I ved, jeg bliver berørt af hvordan et af de implicite temaer ved TED er medfølelse, disse meget bevægende demonstrationer vi lige har set: HIV i Afrika, Præsident Clinton i går nat. Og jeg vil gerne lave lidt følge tænkning, om man vil, om medfølelse og at tage det fra det globale niveau til det personlige. Jeg er psykolog, men stol trygt på, at jeg ikke vil bringe det til det anale.
You know, I'm struck by how one of the implicit themes of TED is compassion, these very moving demonstrations we've just seen: HIV in Africa, President Clinton last night. And I'd like to do a little collateral thinking, if you will, about compassion and bring it from the global level to the personal. I'm a psychologist, but rest assured, I will not bring it to the scrotal.
(Latter)
(Laughter)
Der blev lavet et meget interessant studie for noget tid siden, ved Princeton Theological Seminary der taler til hvordan det kan være, at når vi alle har så mange muligheder for at hjælpe, gør vi det nogen gange, og ikke andre gange. En gruppe teologistuderende ved Princeton Theological Seminary blev fortalt at de skulle give en øvelsesprædiken og de blev hver givet et emne til prædikenen. Halvdelen af de studerende blev givet, som emne, historien om den barmhjertige Samaritaner: manden der stoppede den fremmede i -- for at hjælpe den nødlidende fremmede i kanten af vejen. Halvdelen blev givet tilfældige bibelemner. Derefter blev de en efter en bedt om at gå til en anden bygning og give deres prædiken. Som de gik fra den første bygning til den næste, gik de alle sammen forbi en mand der stod foroverbøjet og stønnede, tydeligvis nødlidende. Spørgsmålet er: Stoppede de for at hjælpe?
There was a very important study done a while ago at Princeton Theological Seminary that speaks to why it is that when all of us have so many opportunities to help, we do sometimes, and we don't other times. A group of divinity students at the Princeton Theological Seminary were told that they were going to give a practice sermon and they were each given a sermon topic. Half of those students were given, as a topic, the parable of the Good Samaritan: the man who stopped the stranger in -- to help the stranger in need by the side of the road. Half were given random Bible topics. Then one by one, they were told they had to go to another building and give their sermon. As they went from the first building to the second, each of them passed a man who was bent over and moaning, clearly in need. The question is: Did they stop to help?
Det mere interessante spørgsmål er: Gjorde det nogen forskel, at de overvejede historien om den barmhjertige Samaritaner? Svaret: Nej, slet ikke. Det der viste sig at gøre en forskel, om nogen ville stoppe og hjælpe en nødlidende fremmed, var hvor travlt de mente de havde -- følte de de kom for sent, eller var de opslugte i hvad de skulle til at snakke om. Og dette er, tror jeg, kniben i vores liv: at vi ikke bruger hver en mulighed for at hjælpe fordi vores fokus er i den forkerte retning.
The more interesting question is: Did it matter they were contemplating the parable of the Good Samaritan? Answer: No, not at all. What turned out to determine whether someone would stop and help a stranger in need was how much of a hurry they thought they were in -- were they feeling they were late, or were they absorbed in what they were going to talk about. And this is, I think, the predicament of our lives: that we don't take every opportunity to help because our focus is in the wrong direction.
Der er et nyt felt i hjernevidenskab, social neurovidenskab. Dette studerer kredsløbet i to menneskers hjerne som aktiverer mens de interagerer. Og den nye mening om medfølelse fra social neurovidenskab er at vores standard kredsløb er at hjælpe. Det vil sige, hvis vi tager os af en anden person, fatter vi automatisk empati, vi føler automatisk med dem. Der er nyligt identificerede neuroner, spejlneuroner, der fungerer som et neuro Wi-Fi, der præcis aktiverer de samme områder i vores hjerne, som i deres. Vi føler automatiske "med". Og hvis den person er nødlidende, hvis den person lider, vi er automatisk klar til at hjælpe. Det er i det mindste argumentet.
There's a new field in brain science, social neuroscience. This studies the circuitry in two people's brains that activates while they interact. And the new thinking about compassion from social neuroscience is that our default wiring is to help. That is to say, if we attend to the other person, we automatically empathize, we automatically feel with them. There are these newly identified neurons, mirror neurons, that act like a neuro Wi-Fi, activating in our brain exactly the areas activated in theirs. We feel "with" automatically. And if that person is in need, if that person is suffering, we're automatically prepared to help. At least that's the argument.
Men så er spørgsmålet: Hvorfor gør vi ikke det? Og jeg tror dette taler til en skala der går fra komplet selvoptagethed, til at bemærke det, til empati og til medfølelse. Og det simple faktum er, at hvis vi er fokusere på os selv, hvis vi er åndsfraværende, som vi så ofte er i løbet af dagen, lægger vi ikke fuldt ud mærke til den anden. Og forskellen mellem selvet og den andens fokus kan være hårfin.
But then the question is: Why don't we? And I think this speaks to a spectrum that goes from complete self-absorption, to noticing, to empathy and to compassion. And the simple fact is, if we are focused on ourselves, if we're preoccupied, as we so often are throughout the day, we don't really fully notice the other. And this difference between the self and the other focus can be very subtle.
Jeg lavede min skat den anden dag, og jeg kom til det punkt hvor jeg listede alle de donationer jeg gav, og jeg fik en åbenbaring, det var -- jeg kom til min check til Seva Foundation og jeg lagde mærke til at jeg tænkte, manner, min ven Larry Brilliant ville være rigtig glad for at jeg gav penge til Seva. Så indså jeg at det jeg fik at give var et narcissistisk sus -- at jeg havde det godt med mig selv. Så begyndte jeg at tænke på mennesker i Himalaya hvis grå stær ville blive afhjulpet, og jeg indså at det jeg gik fra denne slags narcissistiske selv fokus til altruistisk glæde, til at have det godt på vegne af de mennesker der blev hjulpet. Jeg tror det er en motivationsfaktor.
I was doing my taxes the other day, and I got to the point where I was listing all of the donations I gave, and I had an epiphany, it was -- I came to my check to the Seva Foundation and I noticed that I thought, boy, my friend Larry Brilliant would really be happy that I gave money to Seva. Then I realized that what I was getting from giving was a narcissistic hit -- that I felt good about myself. Then I started to think about the people in the Himalayas whose cataracts would be helped, and I realized that I went from this kind of narcissistic self-focus to altruistic joy, to feeling good for the people that were being helped. I think that's a motivator.
Men denne skelnen mellem at fokusere på os selv og at fokusere på andre, er noget jeg opmuntrer os alle til at lægge mærke til. Man kan se det på et samlet niveau i dating verden. Jeg var ved en sushi restaurant for noget tid siden og jeg overhørte to kvinder der talte om den ene kvindes bror, der var single. Og denne kvinde siger, "Min bror har et problem med at få dates, så han prøver speed dating." Jeg ved ikke om I kender speed dating? Kvinder sidder ved borde, og mænd går fra bord til bord, og der er et ur og en klokke, og efter fem minutter, bingo, slutter samtalen, og kvinden kan afgøre om hun vil give hendes kort eller mail adresse til manden til opfølgning. Og denne kvinde siger, "Min bror har aldrig fået et kort, og jeg ved præcis hvorfor. Det øjeblik han sætter sig ned, begynder han at tale om sig selv non-stop; han spørger aldrig til kvinden."
But this distinction between focusing on ourselves and focusing on others is one that I encourage us all to pay attention to. You can see it at a gross level in the world of dating. I was at a sushi restaurant a while back and I overheard two women talking about the brother of one woman, who was in the singles scene. And this woman says, "My brother is having trouble getting dates, so he's trying speed dating." I don't know if you know speed dating? Women sit at tables and men go from table to table, and there's a clock and a bell, and at five minutes, bingo, the conversation ends and the woman can decide whether to give her card or her email address to the man for follow up. And this woman says, "My brother's never gotten a card, and I know exactly why. The moment he sits down, he starts talking non-stop about himself; he never asks about the woman."
Og jeg lavede noget research i Sunday Styles sektionen af New York Times, og kiggede på historien bag ægteskaber -- fordi de var meget interessante -- og jeg kom til ægteskabet af Alive Charney Epstein. Og hun sagde at da hun var på dating markedet, havde hun en simpel test hun udsatte mennesker for. Testen var: fra det øjeblik de mødtes, hvor lang tid det ville tage fyren at stille hende et spørgsmål med ordet "dig" i det. Og åbenbart scorede Epstein topkarakter i testen, deraf artiklen.
And I was doing some research in the Sunday Styles section of The New York Times, looking at the back stories of marriages -- because they're very interesting -- and I came to the marriage of Alice Charney Epstein. And she said that when she was in the dating scene, she had a simple test she put people to. The test was: from the moment they got together, how long it would take the guy to ask her a question with the word "you" in it. And apparently Epstein aced the test, therefore the article.
(Latter)
(Laughter)
Nu er dette en -- det er en lille test jeg tilskynder jer til at prøve det ved en fest. Her ved TED er der fantastiske muligheder. Harvard Business Review havde for nylig en artikel der hed "The Human Moment", om hvordan man opnår ægte kontakt men en person på arbejdet. Og de sagde, jamen, den fundamentale ting man skal gøre, er at slukke for sin BlackBerry, luk den bærbare, afslut ens dagdrøm og læg fuldstændig mærke til personen. Der er et nyt opfundet ord i den engelske sprog til de øjeblikke hvor personen hiver deres BlackBerry frem eller svarer på det opkald, og pludselig eksisterer vi ikke. Ordet er "pizzled": det er en kombination af puzzled og pissed off.
Now this is a -- it's a little test I encourage you to try out at a party. Here at TED there are great opportunities. The Harvard Business Review recently had an article called "The Human Moment," about how to make real contact with a person at work. And they said, well, the fundamental thing you have to do is turn off your BlackBerry, close your laptop, end your daydream and pay full attention to the person. There is a newly coined word in the English language for the moment when the person we're with whips out their BlackBerry or answers that cell phone, and all of a sudden we don't exist. The word is "pizzled": it's a combination of puzzled and pissed off.
(Latter)
(Laughter)
Jeg synes det er temmelig passende. Det er vores empati, det er vores bølgelængde der skiller os fra Machiavellisterne eller sociopaterne. Jeg har en svoger der er ekspert i skræk og rædsel -- han skrev the Annotated Dracula, the Essential Frankenstein -- han blev trænet som en Chaucer lærd, men han blev født i Transylvanien og jeg tror det påvirkede ham en lille smule. Under alle omstændigheder, på et tidspunkt besluttede min svoger, Leonard, at skrive en bog om en seriemorder. Dette er en mand der terroriserede det samme nabolag vi er i for mange år siden. Han var kendt som the Santa Cruz strangler. Og inden han blev anholdt myrdede han sine bedsteforældre, hans mor og fem kvindelige studerende ved UC Santa Cruz.
I think it's quite apt. It's our empathy, it's our tuning in which separates us from Machiavellians or sociopaths. I have a brother-in-law who's an expert on horror and terror -- he wrote the Annotated Dracula, the Essential Frankenstein -- he was trained as a Chaucer scholar, but he was born in Transylvania and I think it affected him a little bit. At any rate, at one point my brother-in-law, Leonard, decided to write a book about a serial killer. This is a man who terrorized the very vicinity we're in many years ago. He was known as the Santa Cruz strangler. And before he was arrested, he had murdered his grandparents, his mother and five co-eds at UC Santa Cruz.
Så min svoger tager ind for at interviewe denne morder og da han møder ham, bliver han klar over at denne fyr er aldeles skrækindjagende. For det første, han er over to meter høj. Men det er ikke det mest skrækindjagende ved ham. Det meste skræmmende er at hans IQ er 160: et godkendt geni. Men der er ingen korrelation mellem IQ og følelsesmæssig empati, at føle med den anden person. De bliver kontrolleret af forskellige dele af hjernen.
So my brother-in-law goes to interview this killer and he realizes when he meets him that this guy is absolutely terrifying. For one thing, he's almost seven feet tall. But that's not the most terrifying thing about him. The scariest thing is that his IQ is 160: a certified genius. But there is zero correlation between IQ and emotional empathy, feeling with the other person. They're controlled by different parts of the brain.
Så på et tidspunkt, samler min svoger modet til at stille et spørgsmål som han virkelig gerne vil have et svar på, og det er: hvordan kunne du gøre det? Følte du ingen medlidenhed med dine ofre? Dette var meget intime mord -- han kvælte sine ofre. Og morderen siger meget nøgtern, "Slet ikke. Hvis jeg havde følt den lidelse, kunne jeg ikke have gjort det. Jeg var nød til at slukke den del af mig. Jeg var nød til at slukke den del af mig."
So at one point, my brother-in-law gets up the courage to ask the one question he really wants to know the answer to, and that is: how could you have done it? Didn't you feel any pity for your victims? These were very intimate murders -- he strangled his victims. And the strangler says very matter-of-factly, "Oh no. If I'd felt the distress, I could not have done it. I had to turn that part of me off. I had to turn that part of me off."
Og jeg tænkte at det er meget foruroligende, og på en måde, har jeg tænkt over det at slukke for den del af os. Når vi fokuserer på os selv i hvilken som helst aktivitet, slukker vi for den del i os selv, hvis der er en anden person. Tænk over det at tage ud og shoppe og tænk på mulighederne af en medfølende forbrugerisme. Lige nu, som Bill McDonough har pointeret, har de objekter vi køber og bruger en hemmelig konsekvens. Vi er alle uvillige ofre af en kollektiv blind vinkel. Vi lægger ikke mærke til det og lægger ikke mærke til at vi ikke lægger mærke til at de giftige molekyler der afgives af et tæppe eller af stoffet i vores sæder. Eller vi ved ikke om det stof er et teknologisk eller et fabrikations næringsstof; det kan blive genbrugt eller ender det på en losseplads? Med andre ord, vi er uvidende om det økologiske og offentlige helbred og sociale og økonomiske retslige konsekvenser af de ting vi køber og bruger. På en måde, er rummet i sig selv det store problem, men vi ser det ikke. Og vi er blevet ofre af det system der peger os i en anden retning. Overvej dette.
And I think that that is very troubling, and in a sense, I've been reflecting on turning that part of us off. When we focus on ourselves in any activity, we do turn that part of ourselves off if there's another person. Think about going shopping and think about the possibilities of a compassionate consumerism. Right now, as Bill McDonough has pointed out, the objects that we buy and use have hidden consequences. We're all unwitting victims of a collective blind spot. We don't notice and don't notice that we don't notice the toxic molecules emitted by a carpet or by the fabric on the seats. Or we don't know if that fabric is a technological or manufacturing nutrient; it can be reused or does it just end up at landfill? In other words, we're oblivious to the ecological and public health and social and economic justice consequences of the things we buy and use. In a sense, the room itself is the elephant in the room, but we don't see it. And we've become victims of a system that points us elsewhere. Consider this.
Der er en vidunderlig bog, der hedder Stuff: The Hidden Life of Everyday Objects. Og den fortæller om historien bag ting som t-shirten. Og den fortæller om hvor bomulden blev dyrket og gødningen der blev brugt og konsekvenserne af den gødning var for jorden. Og den nævner, for eksempel, at bomuld er meget afvisende overfor farvestof; cirka 60 procent bliver vasket væk af spildevandet. Og det er velkendt blandt epidemiologer, at børn der bor i nærheden af tekstil fabrikker har en tendens til stor hyppighed af leukæmi. Der er et firma, Bennet and Copmany, der er leverandør til Polo.com, Victorias Secret -- de, på grund af deres administrerende direktør, der er klar over dette, dannede de i Kina et joint venture med deres farverier for at sørge for at deres spildevand vil blive behandlet korrekt, før det kommer tilbage til grundvandet. Lige nu, har vi ikke den mulighed at vælge den dydige t-shirt frem for den ikke dydige. Så hvad skal der til for at kunne det?
There's a wonderful book called Stuff: The Hidden Life of Everyday Objects. And it talks about the back story of something like a t-shirt. And it talks about where the cotton was grown and the fertilizers that were used and the consequences for soil of that fertilizer. And it mentions, for instance, that cotton is very resistant to textile dye; about 60 percent washes off into wastewater. And it's well known by epidemiologists that kids who live near textile works tend to have high rates of leukemia. There's a company, Bennett and Company, that supplies Polo.com, Victoria's Secret -- they, because of their CEO, who's aware of this, in China formed a joint venture with their dye works to make sure that the wastewater would be properly taken care of before it returned to the groundwater. Right now, we don't have the option to choose the virtuous t-shirt over the non-virtuous one. So what would it take to do that?
Jamen, det har vi tænkt over. For det første, er der en ny elektronisk mærknings teknologi der tillader en hvilken som helst butik, at kende hele historien bag et hvilket som helst produkt på hylden i den butik. Man kan spore det tilbage til fabrikken. Når man først kan spore det tilbage til fabrikken, kan man se på fremstillings processerne der blev brugt til at fremstille det, og hvis det er dydigt, kan det blive mærket som sådant. Hvis det ikke er så dydigt, kan man gå ind i -- i dag, gå ind i hvilken som helst butik, sætte scanneren på en stregkode, som vil bringe en videre til en hjemmeside. De har dem til mennesker med jordnøddeallergi. Hjemmesiden kunne fortælle en ting om den genstand. Med andre ord, på købstidspunktet, kunne vi være i stand til at tage det medfølende valg.
Well, I've been thinking. For one thing, there's a new electronic tagging technology that allows any store to know the entire history of any item on the shelves in that store. You can track it back to the factory. Once you can track it back to the factory, you can look at the manufacturing processes that were used to make it, and if it's virtuous, you can label it that way. Or if it's not so virtuous, you can go into -- today, go into any store, put your scanner on a palm onto a barcode, which will take you to a website. They have it for people with allergies to peanuts. That website could tell you things about that object. In other words, at point of purchase, we might be able to make a compassionate choice.
Der er en talemåde i informations videnskabs verdenen: til sidst vil alle vide alt. Og spørgsmålet er: vil det gøre nogen forskel? For noget tid siden arbejdede jeg for The New York Times, det var i 80'erne, jeg skrev en artikel om hvad der var det nye problem i New York -- det var hjemløse mennesker på gaden. Og jeg tilbragte et par uger med at gå rundt med et social arbejdsagentur der gav til de hjemløse. Og jeg blev klar over, at se de hjemløse gennem deres øjne, at næsten dem alle var psykiatriske patienter der ikke havde noget sted at tage hen. De havde en diagnose. Det gjorde mig -- det det gjorde var at ryste mig ud af den urbane trance hvor, når vi ser, når vi går forbi nogen der er hjemløse i periferien af vores synsfelt, bliver det i periferien. Vi lægger ikke mærke til det, og derfor handler vi ikke.
There's a saying in the world of information science: ultimately everybody will know everything. And the question is: will it make a difference? Some time ago when I was working for The New York Times, it was in the '80s, I did an article on what was then a new problem in New York -- it was homeless people on the streets. And I spent a couple of weeks going around with a social work agency that ministered to the homeless. And I realized seeing the homeless through their eyes that almost all of them were psychiatric patients that had nowhere to go. They had a diagnosis. It made me -- what it did was to shake me out of the urban trance where, when we see, when we're passing someone who's homeless in the periphery of our vision, it stays on the periphery. We don't notice and therefore we don't act.
En dag efter det -- det var en fredag -- i slutningen af dagen, gik jeg ned -- jeg gik ned i metroen. Det var i myldretiden og tusindevis af mennesker strømmede ned af trapperne. Og pludselig da gik jeg ned af trapperne, lagde jeg mærke til at der var en mand der var faldet til siden uden skjorte, uden at bevæge sig, og mennesker trådt hen over ham -- hundrevis og hundredevis af mennesker. Og fordi min urbane trance var noget svækket, stoppede jeg for at finde ud af hvad der var i vejen. Det øjeblik jeg stoppede, omringede et halvt dusin mennesker øjeblikkeligt den samme mand. Og vi fandt ud af at han var latinamerikansk, han talte ikke noget engelsk, han havde ingen penge, han var gået rundt i gaderne i flere dage, sultende, og han var besvimet af sulten. Øjeblikkeligt var der en der gik efter appelsinjuice, nogen kom med en hotdog, nogen kom med en metrobetjent. Denne fyr var oppe på benene med det samme. Men alt det krævede var en simpel handling af bemærkelse, så jeg er optimistisk.
One day soon after that -- it was a Friday -- at the end of the day, I went down -- I was going down to the subway. It was rush hour and thousands of people were streaming down the stairs. And all of a sudden as I was going down the stairs I noticed that there was a man slumped to the side, shirtless, not moving, and people were just stepping over him -- hundreds and hundreds of people. And because my urban trance had been somehow weakened, I found myself stopping to find out what was wrong. The moment I stopped, half a dozen other people immediately ringed the same guy. And we found out that he was Hispanic, he didn't speak any English, he had no money, he'd been wandering the streets for days, starving, and he'd fainted from hunger. Immediately someone went to get orange juice, someone brought a hotdog, someone brought a subway cop. This guy was back on his feet immediately. But all it took was that simple act of noticing, and so I'm optimistic.
Mange tak.
Thank you very much.
(Bifald)
(Applause)