A few years ago, I set out on a mission to find God. Now, I'm going to tell you right up front that I failed, which, as a lawyer, is a really hard thing for me to admit. But on that failed journey, a lot of what I found was enlightening. And one thing in particular gave me a lot of hope. It has to do with the magnitude and significance of our differences.
Pre nekoliko godina, krenula sam u misiju da pronađem boga. Odmah ću vam reći da nisam uspela, što je meni, kao advokatu, zaista teško da priznam. Ali, na tom neuspelom putovanju je mnogo toga što sam pronašla bilo prosvetljujuće. Jedna stvar mi je pogotovo dala mnogo nade. Ima veze sa izraženošću i značajem naših različitosti.
So, I was raised in America by Indian parents -- culturally Hindu, but practicing a strict and relatively unknown religion outside of India called Jainism. To give you an idea of just how minority that makes me: people from India represent roughly one percent of the US population; Hindus, about 0.7 percent; Jains, at most .00046 percent. To put that in context: more people visit the Vermont Teddy Bear Factory each year than are followers of the Jain religion in America. To add to my minority mix, my parents then decided, "What a great idea! Let's send her to Catholic school" --
Odgajili su me u Americi roditelji Indusi, u kulturnom pogledu Hindu, ali su upražnjavali strogu religiju koja je relativno nepoznata izvan Indije, zvanu đainizam. Da vam dam predstavu o tome koliko sam u manjini zbog toga, ljudi iz Indije predstavljaju otprilike jedan odsto stanovništva SAD-a; hinduisti oko 0,7 posto; đainisti najviše 0,00046 posto. Da to stavimo u kontekst, više ljudi svake godine poseti fabriku plišanih meda u Vermontu nego što ima sledbenika đainizma u Americi. Da doprinesu mojoj manjinskoj kombinaciji, moji roditelji su potom rešili: „Sjajna ideja! Pošaljimo je u katoličku školu!“ -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
where my sister and I were the only non-white, non-Catholic students in the entire school.
gde smo moja sestra i ja bile jedini učenici u celoj školi koji nisu beli i nisu katolici.
At the Infant Jesus of Prague School in Flossmoor, Illinois -- yes, that's really what it was called -- we were taught to believe that there is a single Supreme Being who is responsible for everything, the whole shebang, from the creation of the Universe to moral shepherding to eternal life. But at home, I was being taught something entirely different. Followers of the Jain religion don't believe in a single Supreme Being or even a team of Supreme Beings. Instead, we're taught that God manifests as the perfection of each of us as individuals, and that we're actually spending our entire lives striving to remove the bad karmas that stand in the way of us becoming our own godlike, perfect selves. On top of that, one of the core principles of Jainism is something called "non-absolutism." Non-absolutists believe that no single person can hold ownership or knowledge of absolute truth, even when it comes to religious beliefs. Good luck testing that concept out on the priests and nuns in your Catholic school.
U Školi praškog malog Isusa u Flosmuru u Ilinoisu - da, stvarno se tako zove - učili su nas da verujemo da postoji jedinstveno vrhovno biće koje je odgovorno za sve, čitavu stvar, od stvaranja univerzuma i moralnog usmeravanja do večnog života. Međutim, kod kuće su me učili nečemu sasvim drugom. Sledbenici đainizma ne veruju u jedinstveno vrhovno biće, pa čak ni u tim vrhovnih bića. Umesto toga su nas učili da se bog manifestuje kao savršenstvo svakog od nas kao pojedinca i da zapravo provodimo čitav život u težnji da uklonimo lošu karmu koja se isprečava na našem putu da postanemo svoje božansko, savršeno ja. Povrh toga, jedan od suštinskih principa đainizma je nešto što se zove „neapsolutizam“. Neapsolutisti veruju da nijedna osoba ne može posedovati niti znati apsolutnu istinu, čak i kada se radi o religijskim verovanjima. Čik isprobajte taj koncept na sveštenicima i kaluđericama u svojoj katoličkoj školi.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
No wonder I was confused and hyperaware of how different I was from my peers. Cut to 20-something years later, and I found myself to be a highly spiritual person, but I was floundering. I was spiritually homeless. I came to learn that I was a "None," which isn't an acronym or a clever play on words, nor is it one of these. It's simply the painfully uninspired name given to everyone who checks off the box "none" when Pew Research asks them about their religious affiliation.
Nije ni čudo što sam bila zbunjena i preterano svesna svoje različitosti u odnosu na svoje vršnjake. Premotajte film 20 godina kasnije i smatram sebe veoma spiritualnom osobom, ali bila sam nestalna. Bila sam duhovni beskućnik. Saznala sam da sam „nijedno“, što nije skraćenica niti pametna igra rečima, a nije ni ovako nešto. To je jednostavno bolno neinspirativni naziv koje se daje svima koji štrikliraju opciju „nijedno“ kada ih Istraživački centar Pju pita kojoj religiji pripadaju.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Now, a couple of interesting things about Nones are: there are a lot of us, and we skew young. In 2014, there were over 56 million religiously unaffiliated Nones in the United States. And Nones account for over one-third of adults between the ages of 18 to 33. But the most interesting thing to me about Nones is that we're often spiritual. In fact, 68 percent of us believe, with some degree of certainty, that there is a God. We're just not sure who it is.
Par zanimljivih stvari o „nijednima“: ima nas mnogo i pretežno smo mladi. Godine 2014. bilo je više od 56 miliona „nijednih“ bez verske pripadnosti u Sjedinjenim Državama. „Nijedni“ obuhvataju više od trećine odraslih starosti između 18 i 33 godine. Ali je po meni najzanimljivija stvar vezana za „nijedne“ to da smo često spiritualni. Zapravo, 68 posto nas veruje, sa određenim stepenom sigurnosti, da postoji bog. Samo nismo sigurni ko je to.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
So the first takeaway for me when I realized I was a None and had found that information out was that I wasn't alone. I was finally part of a group in America that had a lot of members, which felt really reassuring. But then the second, not-so-reassuring takeaway was that, oh, man, there are a lot of us. That can't be good, because if a lot of highly spiritual people are currently godless, maybe finding God is not going to be as easy as I had originally hoped.
Prvo što sam uvidela kada sam shvatila da sam „nijedno“ i došla do ove informacije je da nisam sama. Konačno sam bila deo grupe u Americi koja je imala mnogo članova, što me je zaista ohrabrivalo. Ali drugo što sam uvidela, a što nije tako ohrabrujuće, je da, o čoveče, ima nas puno. To ne može biti dobro, jer ako je veliki broj izuzetno spiritualnih ljudi trenutno bezbožno, možda pronalaženje boga neće biti tako lako kao što sam se isprva nadala.
So that is when I decided that on my spiritual journey, I was going to avoid the obvious places and skip the big-box religions altogether and instead venture out into the spiritual fringe of mediums and faith healers and godmen. But remember, I'm a non-absolutist, which means I was pretty inclined to keep a fairly open mind, which turned out to be a good thing, because I went to a witch's potluck dinner at the LGBT Center in New York City, where I befriended two witches; drank a five-gallon jerrican full of volcanic water with a shaman in Peru; got a hug from a saint in the convention center -- she smelled really nice --
Tada sam odlučila da ću na svom duhovnom putovanju zaobilaziti očigledna mesta, sasvim preskočiti najveće religije i umesto toga zaći u sporedne duhovne ulice medijuma, verskih iscelitelja i ljudi-bogova. Ali upamtite, ja sam neapsolutista, što znači da sam prilično sklona da budem prilično otvorenog uma, što se ispostavilo kao dobra stvar, jer sam otišla na večeru veštica u Centru LGBT zajednice u Njujorku, gde sam se sprijateljila sa dve veštice; ispila kanister od 19 litara pun vulkanske vode sa šamanom u Peruu; dobila zagrljaj od svetice u kongresnom centru - baš je lepo mirisala -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
chanted for hours in a smoke-filled, heat-infused sweat lodge on the beaches of Mexico; worked with a tequila-drinking medium to convene with the dead, who oddly included both my deceased mother-in-law and the deceased manager of the hip-hop group The Roots.
satima pojala u kolibi punoj dima i sparine na plažama Meksika, radila sa medijumom koja je pila tekilu na prizivanju mrtvih, koji su nekim čudom ubrajali moju pokojnu svekrvu i preminulog menadžera hip-hop grupe The Roots.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Yeah, my mother-in-law told me she was really happy her son had chosen me for his wife. Duh! But --
Da, svekrva mi je rekla da je baš srećna što me je njen sin odabrao za ženu. Logično! Ali -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Yeah. But the manager of The Roots said that maybe I should cut back on all the pasta I was eating. I think we can all agree that it was lucky for my husband that it wasn't his dead mother who suggested I lay off carbs.
Da. Ali menadžer grupe The Roots je rekao da bih možda malo da smanjim količinu testenine koju jedem. Mislim da ćemo se složiti da je moj muž imao sreće da nije njegova mrtva majka ta koja je predložila da smanjim ugljene hidrate.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
I also joined a laughing yoga group out of South Africa; witnessed a woman have a 45-minute orgasm -- I am not making this up -- as she tapped into the energy of the universe -- I think I'm going to go back there --
Takođe sam se pridružila grupi joge smeha iz Južne Afrike, prisustvovala orgazmu jedne žene od 45 minuta - ne izmišljam - kada je zaronila u energiju univerzuma - mislim da ću se vratiti tamo -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
called God from a phone booth in the Nevada desert at Burning Man, wearing a unitard and ski goggles; and I had an old Indian guy lie on top of me, and no, he wasn't my husband. This was a perfect stranger named Paramji, and he was chanting into my chakras as he tapped into the energy forces of the Universe to heal my "yoni," which is a Sanskrit word for "vagina."
zvala boga iz govornice u pustinji u Nevadi na festivalu Burning Man, u jednodelnom kostimu i sa naočarima za skijanje; i jedan stari Indus je ležao na meni i, ne, nije bio moj muž. To je bio potpuni stranac po imenu Paramdži i pojao je u moje čakre dok je prodirao u energetske sile univerzuma da zaleči moju „joni“, što je na sanskritu reč za „vaginu“.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
I was going to have a slide here, but a few people suggested that a slide of my yoni at TED -- even TEDWomen -- not the best idea.
Trebalo je da ovde bude slajd, ali nekoliko ljudi je sugerisalo da slajd sa mojom joni na TED-u - pa čak i na konferenciji TEDWoman - nije baš najbolja ideja.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Very early in my quest, I also went to see the Brazilian faith healer John of God at his compound down in Brazil. Now, John of God is considered a full-trance medium, which basically means he can talk to dead people. But in his case, he claims to channel a very specific group of dead saints and doctors in order to heal whatever's wrong with you. And although John of God does not have a medical degree or even a high school diploma, he actually performs surgery -- the real kind, with a scalpel, but no anesthesia. Yeah, I don't know. He also offers invisible surgery, where there is no cutting, and surrogate surgery, where he supposedly can treat somebody who is thousands of miles away by performing a procedure on a loved one.
Vrlo rano u svom pohodu išla sam da vidim brazilskog verskog iscelitelja Jovana Božjeg u njegovom kompleksu u Brazilu. Jovana Božjeg smatraju medijumom u potpunom transu, što u suštini znači da može da govori sa mrtvima. Ali, u njegovom slučaju, on tvrdi da je kanal za vrlo specifičnu grupu mrtvih svetaca i doktora kako bi izlečio šta god da nije u redu sa vama. Iako Jovan Božji nema diplomu medicine, pa čak ni diplomu srednje škole, on vrši operacije - prave, pomoću skalpela, ali bez anestezije. Da, ne znam baš. Takođe nudi nevidljive operacije, gde nema zasecanja, i surogat-operacije, gde navodno može da leči nekog ko je udaljen hiljadama kilometara vršeći proceduru na voljenoj osobi.
Now, when you go to visit John of God, there are all kinds of rules and regulations. It's a whole complicated thing, but the bottom line is that you can visit John of God and present him with three things that you would like fixed, and he will set the dead saints and doctors to work on your behalf to get the job done.
Kada odete da posetite Jovana Božjeg, postoje razna pravila i propisi. To je načisto komplikovana stvar, ali suština je da možete posetiti Jovana Božjeg i izneti mu tri stvari koje biste voleli da se srede, a on će u vaše ime angažovati mrtve svece i doktore da odrade posao.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Now, before you snicker, consider that, at least according to his website, over eight million people -- including Oprah, the Goddess of Daytime TV -- have gone to see John of God, and I was pre-wired to keep an open mind. But to be honest, the whole thing for me was kind of weird and inconclusive, and in the end, I flew home, even more confused than I already started out. But that doesn't mean I came home empty-handed.
Pre nego što se podsmehnete, uzmite u obzir da, bar prema njegovom veb-sajtu, više od osam miliona ljudi - uključujući Opru, boginju dnevnog TV programa - išlo je da vidi Jovana Božjeg, i unapred sam bila programirana da budem otvorenog uma. Ali, iskreno rečeno, cela stvar je za mene bila nekako čudna i neubedljiva, a na kraju sam letela kući još više zbunjena nego na početku. Ali to ne znači da sam došla kući praznih ruku.
In the weeks leading up to my trip to Brazil, I mentioned my upcoming plans to some friends and to a couple of colleagues at Google, where I was a lawyer at the time. And I might have mentioned it to a couple more people because I'm chatty, including my neighbor, the guy who works at the local coffee shop I go to each morning, the checkout lady at Whole Foods and a stranger who sat next to me on the subway. I told each of them where I was going and why, and I offered to carry three wishes of theirs down to Brazil, explaining that anyone going to see John of God could act as a proxy for others and save them the trip. And to my surprise, my in-box overflowed. Friends told friends who told friends, and those friends apparently told more friends, other strangers and the guys at their coffee shops, until it seemed that days before I left for Brazil that there was no one who did not have my email address. And at the time, all I could conclude was that I had offered too much to too many. But when I actually reread those messages a few years later, I noticed something completely different. Those emails actually shared three commonalities, the first of which was rather curious.
Tokom nekoliko nedelja koje su prethodile mom putovanju u Brazil, pomenula sam svoje predstojeće planove nekim svojim prijateljima i nekolicini kolega u Guglu, gde sam bila advokat u to vreme. Možda sam to pomenula i još nekim ljudima jer sam brbljiva, uključujući mog komšiju, tipa koji radi u lokalnom kafiću u koji idem svakog jutra, kasirku u prodavnici zdrave hrane i neznanku koja je sedela pored mene u metrou. Rekla sam svakome od njih gde idem i zašto, i ponudila sam se da odnesem tri njihove želje u Brazil, uz objašnjenje da bilo ko da ode da vidi Jovana Božjeg može da bude zamena za druge i da ih poštedi putovanja. Na moje iznenađenje, moj inboks je bio pretrpan. Prijatelji su ispričali prijateljima koji su ispričali prijateljima, a oni su očigledno drugim prijateljima, neznancima i ljudima u kafićima, tako da se nekoliko dana pre nego što sam otišla u Brazil činilo da nije postojala osoba koja nije imala moju imejl adresu. U to vreme, sve što sam mogla da zaključim je da sam ponudila previše prevelikom broju ljudi. Ali kada sam ponovo pročitala te poruke nekoliko godina kasnije, primetila sam nešto sasvim drugačije. Ti imejlovi su imali tri iste zajedničke stvari, od kojih me je prva veoma zaintrigirala.
Almost everyone sent me meticulous details about how they could be reached. I had told them, or their friends had told them, that along with the list of the three things they wanted fixed, I needed their photo, their name and their date of birth. But they gave me full addresses, with, like, apartment numbers and zip codes, as if John of God was going to stop by their house and see them in person or send along a package. It was as if, in the highly unlikely event that their wishes were granted by John of God, they just wanted to make sure that they weren't delivered to the wrong person or the wrong address. Even if they didn't believe, they were hedging their bets.
Skoro svi su mi poslali precizne detalje o tome kako doći do njih. Rekla sam im, ili su im prijatelji rekli, da mi je, pored spiska tri stvari koje su hteli da se poprave, potrebna njihova fotografija, ime i datum rođenja. Ali su mi dali pune adrese, sa brojevima stana i poštanskim brojevima, kao da će Jovan Božji zastati pored njihove kuće i videti ih uživo ili im poslati paket. Kao da su, u vrlo neverovatnom slučaju da Jovan Božji ispuni njihove želje, hteli da se postaraju da ne budu upućene na pogrešnu osobu ili pogrešnu adresu. Čak i ako nisu verovali, hteli su da se osiguraju.
The second commonality was just as curious, but far more humbling. Virtually everyone -- the stranger on the subway, the guy at the coffee shop, the lawyer down the hall, the Jew, the atheist, the Muslim, the devout Catholic -- all asked for essentially the same three things. OK, there were a couple of outliers, and yes, a few people asked for cash. But when I eliminated what were ultimately a handful of anomalies, the similarities were staggering. Almost every single person first asked for good health for themselves and their families. Almost universally, they next asked for happiness and then love, in that order: health, happiness, love. Sometimes they asked for a specific health issue to be fixed, but more often than not, they just asked for good health in general.
Druga zajednička stvar bila je podjednako zanimljiva, ali mnogo prizemnija. Bukvalno svi - neznanka iz metroa, tip iz kafića, advokat na drugoj strani hodnika, Jevrejin, ateista, musliman, posvećeni katolik - svi su u suštini tražili tri iste stvari. U redu, bilo je par onih koji su odstupali i da, nekoliko ljudi je tražilo novac. Ali kada sam eliminisala ono što je naposletku bila šačica anomalija, sličnosti su bile zapanjujuće. Skoro svaka osoba prvo je tražila dobro zdravlje za sebe i svoju porodicu. Skoro bez izuzetka, zatim su tražili sreću i onda ljubav, tim redom: zdravlje, sreća, ljubav. Ponekad bi tražili da se reši određeni zdravstveni problem, ali najčešće bi samo tražili uopšteno dobro zdravlje.
When it came to happiness, they each phrased it slightly differently, but they all asked for the same specific subtype of happiness, too -- the kind of happiness that sinks in and sets down roots in your soul; the kind of happiness that could sustain us, even if we were to lose absolutely everything else.
Što se tiče sreće, svako bi je formulisao malo drugačije, ali su svi oni tražili istu određenu podvrstu sreće - takvu sreću koja se primi i ukoreni u duši; takvu sreću koja bi nas održala čak i da izgubimo apsolutno sve ostalo.
And for love, they all asked for the kind of romantic love, the soul mate that we read about in epic romantic novels, the kind of love that will stay with us till the end of our days.
A što se tiče ljubavi, svi su tražili romantičnu ljubav, srodnu dušu o kojoj čitamo u epskim romantičnim romanima, takvu ljubav koja ostaje u nama do poslednjeg dana.
Sorry, that's my husband.
Izvinite, to je moj muž.
Crap! Now I forgot my place.
Dođavola! Sad sam zaboravila gde sam stala.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
So by and large, all of these friends and strangers, regardless of their background, race or religion, all asked for the same things, and they were the same things that I really wanted, the simplified version of the basic human needs identified by social scientists like Abraham Maslow and Manfred Max-Neef. No one asked for answers to the big existential questions or for proof of God or the meaning of life like I had set out to find. They didn't even ask for an end to war or global hunger. Even when they could have asked for absolutely anything, they all asked for health, happiness and love.
Tako da su većim delom svi ovi prijatelji i nepoznati ljudi, bez obzira na svoje poreklo, rasu i religiju, svi tražili iste stvari, a to su bile iste stvari koje sam ja zaista želela, pojednostavljena verzija osnovnih ljudskih potreba koje su ustanovili društveni naučnici poput Abrahama Maslova i Manfreda Maksa Nifa. Niko nije tražio odgovore na velika egzistencijalna pitanja, dokaz da bog postoji ili smisao života za kojima sam ja krenula da tragam. Nisu čak tražili ni kraj rata ili gladi u svetu. Čak i kada nije bilo apsolutno ničeg što bi mogli da zatraže, svi su tražili zdravlje, sreću i ljubav.
So now those emails had a third commonality as well. Each of them ended in the exact same way. Instead of thanking me for carting their wishes all the way to Brazil, everyone said, "Please don't tell anyone." So I decided to tell everyone --
Ti imejlovi su imali i treću podudarnost. Svaki od njih se isto završavao. Umesto da mi zahvale što nosim njihove želje čak u Brazil, svi su rekli: „Molim te da nikome ne kažeš.“ Pa sam rešila da svima kažem -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
right here on this stage, not because I'm untrustworthy, but because the fact that we have so much in common feels especially important for us all to hear, especially now, when so many of the world's problems seem to be because we keep focusing on the things that make us different, not on what binds us together.
baš ovde na pozornici, ne zato što mi se ne može verovati, već zato što mislim da je činjenicu da imamo toliko toga zajedničkog naročito važno da svi čujemo, pogotovo sada, kada izgleda da toliko problema u svetu postoji jer se uporno fokusiramo na stvari zbog kojih se razlikujemo, a ne na ono što nas spaja.
And look -- I am the first to admit that I am not a statistician, and that the data I presented to you that I just accumulated in my in-box is more anecdotal than scientific, more qualitative than quantitative. It is, as anyone who works with data would tell you, hardly a statistically significant or demographically balanced sample. But nonetheless, I find myself thinking about those emails every time I reflect back on the bias and prejudice that I've faced in my life, or when there's another hate crime or a senseless tragedy that underscores the disheartening sense that our differences might be insurmountable. I then remind myself that I have evidence that the humbling, unifying commonality of our humanity is that, even when presented with the opportunity to ask for anything at all, most of us want the same things, and that this is true no matter who we are, what name we call our god, or which religion, if any, we call home.
Vidite, odmah priznajem da nisam statističar i da su podaci koje sam vam iznela koje sam prikupila u svom inboksu više anegdotski nego naučni, više kvalitativni nego kvantitativni. To teško da je, kao što bi vam rekao bilo ko da radi sa podacima, statistički značajan ili demografski uravnotežen uzorak. Ali ipak često zateknem sebe kako razmišljam o ovim imejlovima svaki put kada se osvrnem na pristrasnosti i predrasude sa kojima sam se suočavala u životu, ili kad se desi još jedan zločin iz mržnje ili besmislena tragedija koji naglase taj osećaj razočaranja time što naše različitosti mogu biti nepremostive. Tada podsetim sebe da imam dokaz da je skromna zajednička stvar koja objedinjuje ljudski rod to da, čak i kada nam se pruži prilika da zatražimo bilo šta, većina nas želi iste stvari, a to je tako bez obzira na to ko smo, kojim imenom nazivamo svog boga i koju religiju, ako je uopšte imamo, smatramo svojom.
I then also note that apparently some of us want these things so badly that we would email a None, a spiritually confused None like me -- some might say otherwise confused as well -- and that we would seek out this stranger and email her our deepest wishes, just in case there is the remote possibility that they might be granted by someone who is not a god, much less our god, someone who is not even a member of our chosen religion, someone who, when you look at him on paper, seems like an unlikely candidate to deliver.
Zatim, takođe primetim da očigledno neki među nama toliko snažno žele te stvari da bi poslali imejl „nijednom“ , spiritualno zbunjenom „nijednom“ kao što sam ja - neko bi rekao i inače zbunjenom - i da bismo potražili tu nepoznatu osobu i poslali joj imejl sa najdubljim željama, tek za slučaj da postoji eventualna mogućnost da će ih ispuniti neko ko nije bog, a pogotovo ne naš bog, neko ko čak nije ni član naše odabrane religije, neko ko se, kada ga pogledate na papiru, ne čini kao verovatan kandidat da to izvede.
And so now, when I reflect back on my spiritual quest, even though I did not find God, I found a home in this: even today, in a world fractured by religious, ethnic, political, philosophical, and racial divides, even with all of our obvious differences, at the end of the day, and the most fundamental level, we are all the same.
Tako da sada, kada se osvrnem na svoju spiritualnu potragu, iako nisam pronašla boga, pronašla sam dom u ovome: čak i danas, u svetu slomljenom verskim, etničkim, političkim, filozofskim i rasnim podelama, čak i uz sve naše očigledne razlike, na kraju krajeva, na najosnovnijem nivou, svi smo mi isti.
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)