et sa oled veidi psühhootiline või depressioonis. Ma ei saa mainimata jätta üht hiljuti loetud arvamust, et van Gogh ei olnud ilmtingimata psühhootiline, vaid et tal võisid olla temporaalsagara atakid, mis võisid päästa valla tema loomingulisuse. Ma arvan, et see tõesti põhjustab midagi mõnes ajusopis. Pean veel mainima, et ka mul endal ilmnesid mitu aastat tagasi temporaalsagara atakid, kuid see juhtus mu viimase raamatu kirjutamise ajal ning mõnede inimeste arvates on see raamat üsna erinev.
I think that part of it also begins with a sense of identity crisis: you know, who am I, why am I this particular person, why am I not black like everybody else? And sometimes you're equipped with skills, but they may not be the kind of skills that enable creativity. I used to draw. I thought I would be an artist. And I had a miniature poodle. And it wasn't bad, but it wasn't really creative. Because all I could really do was represent in a very one-on-one way. And I have a sense that I probably copied this from a book. And then, I also wasn't really shining in a certain area that I wanted to be, and you know, you look at those scores, and it wasn't bad, but it was not certainly predictive that I would one day make my living out of the artful arrangement of words.
Ma arvan, et osaliselt saab see alguse ka identiteedikriisi tunnetamisel: teate küll - kes ma olen, miks ma olen just see konkreetne inimene, miks ma ei ole mustanahaline nagu kõik teised? Ja mõnikord oled sa varustatud oskustega, kuid need ei pruugi olla oskused, mis vallandavad loomingulisuse. Ma joonistasin varem palju. Ma arvasin, et minust saab kunstnik. Mul oli ka pisike puudel. Mu joonistamisoskus ei olnud halb, aga see ei olnud ka väga loominguline, kuna kõik, mida ma tegelikult teha suutsin, oli üks-ühele maha joonistamine. Ja mul on tunne, et tõenäoliselt ma kopeerisin selle hoopis raamatust. Ma polnud ka eriti osav mõnel muul alal, milles ma tahtsin edukas olla, ja teate küll, näete neid tulemusi, need ei olnud halvad, kuid kindlasti ei ennustanud need ka, et ühel päeval teenin ma elatist sõnade osava kokkusobitamisega.
Also, one of the principles of creativity is to have a little childhood trauma. And I had the usual kind that I think a lot of people had, and that is that, you know, I had expectations placed on me. That figure right there, by the way, figure right there was a toy given to me when I was but nine years old, and it was to help me become a doctor from a very early age. I have some ones that were long lasting: from the age of five to 15, this was supposed to be my side occupation, and it led to a sense of failure.
Lisaks kõigele on üheks loomingulisuse reegliks lapsepõlvetrauma olemasolu. Mul oli üks tavaline, mis ma arvan, on paljude teistegagi juhtunud, nimelt, eks ole, et mulle olid peale surutud teatud ootused. See kuju seal pildil, muide, oli mulle antud mänguasi, kui ma olin 9-aastane, ning see pidi aitama mul arstiks saada juba väga varajases eas. Mõned ootused olid pikemaajalised: alates 5. kuni 15. eluaastani. See pidanuks olema mu teine tegevusala, kuid ma tundsin end ebaõnnestununa.
But actually, there was something quite real in my life that happened when I was about 14. And it was discovered that my brother, in 1967, and then my father, six months later, had brain tumors. And my mother believed that something had gone wrong, and she was gonna find out what it was, and she was gonna fix it. My father was a Baptist minister, and he believed in miracles, and that God's will would take care of that. But, of course, they ended up dying, six months apart. And after that, my mother believed that it was fate, or curses -- she went looking through all the reasons in the universe why this would have happened. Everything except randomness. She did not believe in randomness. There was a reason for everything. And one of the reasons, she thought, was that her mother, who had died when she was very young, was angry at her. And so, I had this notion of death all around me, because my mother also believed that I would be next, and she would be next. And when you are faced with the prospect of death very soon, you begin to think very much about everything. You become very creative, in a survival sense.
Tegelikult oli mu elus ka midagi üsna tõelist, mis juhtus, kui ma olin 14-aastane. See oli 1967. aastal, kui avastati, et mu vennal ja kuus kuud hiljem ka isal, olid ajukasvajad. Mu ema uskus, et midagi oli valesti läinud ning ta pidi selle välja uurima ja korda tegema. Mu isa oli baptistist kirikuõpetaja, kes uskus imedesse, ning et Jumala tahe hoolitseb selle eest. Kuid loomulikult nad lõpuks surid, kuuekuuse vahega. Pärast seda uskus mu ema, et see oli kas saatus või needus -- ta vaatas läbi kõikvõimalikud põhjused, miks see juhtuda võis. Kõik peale juhuslikkuse. Ta ei uskunud juhuslikkusesse. Kõigel oli põhjus ning üks põhjustest oli tema arvates asjaolu, et tema ema, kes suri juba siis, kui minu ema oli väga noor, oli tema peale vihane. Mu ümber valitses selline arusaam surmast, kuna mu ema uskus ka, et mina olen järgmine, ning et ka tema on järgmine. Kui sa oled vastamisi teadmisega, et su lähituleviku väljavaates laiutab surm, hakkad sa väga põhjalikult kõige üle mõtlema. Ellujäämise mõttes muutud sa väga loominguliseks.
And this, then, led to my big questions. And they're the same ones that I have today. And they are: why do things happen, and how do things happen? And the one my mother asked: how do I make things happen? It's a wonderful way to look at these questions, when you write a story. Because, after all, in that framework, between page one and 300, you have to answer this question of why things happen, how things happen, in what order they happen. What are the influences? How do I, as the narrator, as the writer, also influence that? And it's also one that, I think, many of our scientists have been asking. It's a kind of cosmology, and I have to develop a cosmology of my own universe, as the creator of that universe.
See siis juhtiski mind suurte küsimusteni. Ning need on samad küsimused, mis mul on täna. Need on: miks midagi juhtub ja kuidas midagi juhtub? Ja üks, mida mu ema küsis: kuidas saan mina midagi juhtuma panna? Suurepärane viis nendele küsimustele vastuse otsimiseks on mõne loo kirjutamisel, kuna lõppude lõpuks pead sa neis raamides, 1. ja 300. lk vahel, vastama küsimusele, miks midagi juhtub, kuidas midagi juhtub ning millises järjekorras need juhtuvad. Mis on mõjujõuks? Kuidas mina kui jutuvestja, kui kirjanik, seda omalt poolt mõjutan? Ja see on ka midagi, mida ma arvan, et paljud teadlased on küsinud. See on mingisugune kosmoloogia ja mina pean looma oma universumi kosmoloogia, olles kogu selle universumi looja.
And you see, there's a lot of back and forth in trying to make that happen, trying to figure it out -- years and years, oftentimes. So, when I look at creativity, I also think that it is this sense or this inability to repress, my looking at associations in practically anything in life. And I got a lot of them during what's been going on throughout this conference, almost everything that's been going on.
Selles on palju edasi-tagasi vaatamist, püüdes seda kõike luua, püüdes sellest aru saada -- tihtipeale aastaid ja aastaid. Niisiis, kui ma mõtlen loomingulisusele, mõtlen ma ka, et see on see tunnetus või see suutmatus maha suruda harjumust otsida seoseid praktiliselt kõige vahel elus. Ning mul on tekkinud palju selliseid seoseid kogu selle konverentsi jooksul, peaaegu kõige vahel, mis siin on juhtunud.
And so I'm going to use, as the metaphor, this association: quantum mechanics, which I really don't understand, but I'm still gonna use it as the process for explaining how it is the metaphor. So, in quantum mechanics, of course, you have dark energy and dark matter. And it's the same thing in looking at these questions of how things happen. There's a lot of unknown, and you often don't know what it is except by its absence. But when you make those associations, you want them to come together in a kind of synergy in the story, and what you're finding is what matters. The meaning. And that's what I look for in my work, a personal meaning.
Seega ma kasutan metafoorina järgmist seost: kvantmehaanika, millest ma tõepoolest aru ei saa, kuid ma kasutan seda siiski kui protsessi, kirjeldamaks kuidas see on metafoor. Kvantmehaanikas on meil teadagi tume energia ja tume aine. Ja niisamuti on nende küsimustega, et kuidas midagi juhtub. On palju tundmatut ning tihtipeale sa ei teagi sellest midagi rohkemat, kui et see puudub. Kuid neid seoseid luues soovid sa, et need jutustuses teatud sünergia abil kokku sulanduksid, ning see, mis sa leiad, ongi see, mis on tähtis. Tähendus. See ongi see, mida mina oma töödes otsin - isiklikku tähendust.
There is also the uncertainty principle, which is part of quantum mechanics, as I understand it. (Laughter) And this happens constantly in the writing. And there's the terrible and dreaded observer effect, in which you're looking for something, and you know, things are happening simultaneously, and you're looking at it in a different way, and you're trying to really look for the about-ness, or what is this story about. And if you try too hard, then you will only write the about. You won't discover anything. And what you were supposed to find, what you hoped to find in some serendipitous way, is no longer there. Now, I don't want to ignore the other side of what happens in our universe, like many of our scientists have. And so, I am going to just throw in string theory here, and just say that creative people are multidimensional, and there are 11 levels, I think, of anxiety. (Laughter) And they all operate at the same time.
Kvantmehaanika üks osa on ka määramatuse printsiip, nagu ma aru saan. (Naer) Ja see juhtub pidevalt ka kirjutamisel. Selles on ka kohutav ja kardetud pealtvaataja efekt, mille puhul sa otsid midagi ja sa tead, et mingid asjad juhtuvad üheaegselt, ja sa vaatad sellele teistmoodi ning püüad tõesti leida sisu. Või seda, millest see lugu räägib. Ja kui sa püüad liiga palju, kirjutad sa ainult sellest sisust. Sa ei avasta midagi uut. Ning see, mida sa oleksid pidanud leidma, mida sa lootsid leida, kuidagi pooljuhuslikult, ei ole enam seal. Ma ei taha kõrvale vaadata teisest vaatenurgast selle kohta, mis meie universumis toimub, nagu paljud teadlased on teinud. Seega lülitan ma siia sisse ka stringiteooria ja ütlen, et loomingulised inimesed on mitmedimensioonilised, ja et minu arvates on olemas 11 erinevat ärevuse taset. (Naer) Ja need kõik töötavad korraga.
There is also a big question of ambiguity. And I would link that to something called the cosmological constant. And you don't know what is operating, but something is operating there. And ambiguity, to me, is very uncomfortable in my life, and I have it. Moral ambiguity. It is constantly there. And, just as an example, this is one that recently came to me. It was something I read in an editorial by a woman who was talking about the war in Iraq. And she said, "Save a man from drowning, you are responsible to him for life." A very famous Chinese saying, she said. And that means because we went into Iraq, we should stay there until things were solved. You know, maybe even 100 years. So, there was another one that I came across, and it's "saving fish from drowning." And it's what Buddhist fishermen say, because they're not supposed to kill anything. And they also have to make a living, and people need to be fed. So their way of rationalizing that is they are saving the fish from drowning, and unfortunately, in the process the fish die.
Lisaks on ka suur küsimus mitmemõttelisuse kohta. Selle ma ühendaksin millegagi, mida kutsutakse kosmoloogiliseks konstandiks. Sa ei tea, mis parasjagu töötab, kuid tead, et miski töötab. Mitmemõttelisus tekitab mulle elus väga palju ebamugavust, ja seda mul jätkub. Moraalne mitmemõttelisus. See on alati olemas. Ja lihtsalt näiteks, see on midagi, mis minuga hiljuti juhtus. Ma lugesin seda ühes juhtkirjas, mis oli kirjutatud ühe naise poolt, kes rääkis Iraagi sõjast. Ja ta kirjutas: "Päästa inimene uppumisest ja sa vastutad tema ees kogu elu." Üks väga kuulus hiina vanasõna, ta kirjutas. Ja see tähendab, et kuna me juba Iraaki läksime, peaksime sinna ka jääma, kuni kõik on lahendatud. Kasvõi sajaks aastaks. Oli ka üks teine ütlus, milleni ma jõudsin, ja see on: "Päästame kalu uppumisest." Seda kasutavad budistlikud kalamehed, kuna nad ei tohi kedagi tappa. Kuid ka nemad peavad millestki ära elama ja inimesed peavad toidetud saama. Seega nad kohandasid olukorda, öeldes, et päästavad kalu uppumisest, kuigi kahjuks selle tegevuse jooksul kalad surevad.
Now, what's encapsulated in both these drowning metaphors -- actually, one of them is my mother's interpretation, and it is a famous Chinese saying, because she said it to me: "save a man from drowning, you are responsible to him for life." And it was a warning -- don't get involved in other people's business, or you're going to get stuck. OK. I think if somebody really was drowning, she'd save them. But, both of these sayings -- saving a fish from drowning, or saving a man from drowning -- to me they had to do with intentions.
Nüüd, mis neis mõlemas uppumise metafooris sisaldub -- tegelikult, üks neist on mu ema tõlgendus, ning see on kuulus hiina ütlus, kuna ta ütles mulle: "Päästa inimene uppumisest ja sa vastutad tema ees kogu elu." Ning see oli hoiatus -- ära topi oma nina teiste inimeste asjadesse või sa jääd sellesse kinni. OK. Ma arvan, et kui keegi tõepoolest oleks uppumas, mu ema ikkagi päästaks ta. Kuid mõlemad ütlused, päästes kala uppumisest või päästes inimest uppumisest, minu jaoks on need seotud kavatsustega.
And all of us in life, when we see a situation, we have a response. And then we have intentions. There's an ambiguity of what that should be that we should do, and then we do something. And the results of that may not match what our intentions had been. Maybe things go wrong. And so, after that, what are our responsibilities? What are we supposed to do? Do we stay in for life, or do we do something else and justify and say, well, my intentions were good, and therefore I cannot be held responsible for all of it? That is the ambiguity in my life that really disturbed me, and led me to write a book called "Saving Fish From Drowning."
Kõik me oma elus, kui me oleme mingis olukorras, on meil sellele mingi vastus. Ning siis on meil kavatsused. See, mida me siis tegema peaks, on mitmeti mõistetav ning siis me teeme midagi. Ja selle tegevuse tulemus ei pruugi meie kavatsustega kokku minna. Võib-olla lähevad asjad valesti. Ning siis, peale seda, mis on meie vastutus? Mida me peaksime tegema? Kas me jääme terveks eluks koju või teeme me midagi muud ning õigustame ja ütleme, et vähemalt ma tahtsin teha head ning seetõttu ei ole ma selle kõige eest vastutav? See on minu elu mitmemõttelisus, mis mind tõsiselt häiris, kuid juhtis mind kirjutama raamatut nimega "Päästes kalu uppumisest".
I saw examples of that. Once I identified this question, it was all over the place. I got these hints everywhere. And then, in a way, I knew that they had always been there. And then writing, that's what happens. I get these hints, these clues, and I realize that they've been obvious, and yet they have not been. And what I need, in effect, is a focus. And when I have the question, it is a focus. And all these things that seem to be flotsam and jetsam in life actually go through that question, and what happens is those particular things become relevant. And it seems like it's happening all the time. You think there's a sort of coincidence going on, a serendipity, in which you're getting all this help from the universe. And it may also be explained that now you have a focus. And you are noticing it more often.
Ma nägin selle kohta näiteid, kui ma olin küsimuse välja selgitanud. See oli kõikjal. Ma sain neid vihjeid igalt poolt. Ja siis, mingil moel, teadsin ma, et need on alati seal olnud. Ning kirjutamine on see, mis seejärel juhtub. Ma saan vihjeid, niidiotsi, ja ma mõistan, et need on olnud enesestmõistetavad ning samas ka mitte. Mida ma tegelikult vajan, on fookus. Kui mul on küsimus, siis see ongi fookus. Ning kõik need asjad elus, mis tunduvad kui tarbetult triiviv risu, saavad selle küsimuse kaudu oluliseks. Ning tundub, justkui juhtuks see kogu aeg. Sa mõtled, et see on juhuslik, kogemata juhtunud, saades abi universumist. Aga seda võib põhjendada ka sellega, et sul on fookus. Ning sa märkad seda üha enam,
But you apply this. You begin to look at things having to do with your tensions. Your brother, who's fallen in trouble, do you take care of him? Why or why not? It may be something that is perhaps more serious -- as I said, human rights in Burma. I was thinking that I shouldn't go because somebody said, if I did, it would show that I approved of the military regime there. And then, after a while, I had to ask myself, "Why do we take on knowledge, why do we take on assumptions that other people have given us?" And it was the same thing that I felt when I was growing up, and was hearing these rules of moral conduct from my father, who was a Baptist minister. So I decided that I would go to Burma for my own intentions, and still didn't know that if I went there, what the result of that would be, if I wrote a book -- and I just would have to face that later, when the time came.
aga ka rakendad. Sa hakkad asjadele vaatama sõltuvalt oma huvist. Su vend, kes on sattunud pahandustesse, kas sa hoolitsed tema eest? Miks või miks mitte? See võib olla midagi, mis on ehk veel tõsisem -- nagu ma ütlesin, inimõigused Burmas. Ma mõtlesin, et ma ei peaks minema, kuna keegi ütles, et kui ma lähen, näitab see, et ma pooldan sealset militaarset korda. Ning mõne aja pärast pidin ma endalt küsima: "Miks me võtame vastu teadmised, miks me võtame vastu eeldused, mis teised inimesed on meile andnud?" See oli seesama, mida ma tundsin, kui ma üles kasvasin, kuuldes neid moraalse käitumise reegleid oma isalt, kes oli baptistist kirikuõpetaja. Seega ma otsustasin, et ma lähen Burmasse iseenda pärast, kuigi ma ei teadnud, et kui ma lähen, siis milline oleks selle tulemus, kui ma kirjutaksin raamatu -- ning ma peaksin sellele hiljem lihtsalt vastu astuma, kui tuleb õige aeg.
We are all concerned with things that we see in the world that we are aware of. We come to this point and say, what do I as an individual do? Not all of us can go to Africa, or work at hospitals, so what do we do, if we have this moral response, this feeling? Also, I think one of the biggest things we are all looking at, and we talked about today, is genocide. This leads to this question. When I look at all these things that are morally ambiguous and uncomfortable, and I consider what my intentions should be, I realize it goes back to this identity question that I had when I was a child -- and why am I here, and what is the meaning of my life, and what is my place in the universe?
Meid kõiki puudutavad asjad, mida me endale teadaolevas maailmas näeme. Me jõuame sellesse punkti ja küsime, mida mina kui üksikisik teen? Mitte kõik meie seast ei saa minna Aafrikasse või töötada haiglates, siis mida me peaksime tegema, kui meil on see moraalne vastus, see tunne? Lisaks, ma arvan, et üks suurimaid asju, mida me kõik vaatleme ning millest me täna rääkisime, on genotsiid. See juhatab selle küsimuseni, kui ma mõtlen kõigile asjadele, mis on moraalselt mitmetähenduslikud ja ebamugavad ning ma mõtlen, mis minu kavatsused peaksid olema, saan ma aru, et see viib tagasi identiteediküsimuseni, mis mul lapsena tekkis -- miks ma olen siin ning mis on minu elu mõte, mis on minu koht universumis?
It seems so obvious, and yet it is not. We all hate moral ambiguity in some sense, and yet it is also absolutely necessary. In writing a story, it is the place where I begin. Sometimes I get help from the universe, it seems. My mother would say it was the ghost of my grandmother from the very first book, because it seemed I knew things I was not supposed to know. Instead of writing that the grandmother died accidentally, from an overdose of opium, while having too much of a good time, I actually put down in the story that the woman killed herself, and that actually was the way it happened. And my mother decided that that information must have come from my grandmother.
See paistab nii ilmselge, aga siiski ei ole. Me kõik vihkame mingis mõttes moraalset mitmetähenduslikkust, kuid ometi on see täiesti vajalik. Loo kirjutamisel alustan ma just sellest. Mõnikord saan ma abi universumist, mulle tundub. Mu ema ütleks, et see oli see mu vanaema kummitus esimesest raamatust, kuna tundus, et ma teadsin asju, mida ma ei oleks pidanud teadma. Selle asemel, et kirjutada, et vanaema suri õnnetuse tagajärjel oopiumi üledoosi, kui ta parajasti lõbutses, kirjutasin ma tegelikult, et ta tappis end, ning see oli ka tõepoolest see, mis juhtus. Ning mu ema otsustas, et see info pidi tulema mu vanaemalt.
There are also things, quite uncanny, which bring me information that will help me in the writing of the book. In this case, I was writing a story that included some kind of detail, period of history, a certain location. And I needed to find something historically that would match that. And I took down this book, and I -- first page that I flipped it to was exactly the setting, and the time period, and the kind of character I needed -- was the Taiping rebellion, happening in the area near Guilin, outside of that, and a character who thought he was the son of God.
On ka asju, üsna üleloomulikke, mis toovad mulle infot, mis aitab mul raamatut kirjutada. Näiteks, ma kirjutasin üht lugu, mis sisaldas teatud detaile, ajaperioodi, kindlat asukohta. Ning ma pidin leidma midagi ajaloolist, mis sellega kokku sobiks. Ja ma võtsin kätte selle raamatu, ja ma --- esimene lehekülg, millele ma pöörasin, oli täpselt samas tegevuspaigas ning ajaperioodil. Ja tegevuspaik, mida mul vaja oli, oli Taipingi ülestõus, mis toimus Qualini lähedal, sellest väljaspool, ning tegelane, kes pidas end Jumala pojaks.
You wonder, are these things random chance? Well, what is random? What is chance? What is luck? What are things that you get from the universe that you can't really explain? And that goes into the story, too. These are the things I constantly think about from day to day. Especially when good things happen, and, in particular, when bad things happen. But I do think there's a kind of serendipity, and I do want to know what those elements are, so I can thank them, and also try to find them in my life. Because, again, I think that when I am aware of them, more of them happen.
Sa mõtled, kas see on juhuslik kokkusattumus? Või mis üldse on juhuslik? Mis on võimalus? Mis on õnn? Mis on need asjad, mida sa saad universumist, kuid mida sa tegelikult seletada ei suuda? Ja see on ka osa jutustusest. Need on asjad, millele ma päevast päeva pidevalt mõtlen. Eriti kui juhtuvad head asjad ja veelgi rohkem, kui juhtuvad halvad asjad. Kuid ma usun, et on olemas mingisugune õnnelik juhus, ja ma tahan teada, mis on selle elemendid, et ma saaksin neid tänada ning neid oma elust leida. Sest, ma ütlen veelkord, ma usun, et kui ma olen neist teadlik, juhtub neid rohkem.
Another chance encounter is when I went to a place -- I just was with some friends, and we drove randomly to a different place, and we ended up in this non-tourist location, a beautiful village, pristine. And we walked three valleys beyond, and the third valley, there was something quite mysterious and ominous, a discomfort I felt. And then I knew that had to be [the] setting of my book. And in writing one of the scenes, it happened in that third valley. For some reason I wrote about cairns -- stacks of rocks -- that a man was building. And I didn't know exactly why I had it, but it was so vivid. I got stuck, and a friend, when she asked if I would go for a walk with her dogs, that I said, sure. And about 45 minutes later, walking along the beach, I came across this. And it was a man, a Chinese man, and he was stacking these things, not with glue, not with anything. And I asked him, "How is it possible to do this?" And he said, "Well, I guess with everything in life, there's a place of balance." And this was exactly the meaning of my story at that point. I had so many examples -- I have so many instances like this, when I'm writing a story, and I cannot explain it. Is it because I had the filter that I have such a strong coincidence in writing about these things? Or is it a kind of serendipity that we cannot explain, like the cosmological constant?
Veel üks kokkusattumus oli, kui ma läksin ühte kohta -- ma olin lihtsalt mõnede sõpradega ning me sõitsime juhuslikult ühte teise kohta, kuid jõudsime sellesse mitte-turismipaika, ilus külake, puutumata. Me jalutasime läbi kolme oru ning kolmandas orus oli midagi üsna müstilist ja pahaendelist, ma tundsin ebamugavust. Ja sel hetkel ma teadsin, et see peab olema mu raamatu tegevuspaik. Üks sündmuskoht, millest ma kirjutasin, oli seesama kolmas org. Mingil põhjusel kirjutasin ma kivikuhilatest, mida üks mees ehitas. Ning ma ei teadnud täpselt, miks ma see mul seal oli, kuid kujutluspilt oli väga elav. Ma takerdusin veidi ning üks sõber palus mul oma koertega jalutama minna, ma olin nõus. Ning umbes 45 minutit hiljem, jalutades mööda rannaäärt, jõudsin ma selleni. See oli üks mees, hiinlane, kes ladus neidsamu kive hunnikusse, ilma liimita, ilma milletagi. Ma küsisin, kuidas on see võimalik, ning ta vastas: "Ma arvan et kõigel meie elus on olemas tasakaal." See oli sel hetkel ka täpselt minu jutustuse mõte. Mul oli nii palju näiteid -- mul on nii palju sarnaseid juhtumeid, kui ma parajasti mõnda lugu kirjutan, ning ma ei oska seda seletada. On see seetõttu, et ma usun, et mul lihtsalt on sellised suured kokkusattumused, kui ma neist parasjagu kirjutan? Või on see mingisugune õnnelik juhus, mida me ei saa seletada, nagu on ka kosmoloogiline konstant?
A big thing that I also think about is accidents. And as I said, my mother did not believe in randomness. What is the nature of accidents? And how are we going to assign what the responsibility and the causes are, outside of a court of law? I was able to see that in a firsthand way, when I went to beautiful Dong village, in Guizhou, the poorest province of China. And I saw this beautiful place. I knew I wanted to come back. And I had a chance to do that, when National Geographic asked me if I wanted to write anything about China. And I said yes, about this village of singing people, singing minority. And they agreed, and between the time I saw this place and the next time I went, there was a terrible accident. A man, an old man, fell asleep, and his quilt dropped in a pan of fire that kept him warm. 60 homes were destroyed, and 40 were damaged. Responsibility was assigned to the family. The man's sons were banished to live three kilometers away, in a cowshed. And, of course, as Westerners, we say, "Well, it was an accident. That's not fair. It's the son, not the father."
Üks tähtis teema, millest ma samuti tihti mõtlen, on õnnetused. Ning nagu ma ütlesin, mu ema ei uskunud juhuslikkusesse. Mis on õnnetuste olemus? Ning kuidas me saame hinnata tagajärgi ja põhjuseid väljaspool kohtumaja? Mul oli võimalus seda oma silmaga näha, kui ma läksin imeilusasse Dongi külla Goizhous, mis on Hiina kõige vaesem provints. Ja ma nägin seda imeilusat kohta ning teadsin, et ma tahan siia tagasi tulla. Mul oli see võimalus, kui National Geographic küsis, kas ma tahaksin midagi Hiina kohta kirjutada. Ja ma vastasin "Jah, sellest laulvate inimeste külast, laulvast vähemusest." Nad olid nõus. Mu esimese ja teise külastuse vahepealsel ajal oli toimunud üks kohutav õnnetus. Üks vana mees jäi magama ning ta tekk kukkus tuleasemele, mis hoidis teda soojas. 60 kodu hävis ja 40 sai kahjustada. Vastutuse kandmine määrati perekonnale. Mehe pojad pidid karistuseks elama kolme km kaugusel lehmalaudas. Ja nagu ikka, läänemeelsetena ütleme me, et see oli õnnetus ning see on ebaaus. See on poeg, mitte isa.
When I go on a story, I have to let go of those kinds of beliefs. It takes a while, but I have to let go of them and just go there, and be there. And so I was there on three occasions, different seasons. And I began to sense something different about the history, and what had happened before, and the nature of life in a very poor village, and what you find as your joys, and your rituals, your traditions, your links with other families. And I saw how this had a kind of justice, in its responsibility. I was able to find out also about the ceremony that they were using, a ceremony they hadn't used in about 29 years. And it was to send some men -- a Feng Shui master sent men down to the underworld on ghost horses. Now you, as Westerners, and I, as Westerners, would say well, that's superstition. But after being there for a while, and seeing the amazing things that happened, you begin to wonder whose beliefs are those that are in operation in the world, determining how things happen.
Ent kui ma kirjutan lugu, pean ma sellistest uskumustest lahti laskma. See võtab aega, aga ma pean neist lahti laskma ning lihtsalt sinna minema ja seal olema. Seega ma olin seal kolmel korral, erinevatel aastaaegadel. Ning ma hakkasin tajuma midagi erinevat ajaloo kohta ning selle kohta, mis varasemalt juhtunud oli, ja elu kohta väga vaeses külas, ning selle kohta, mida sa pead enda rõõmudeks, rituaalideks, traditsioonideks, sidemeteks teiste perekondadega. Ma nägin, kuidas seal oli mingi õiglus vastutustundes. Mul õnnestus ka uurida tseremoonia kohta, mida nad kasutasid, tseremoonia, mida nad ei olnud kasutanud umbes 29 aastat. See tähendas, et mehi saadeti -- Feng Shui meister saatis mehi kummitushobustel allmaailma. Teie kui lääne inimesed ja mina kui lääne inimene ütleksime, et see on kõigest uskumus. Kuid pärast mõnda aega seal kohalviibimist ning kõigi uskumatute asjade nägemist hakkad sa mõtlema selle üle, kelle uskumusi maailmas kasutatakse selleks, et tõlgendada, kuidas midagi juhtub.
So I remained with them, and the more I wrote that story, the more I got into those beliefs, and I think that's important for me -- to take on the beliefs, because that is where the story is real, and that is where I'm gonna find the answers to how I feel about certain questions that I have in life. Years go by, of course, and the writing, it doesn't happen instantly, as I'm trying to convey it to you here at TED. The book comes and it goes. When it arrives, it is no longer my book. It is in the hands of readers, and they interpret it differently. But I go back to this question of, how do I create something out of nothing? And how do I create my own life?
Seega ma jäin nendega ning mida enam ma seda lugu kirjutasin, seda enam hakkasin ma uskuma nende uskumusi, ning ma usun, et see on mulle oluline -- uskumuste vastu võtmine, kuna see on koht, kus lugu on tõeline, ning see on koht, kust ma leian vastused sellele, kuidas ma suhtun teatud küsimustesse oma elus. Aastad lähevad loomulikult mööda ja kirjutamine, see ei juhtu kohe, nagu ma püüan seda teile siin TEDil edasi anda. Raamat tuleb ja läheb. Kui see saabub, ei ole see enam minu raamat. See on lugejate kätes ning nemad tõlgendavad seda erinevalt. Kuid ma lähen tagasi selle küsimuse juurde, kuidas ma loon midagi eimillestki? Nind kuidas ma loon omaenda elu?
And I think it is by questioning, and saying to myself that there are no absolute truths. I believe in specifics, the specifics of story, and the past, the specifics of that past, and what is happening in the story at that point. I also believe that in thinking about things -- my thinking about luck, and fate, and coincidences and accidents, God's will, and the synchrony of mysterious forces -- I will come to some notion of what that is, how we create. I have to think of my role. Where I am in the universe, and did somebody intend for me to be that way, or is it just something I came up with? And I also can find that by imagining fully, and becoming what is imagined -- and yet is in that real world, the fictional world. And that is how I find particles of truth, not the absolute truth, or the whole truth. And they have to be in all possibilities, including those I never considered before.
Ma usun, et see on läbi küsimuste ning endale tunnistades, et absoluutset tõde ei ole olemas. Ma usun üksikasjadesse, loo üksikasjadesse, ja minevikku, mineviku üksikasjadesse, ning sellesse, mis jutustuses parajasti juhtub. Ma usun ka, et mõeldes asjadele, oma mõtetes õnne, saatuse, kokkusattumuste ja õnnetuste kohta, Jumala tahte ja müstiliste jõudude sünkroonilisuse kohta, jõuan ma mingi arvamuseni, mis see on, kuidas me loome. Ma pean mõtlema oma rollile. Kus olen mina universumis ja kas keegi nägi ette, et ma selline pean olema või jõudsin ma lihtsalt ise selleni? Ning ma leian selle ka tõeliselt kujutledes ning saades selleks, mida ma kujutlen, ent mis ometi on reaalses maailmas vaid väljamõeldud maailm. See on viis, kuidas ma leian tõeterasid, mitte absoluutset tõde või kogu tõde. Need peavad olema igas võimaluses, kaas arvatud need, mida ma iial varem ei ole kaalunud.
So, there are never complete answers. Or rather, if there is an answer, it is to remind myself that there is uncertainty in everything, and that is good, because then I will discover something new. And if there is a partial answer, a more complete answer from me, it is to simply imagine. And to imagine is to put myself in that story, until there was only -- there is a transparency between me and the story that I am creating.
Seega ei ole olemas täielikke vastuseid. Või isegi kui on vastus, on see vaid meenutamiseks, et igas asjas on määramatust, mis on hea, sest see aitab mul avastada midagi uut. Ning kui on olemas poolik vastus, siis täielikum vastus minu poolt, see on lihtsalt oma kujutleda. Kujutlemine on vaid enda loo sisse panemine, kuni on ainult -- minu ja minu loodava jutustuse vahel on läbipaistvus.
And that's how I've discovered that if I feel what is in the story -- in one story -- then I come the closest, I think, to knowing what compassion is, to feeling that compassion. Because for everything, in that question of how things happen, it has to do with the feeling. I have to become the story in order to understand a lot of that. We've come to the end of the talk, and I will reveal what is in the bag, and it is the muse, and it is the things that transform in our lives, that are wonderful and stay with us. There she is. Thank you very much! (Applause)
Niimoodi olen ma avastanud, et kui ma tunnetan, mis selles loos on -- ühes loos -- jõuan ma kõige lähemale, ma arvan, teadmisele, mis on kaastunne, ja selle kaastunde tundmisele. Sest kõik selles küsimuses, kuidas miski juhtub, on seotud tunnetega. Ma pean saama oma jutustuseks, et seda mõista. Me oleme jõudnud selle kõnega lõpule ning ma paljastan, mis on selles kotis, see on muusa, see on kõik need asjad, mille tähendus meie elus muutub, mis on imelised ja mis jäävad meiega. Seal ta on. Suured tänud! (Aplaus)