Fifty-two minutes ago, I took this picture about 10 blocks from here. This is the Grand Café here in Oxford. I took this picture because this turns out to be the first coffeehouse to open in England, in 1650. That's its great claim to fame. And I wanted to show it to you, not because I want to give you the Starbucks tour of historic England --
Vaid mõned minutid tagasi tegin ma selle pildi siit umbes 10 kvartali kaugusel. See on Grand Cafe siin Oxfordis. Ma tegin selle pildi, sest tuleb välja, et see on esimene kohvik, mis Inglismaal avati, aastal 1650. Kuulsusrikas kohvik! Ma tahtsin teile seda näidata mitte selleks, et teha teile mingi Starbucks-ringkäik ajaloolisest Inglismaast,
(Laughter)
vaid sellepärast,
but rather because the English coffeehouse was crucial to the development and spread of one of the great intellectual flowerings of the last 500 years, what we now call the Enlightenment.
et kohvik oli Inglismaal ülioluline selleks, et areneks ja leviks üks viimase 500 aasta suurimaid intellektuaalseid õitsenguid - valgustusajastu.
And the coffeehouse played such a big role in the birth of the Enlightenment in part because of what people were drinking there. Because, before the spread of coffee and tea through British culture, what people drank -- both elite and mass folks drank -- day in and day out, from dawn until dusk, was alcohol. Alcohol was the daytime beverage of choice. You would drink a little beer with breakfast and have a little wine at lunch, a little gin, particularly around 1650, and top it off with a little beer and wine at the end of the day. That was the healthy choice, because the water wasn't safe to drink. And so, effectively, until the rise of the coffeehouse, you had an entire population that was effectively drunk all day.
Kohvik mängis nii suurt rolli valgustuse tekkimises osaliselt selle pärast, mida inimesed seal jõid. Enne seda, kui kohvi ja tee Briti kultuuris kodunesid, oli põhiliseks joogiks - nii eliidil kui ka tavainimestel - päevast päeva, koidust ehani - alkohol. Terve päev otsa oli joogiks alkohol. Hommikusöögi juurde väike õlu ja lõunasöögiks vein, natuke džinni - eriti 1650. aasta paiku - ja päeva lõpetuseks jälle natuke õlut ja veini. See oli tervislik valik, sest vesi ei kõlvanud juua. Seega, kuni kohvikute populaarsuse tõusuni oli kogu rahvas praktiliselt
(Laughter)
terve päev purjus.
And you can imagine what that would be like in your own life -- and I know this is true of some of you -- if you were drinking all day --
Te ju kujutate oma elu ette, mismoodi see oleks - ma tean, mõnede puhul teist on see tõsi ka -
(Laughter)
kui te jooksite päev läbi
and then you switched from a depressant to a stimulant in your life. You would have better ideas. You would be sharper and more alert. So it's not an accident that a great flowering of innovation happened as England switched to tea and coffee.
ja siis vahetaksite rahusti oma elus erguti vastu, teil tekiksid küll paremad ideed. Oleksite teravama taibuga ja erksamad. Niisiis pole see juhus, et suur innovatsiooni õitseng juhtus just siis, kui Inglismaa tee ja kohvi poole pöördus.
But the other thing that makes the coffeehouse important is the architecture of the space. It was a space where people would get together, from different backgrounds, different fields of expertise, and share. It was a space, as Matt Ridley talked about, where ideas could have sex. This was their conjugal bed, in a sense; ideas would get together there. And an astonishing number of innovations from this period have a coffeehouse somewhere in their story.
Teine põhjus, miks kohvik osutus nii tähtsaks, oli selle ruumiline ülesehitus. See oli koht, kus võisid kokku saada erineva taustaga inimesed erinevatelt tegevusaladelt ja omi mõtteid jagada. See oli koht, kus - nagu Matt Ridley rääkis - ideed võisid seksida. See oli teatud mõttes nende abieluvoodi. Ideed said seal kokku. Hämmastavalt suur arv innovatsioone sellest ajajärgust ongi miskitpidi mõne kohvikuga seotud.
I've been spending a lot of time thinking about coffeehouses for the last five years because I've been kind of on this quest to investigate this question of where good ideas come from. What are the environments that lead to unusual levels of innovation, unusual levels of creativity? What's the kind of environmental -- what is the space of creativity? And what I've done is, I've looked at both environments like the coffeehouse, I've looked at media environments like the World Wide Web, that have been extraordinarily innovative; I've gone back to the history of the first cities; I've even gone to biological environments, like coral reefs and rain forests, that involve unusual levels of biological innovation. And what I've been looking for is shared patterns, signature behavior that shows up again and again in all of these environments. Are there recurring patterns that we can learn from, that we can take and apply to our own lives or our own organizations or our own environments to make them more creative and innovative? And I think I've found a few.
Ma olen viimase viie aasta jooksul veetnud palju aega kohvikute üle mõteldes, sest ma olen olnud otsingul, leidmas vastust küsimusele, kust tulevad head ideed. Mis on need keskkonnad, mis viivad erakordse innovatsioonitasemeni, erakordse loovuseni? Milline on see keskkonna... milline on see loovuse ruum? Selle käigus olen ma uurinud selliseid keskkondi nagu kohvikud, olen vaadanud meediakeskkondi nagu seda on Internet, mis on olnud erakordselt innovaatilised. Olen vaadanud esimeste linnade ajalugu ning läinud isegi bioloogilistesse keskkondadesse nagu korallrahud ja vihmametsad, milles on tavatult kõrge bioloogilise innovatsiooni tase, otsides ühiseid mustreid, iseloomulikke käitumismalle, mida võib ikka ja jälle kõigis neis keskkondades näha. Kas on korduvaid mustreid, millest võime õppida, mida saame kuidagi rakendada omaenda eludes, oma organisatsioonides või keskkonnas, et muuta neid loomingulisemaks ja uuenduslikemaks? Ma arvan, et olen mõned leidnud.
But what you have to do to make sense of this and to really understand these principles is, you have to do away with the way in which our conventional metaphors and language steers us towards certain concepts of idea creation. We have this very rich vocabulary to describe moments of inspiration. We have the "flash" of insight, the "stroke" of insight, we have "epiphanies," we have eureka moments, we have the "light bulb" moments, right? All of these concepts, as rhetorically florid as they are, share this basic assumption, which is that an idea is a single thing. It's something that happens often in a wonderful, illuminating moment.
Kuid sellest aru saamiseks ja tõepoolest nende põhimõtete mõistmiseks tuleb unustada suur osa sellest, mil viisil meie harjumuspärased metafoorid ja keel juhivad meid teatud arusaamadeni ideede loomisest. Meil on väga rikkalik sõnavara inspiratsioonihetkede kirjeldamiseks. Meil on sisekaemuse välgatused, äkiline äratundmine, ilmutused ja "heureka!"-hetked ning ideesähvatused, eks ole? Kõik need arusaamad, retooriliselt ilustatud nagu nad on, põhinevad lihtsal oletusel, et idee on selline eraldiseisev asi, miski, mis tihti juhtub ühel imelisel valgustaval hetkel.
But, in fact, what I would argue and what you really need to begin with is this idea that an idea is a network on the most elemental level. I mean, this is what is happening inside your brain. An idea -- a new idea -- is a new network of neurons firing in sync with each other inside your brain. It's a new configuration that has never formed before. And the question is: How do you get your brain into environments where these new networks are going to be more likely to form? And it turns out that, in fact, the network patterns of the outside world mimic a lot of the network patterns of the internal world of a human brain.
Kuid ma väidaksin hoopis - sellest peaks tegelikult alustama - et idee kui selline on lihtne võrgustik. Tähendab, see on see, mis juhtub teie ajus. Idee - uus idee - on uus võrgustik närvirakkudest, mis saadavad ajus välja impulsse üksteisega sünkroonis. See on uus konfiguratsioon, mida enne pole tekkinud. Küsimus: kuidas saada oma aju sellisesse keskkonda, kus need uued võrgustikud on tõenäolisemad tekkima? Tuleb välja, et tegelikult on välise maailma võrgustike mustrid sarnased paljudele inimese aju
So the metaphor I'd like to use,
sisemaailma võrgustike mustritele.
I can take from a story of a great idea that's quite recent -- a lot more recent than the 1650s. A wonderful guy named Timothy Prestero has an organization called Design That Matters. They decided to tackle this really pressing problem of the terrible problems we have with infant mortality rates in the developing world. One of the things that's very frustrating about this is that we know by getting modern neonatal incubators into any context, if we can keep premature babies warm, basically -- it's very simple -- we can halve infant mortality rates in those environments. So the technology is there. These are standard in all the industrialized worlds. The problem is, if you buy a $40,000 incubator, and you send it off to a midsized village in Africa, it will work great for a year or two years, and then something will go wrong and it will break, and it will remain broken forever, because you don't have a whole system of spare parts, and you don't have the on-the-ground expertise to fix this $40,000 piece of equipment. So you end up having this problem where you spend all this money getting aid and all these advanced electronics to these countries, and it ends up being useless.
Nii võin ma hea metafoori võtta ühe suure idee loost, mis on päris värske - palju hilisem kui 1650-ndad. Üks vaimustav mees, Timothy Prestero, kellel on organisatsioon nimega Design that Matters. Nad otsustasid käsile võtta pakilise ülesande, rasked probleemid seoses imikusuremuskordajaga arengumaades. Üks väga masendav tõsiasi selle juures on teadmine, et vastsündinute inkubaatorite olemasolu ükskõik kus, enneaegsete imikute soojas hoidmiseks - see on ju väga lihtne - vähendab imikute suremust poole võrra. See tehnoloogia on olemas. Need on tavavarustus kõigis arenenud tööstusriikides. Probleem tekib siis, kui osta 40 000-dollariline aparaat ja saata see teele keskmise suurusega Aafrika külla, töötab see seal hästi aasta või paar, kuid siis läheb see läheb rikki, ja jääbki igaveseks katkiseks, sest puudub varuosade süsteem ja koha peal pole ühtki kompetentset inimest selle kalli seadme parandamiseks. Nii meil ongi lõpuks probleem, et kulutame küll palju raha nende riikide nüüdisaegse tehnikaga varustamiseks, kuid lõpuks muutub see kasutuks.
So what Prestero and his team decided to do was to look around and see: What are the abundant resources in these developing world contexts? And what they noticed was, they don't have a lot of DVRs, they don't have a lot of microwaves, but they seem to do a pretty good job of keeping their cars on the road. There's a Toyota 4Runner on the street in all these places. They seem to have the expertise to keep cars working. So they started to think, "Could we build a neonatal incubator that's built entirely out of automobile parts?" And this is what they came up with. It's called the NeoNurture device. From the outside, it looks like a normal little thing you'd find in a modern Western hospital. In the inside, it's all car parts. It's got a fan, it's got headlights for warmth, it's got door chimes for alarm, it runs off a car battery. And so all you need is the spare parts from your Toyota and the ability to fix a headlight, and you can repair this thing. Now that's a great idea, but I'd like to say that, in fact, this is a great metaphor for the way ideas happen. We like to think our breakthrough ideas, you know, are like that $40,000, brand-new incubator, state-of-the-art technology. But more often than not, they're cobbled together from whatever parts that happen to be around nearby.
Niisiis otsustasid Prestero ja tema meeskond ringi vaadata ja uurida: milliseid ressursse leidub külluses nendes arengumaades? Nad märkasid, et neil pole just palju videosalvesteid ega kuigi palju mikrolaineahjusid, aga autode töökorras hoidmisega saavad nad hästi hakkama. Toyota 4Runner on kõigis neis paigus tänavatel. Näib, et nad oskavad hästi autosid käigus hoida. Nii tulid nad ideele: "Kas me saaksime teha inkubaatori, mis koosneks täielikult autoosadest?" Tulemuseks oli see riistapuu siin. Seadme nimi on NeoNurture. Väljastpoolt paistab see nagu üks tavaline asi, mida võib näha moodsas lääne haiglas. Sees on aga autoosad. Sel on ventilaator, esituled soojuse jaoks ja autouste alarm häire jaoks. See töötab autoaku pealt. Nii et vaja on ainult oma Toyota varuosasid, oskust esituld parandada ja seda saabki remontida. See on muidugi hiilgav idee, aga tegelikult on see väga hea metafoor ka selle jaoks, kuidas ideed tekivad. Meile meeldib mõelda, et meie läbimurde-ideed on nagu see hirmkallis, uhiuus inkubaator, tehnoloogia viimane sõna, aga tihtilugu on uued ideed kokku klopsitud hoopis igasugu osadest, mis juhtuvad käepärast olema. Me võtame ideid teistelt -
We take ideas from other people, people we've learned from, people we run into in the coffee shop, and we stitch them together into new forms and we create something new. That's really where innovation happens. And that means we have to change some of our models of what innovation and deep thinking really looks like, right? I mean, this is one vision of it. Another is Newton and the apple, when Newton was at Cambridge. This is a statue from Oxford. You know, you're sitting there, thinking a deep thought, the apple falls from the tree, and you have the theory of gravity. In fact, the spaces that have historically led to innovation tend to look like this. This is Hogarth's famous painting of a kind of political dinner at a tavern, but this is what the coffee shops looked like back then. This is the kind of chaotic environment where ideas were likely to come together, where people were likely to have new, interesting, unpredictable collisions, people from different backgrounds. So if we're trying to build organizations that are more innovative, we have to build spaces that, strangely enough, look a bit more like this. This is what your office should look like, it's part of my message here.
nendelt, kellelt õpime; nendelt, kellega juhuslikult kohvikus kokku saame - ja seome need kokku uuteks vormideks, luues midagi täiesti uut. Nii toimuvad tegelikult uuendused. See tähendab, et peame muutma mõningaid oma arusaamu sellest, kuidas uuendus ja ideede areng toimuvad. See on üks nägemus sellest. Teine on Newton ja õun ajast, mil Newton Cambridge'is oli. See on kuju Oxfordis. Teate küll, puu all istumise ja sügavalt mõtlemise ajal kukub puu otsast õun ja äkki ongi olemas gravitatsiooniteooria. Tegelikult näevad kohad, mis läbi ajaloo uuendusteni on viinud, pigem sellised välja. See on Hogarthi kuulus maal poliitilisest õhtusöögist kõrtsis, aga just sellised olid ka kohvikud tol ajal. See on selline kaootiline keskkond, kuhu ideed tõenäoliselt kokku tulid, kus tõenäoliselt põrkasid kokku uus, huvitav ja ettearvamatu erinevate taustadega inimeste näol. Seega, kui me tahame uuendusaltimaid organisatsioone, peame looma kohti, mis oleksid sarnased sellele siin. Sellised peaksid olema teie kontorid. See on osa minu sõnumist.
And one of the problems with this is that, when you research this field, people are notoriously unreliable when they actually self-report on where they have their own good ideas, or their history of their best ideas. And a few years ago, a wonderful researcher named Kevin Dunbar decided to go around and basically do the Big Brother approach to figuring out where good ideas come from. He went to a bunch of science labs around the world and videotaped everyone as they were doing every little bit of their job: when they were sitting in front of the microscope, when they were talking to colleagues at the watercooler ... And he recorded all these conversations and tried to figure out where the most important ideas happened. And when we think about the classic image of the scientist in the lab, we have this image -- you know, they're poring over the microscope, and they see something in the tissue sample, and -- "Eureka!" -- they've got the idea.
Üks probleem selle juures on see, kui asja uurida, on inimesed tegelikult paganama ebausaldusväärsed, kui nad kirjeldavad, kus neil head ideed tekivad, või kuidas parimad ideed kujunevad. Mõned aastad tagasi otsustas suurepärane teadur Kevin Dunbar ringi käia ja sisuliselt rakendada tõsielusaate lähenemist, et teada saada, kust tulevad head ideed. Ta käis mitmetes teaduslaborites üle maailma, filmides seal kõiki sellel ajal, kui nad oma igapäevatööd tegid. Nii seda, kui nad istusid mikroskoobi taga kui ka seda, kui nad vestlesid kolleegiga kohvinurgas - kõike sellist. Ta filmis kõiki neid vestlusi ja üritas välja nuputada, kus sünnivad kõige tähtsamad ideed. Tüüpiliselt, kui mõtleme teadlastest laborites, on meil kujutluspilt sellest, teate küll, kuidas nad mikroskoobi all uurides näevad midagi koeproovis. Ja "Oi, heureka!" ongi neil idee käes.
What happened, actually, when Dunbar looked at the tape, is that, in fact, almost all of the important breakthrough ideas did not happen alone in the lab, in front of the microscope. They happened at the conference table at the weekly lab meeting, when everybody got together and shared their latest data and findings, oftentimes when people shared the mistakes they were having, the error, the noise in the signal they were discovering. And something about that environment -- and I've started calling it the "liquid network," where you have lots of different ideas that are together, different backgrounds, different interests, jostling with each other, bouncing off each other -- that environment is, in fact, the environment that leads to innovation.
Kui Dunbar filmitu läbi vaatas, nägi ta, et tegelikult tekkisid peaaegu kõik tähtsad läbimurde-ideed kusagil mujal, mitte üksinda laboris mikroskoobi taga. Nad tekkisid nõupidamistelaua taga iganädalastel koosolekutel, kui kõik said kokku ja jagasid omavahel uusimaid andmeid ja leide; tihtipeale siis, kui inimesed rääkisid tehtud vigadest, eksimustest ja kõigest, mis takistas läbimurret. Midagi selle keskkonna juures - mina nimetan seda "vedelikvõrgustikuks" - kus on koos palju erinevaid ideid, erinevaid taustu ja huvisid, mis tõuklevad üksteisega, põrkuvad omavahel - midagi selles keskkonnas on see, mis viib innovatsioonini.
The other problem that people have is, they like to condense their stories of innovation down to shorter time frames. So they want to tell the story of the eureka moment. They want to say, "There I was, I was standing there, and I had it all, suddenly, clear in my head." But, in fact, if you go back and look at the historical record, it turns out that a lot of important ideas have very long incubation periods. I call this the "slow hunch." We've heard a lot recently about hunch and instinct and blink-like sudden moments of clarity, but, in fact, a lot of great ideas linger on, sometimes for decades, in the back of people's minds. They have a feeling that there's an interesting problem, but they don't quite have the tools yet to discover them. They spend all this time working on certain problems, but there's another thing lingering there that they're interested in, but can't quite solve.
Inimeste teine probleem on nende soov suruda oma innovatsioonilood kokku lühemale ajaskaalale. Nad tahavad rääkida loo just oma "heureka!" hetkest. Nad tahavad öelda: "Seal ma siis seisin ja korraga oligi kõik mu peas selge." Aga tegelikult, kui nad vaatavad ajas tagasi, tuleb välja, et paljudel tähtsatel ideedel on väga pikk inkubatsiooniaeg. Ma panin sellele nimeks "aeglane eelaimus". Hiljuti on olnud palju kuulda aimustest ja instinktist ja hetkega saabuvast selgusest, kuid tegelikult jäävad paljud suured ideed mõnikord aastakümneteks kellegi pähe toppama. Neil on tunne, et on üks huvitav probleem, aga neil pole veel päris õigeid tööriistu selle avastamiseks. Nad töötavad kogu aeg mingite probleemide kallal, aga üks idee ootab ikka oma aega - huvitav on see küll, aga lahendust nad ei leia.
Darwin is a great example of this. Darwin himself, in his autobiography, tells the story of coming up with the idea for natural selection as a classic eureka moment. He's in his study, it's October of 1838, and he's reading Malthus, actually, on population. And all of a sudden, the basic algorithm of natural selection kind of pops into his head, and he says, "Ah, at last, I had a theory with which to work." That's in his autobiography. About a decade or two ago, a wonderful scholar named Howard Gruber went back and looked at Darwin's notebooks from this period. Darwin kept these copious notebooks, where he wrote down every little idea he had, every little hunch. And what Gruber found was that Darwin had the full theory of natural selection for months and months and months before he had his alleged epiphany reading Malthus in October of 1838. There are passages where you can read it, and you think you're reading from a Darwin textbook, from the period before he has his epiphany. And so what you realize is that Darwin, in a sense, had the idea, he had the concept, but was unable to fully think it yet. And that is, actually, how great ideas often happen -- they fade into view over long periods of time.
Darwin on selle kohta hea näide. Darwin ise räägib oma autobiograafias loo sellest, et idee looduslikust valikust tekkis tal klassikalise "heureka!" hetkena. Oma kabinetis, 1838. aasta oktoobris luges ta üldse Malthust rahvastiku kohta. Ja ühtäkki turgatab talle pähe loodusliku valiku põhialgoritm ja ta lausub: "Lõpuks ometi oli mul teooria, millega edasi töötada." See on ta autobiograafias. Kümmekond aastat tagasi võttis õpetlane nimega Howard Gruber ette ja vaatas läbi Darwini märkmikke sellest perioodist. Darwin pidas mahukaid märkmikke, kuhu ta kirjutas üles iga väikseimagi idee ja õrna aimuse. Gruber leidis, et Darwinil oli terve loodusliku valiku teooria olemas juba mitmeid kuid enne oma väidetavat ilmutushetke 1838.a. oktoobris Malthust lugedes. On olemas lõigud, mida lugedes tekib tunne, nagu oleksid need mõnest Darwini õpikust tema avastusele eelnevast ajast. Nii saamegi aru, et teatud mõttes oli Darwinil juba see käsitlus olemas, aga veel mõtlemises "kinni". Tihtipeale head ideed just nii tekivadki: nad tõusevad pinnale pika aja jooksul.
Now the challenge for all of us is: How do you create environments that allow these ideas to have this long half-life? It's hard to go to your boss and say, "I have an excellent idea for our organization. It will be useful in 2020."
Meie kõigi ees seisab väljakutse: kuidas luua selliseid keskkondi, mis võimaldavad ideedele pikka küpsemisperioodi? Raske on minna ja öelda oma ülemusele: "Mul on suurepärane idee meie ettevõtte jaoks. See muutub kasulikuks 2020. aastal.
(Laughter)
Kas annate mulle sellega tegelemiseks aega?"
"Could you just give me some time to do that?"
Mõned ettevõtted, nagu näiteks Google,
Now a couple of companies like Google have innovation time off, 20 percent time. In a sense, those are hunch-cultivating mechanisms in an organization. But that's a key thing. And the other thing is to allow those hunches to connect with other people's hunches; that's what often happens. You have half of an idea, somebody else has the other half, and if you're in the right environment, they turn into something larger than the sum of their parts. So in a sense, we often talk about the value of protecting intellectual property -- you know, building barricades, having secretive R and D labs, patenting everything that we have so that those ideas will remain valuable, and people will be incentivized to come up with more ideas, and the culture will be more innovative. But I think there's a case to be made that we should spend at least as much time, if not more, valuing the premise of connecting ideas and not just protecting them.
annavad 20% tööajast vabaks uuenduste jaoks, mis tegelikult ongi ettevõttesisene aimuste küpsemise tööriist. See ongi edu võti. Teine asi on lasta neil aimustel luua ühendus teiste inimeste ideedega - mis ka tihtipeale juhtub. Sul on üks pool ideest, kellelgi on selle idee teine pool ja õiges keskkonnas olles muutuvad need millekski suuremaks kui 1+1. Ühest küljest räägime me tihti, kui tähtis on intellektuaalse omandi kaitse, teate küll, tõkete ehitamine, arenduslaborites salatsemine, kõige olemasoleva patenteerimine, et ideed säilitaksid oma väärtuse ja inimesed oleksid motiveeritud uusi ideid välja käima ning kultuur muutuks uuendusaltimaks. Teisest küljest aga on vajalik kulutada sama palju aega, kui mitte rohkem, ideede eos ühendamise väärtustamisele, mitte ainult nende kaitsmisele.
And I'll leave you with this story, which I think captures a lot of these values. It's just a wonderful tale of innovation, and how it happens in unlikely ways. It's October of 1957, and Sputnik has just launched. And we're in Laurel, Maryland, at the Applied Physics Lab associated with Johns Hopkins University. It's Monday morning, and the news has just broken about this satellite that's now orbiting the planet. And, of course, this is nerd heaven, right? There are all these physics geeks who are there, thinking, "Oh my gosh! This is incredible. I can't believe this has happened." And two of them, two twentysomething researchers at the APL, are there at the cafeteria table, having an informal conversation with a bunch of their colleagues. And these two guys are named Guier and Weiffenbach. They start talking, and one of them says, "Hey, has anybody tried to listen for this thing? There's this, you know, man-made satellite up there in outer space that's obviously broadcasting some kind of signal. We could probably hear it, if we tune in." So they ask around to a couple of their colleagues, and everybody's like, "No, I hadn't thought of doing that. That's an interesting idea."
Lõpetuseks räägin ma teile ühe loo, mis minu arvates näitab neid väärtusi ja on väga hea lugu ettearvamatust innovatsioonist. On 1957.a oktoober, Sputnik on hiljuti startinud. Me oleme Laurelis, Marylandis, rakendusfüüsika laboris, mis on osa Johns Hopkinsi Ülikoolist. On esmaspäeva hommik ja uudised Maa ümber tiirlevast satelliidist on just teatavaks saanud. Mõistagi oleme me nohikute paradiisis. Kõik need füüsikatarkurid mõtlevad: "Jessas! See on vapustav. Ma ei suuda uskuda, et see juhtus." Kaks neist, füüsikalabori teadurid vanuses 20 ja natuke peale, istuvad kohvikulaua taga ja ajavad töökaaslastega niisama juttu. Nende meeste nimed on Guier ja Weiffenbach. Nad ajavad juttu ja üks neist ütleb: "Hei, kas keegi on proovinud seda värki kuulata? Seal üleval kosmoses on ju inimkäte loodud satelliit, kindlasti saadab see välja mingisugust signaali. Seda saaks ilmselt kuulda, kui õigesti häälestada." Nad uurivad mõne kolleegi käest ja need vastavad: "Ei, ma pole selle peale mõelnud. See on huvitav idee."
And it turns out Weiffenbach is kind of an expert in microwave reception, and he's got a little antenna set up with an amplifier in his office. So Guier and Weiffenbach go back to Weiffenbach's office, and they start noodling around -- "hacking," as we might call it now. And after a couple of hours, they start picking up the signal, because the Soviets made Sputnik very easy to track; it was right at 20 MHz, so you could pick it up really easily, because they were afraid people would think it was a hoax, basically, so they made it really easy to find.
Tuleb välja, et Weiffenbach on tegelikult ekspert mikrolainete vastuvõtmise alal ja tal on tööruumis olemas väiksed antennid koos võimendiga. Guier ja Weiffenbach lähevad tagasi viimase ruumi ja hakkavad proovima - või häkkima, nagu praegusel ajal öeldakse. Juba paari tunni pärast püüavad nad signaali kinni, sest Nõukogude Liit tegi Sputniku väga lihtsalt jälgitavaks. Sagedus oli täpselt 20 MHz ja signaali oli kerge kinni püüda, sest nad kartsid, et seda peetakse pettuseks. Nii nad muutsidki selle kergesti leitavaks.
So these guys are sitting there, listening to this signal, and people start coming into the office and saying, "That's pretty cool. Can I hear?" And before long, they think, "Jeez, this is kind of historic. We may be the first people in the United States listening to this. We should record it." So they bring in this big, clunky analog tape recorder and start recording these little bleep, bleeps. And they start writing down the date stamp, time stamps for each little bleep that they record. And then they start thinking, "Well, gosh, we're noticing small little frequency variations here. We could probably calculate the speed that the satellite is traveling if we do a little basic math here using the Doppler effect." And they played around with it a little bit more and talked to a couple of their colleagues who had other specialties. And they said, "You know, we could actually look at the slope of the Doppler effect to figure out the points at which the satellite is closest to our antenna and the points at which it's furthest away. That's pretty cool."
Need kaks meest istuvad siis seal ja kuulavad seda signaali. ja inimesed tulevad ruumist läbi ja ütlevad: "Vau, see on päris lahe. Las ma kuulan ka. Vinge!" Varsti tuleb neil uus mõte: "Aga see on ju midagi ajaloolist. Võib-olla oleme me esimesed Ameerika Ühendriikides, kes seda kuulevad. Salvestame seda." Nad toovad kohale suure, kohmaka magnetofoni ja hakkavad neid väikeseid piikse lindistama. Nad kirjutavad üles ka kuupäeva ja ajamärgised iga väikese lindistatud piiksu kohta. Nad hakkavad mõtlema: "Aga, vaadake, me märkame siin väikeseid muutusi sageduses. Me saame ilmselt arvutada kiiruse, millega satelliit liigub, kui teeme mõned arvutused Doppleri efekti kasutades." Siis nad mängisid sellega veel natuke ja rääkisid paari kolleegiga teistelt erialadelt. Siis nad arvasid: "Teate, aga me usume, et saame Doppleri efekti kallet vaadates määrata ära need punktid, kus satelliit on antennidele kõige lähemal ja kus ta on nendest kõige kaugemal. See on päris lahe."
Eventually, they get permission -- this is all a little side project that hadn't been officially part of their job description -- they get permission to use the new UNIVAC computer that takes up an entire room that they'd just gotten at the APL. And they run some more of the numbers, and at the end of about three or four weeks, turns out they have mapped the exact trajectory of this satellite around the Earth, just from listening to this one little signal, going off on this little side hunch that they'd been inspired to do over lunch one morning.
Lõpuks nad saavadki loa - see kõik oli väike kõrvalprojekt, mis ei olnud ametlikult nende tööülesanne. Nad saavad loa kasutada uut UNIVAC arvutit, mis võtab enda alla terve toa ja mille labor oli just saanud. Nad teevad veel mõned arvutused ja umbes kolme-nelja nädala pärast on nad kaardistanud satelliidi täpse trajektoori ümber Maa - ning seda kõike lihtsalt üht väikest signaali kuulates, üht kõrvalist aimust järgides, millele nad said innustust söögilauavestluse ajal.
A couple weeks later, their boss, Frank McClure, pulls them into the room and says, "Hey, you guys, I have to ask you something about that project you were working on. You've figured out an unknown location of a satellite orbiting the planet from a known location on the ground. Could you go the other way? Could you figure out an unknown location on the ground if you knew the location of the satellite?" And they thought about it and they said, "Well, I guess maybe you could. Let's run the numbers here." So they went back and thought about it and came back and said, "Actually, it'll be easier." And he said, "Oh, that's great, because, see, I have these new nuclear submarines"
Paar nädalat hiljem kutsub nende ülemus Frank McClure nad oma kabinetti ja ütleb: "Kuulge, ma pean teilt midagi küsima projekti kohta, mille kallal te töötasite. Te määrasite kindlaks ümber Maa tiirleva satelliidi asukoha ühest kindlast asukohast maa peal. Kas teistpidi ka saab? Kas te saate kindlaks määrata teadmata asukoha Maal, kui teate satelliidi asukohta?" Nad mõtlesid ja ütlesid: "Arvatavasti saab. Peame mõned arvutused tegema." Nad läksid tagasi ja mõtlesid sellest. Tagasi tulles ütlesid nad: "See on tegelikult lihtsamgi." McClure vastas: "Väga hea. Vaadake, mul on uued tuumaallveelaevad,
(Laughter)
neid parasjagu ehitatakse.
"that I'm building. And it's really hard to figure out how to get your missile so that it will land right on top of Moscow if you don't know where the submarine is in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. So we're thinking we could throw up a bunch of satellites and use it to track our submarines and figure out their location in the middle of the ocean. Could you work on that problem?"
Väga raske on kindlaks määrata raketi teekonda, et see täpselt Moskvat tabaks, kui pole teada, kus allveelaev Vaikses ookeanis täpselt asub. Me mõtlesime, et võiks üles saata hulga satelliite ja jälgida nendega meie allveelaevu, määrates kindlaks nende asukoha keset ookeani. Kas te saate sellega tegeleda?" Nii sündiski GPS.
And that's how GPS was born. Thirty years later, Ronald Reagan, actually, opened it up and made it an open platform that anybody could build upon, and anybody could come along and build new technology that would create and innovate on top of this open platform, left it open for anyone to do pretty much anything they wanted with it. And now, I guarantee you, certainly half of this room, if not more, has a device sitting in their pocket right now that is talking to one of these satellites in outer space. And I bet you one of you, if not more, has used said device and said satellite system to locate a nearby coffeehouse somewhere in the last --
30 aastat hiljem avas Ronald Reagan selle tsiviilkasutuseks ja muutis avatud platvormiks, kuhu igaüks võib peale ehitada ja juurde arendada uut tehnoloogiat, mis oleks loov ja innovaatiline. Sellele avatud platvormile võis igaüks rajada praktiliselt kõike, mida ta teha tahtis. Ja nüüd ma garanteerin, et vähemalt pooltel siinolijaist on praegu taskus mõni seade, mis räägib ühega neist satelliitidest avakosmoses. Ja ma vean kihla, et vähemalt üks teist on kasutanud seda seadet ja satelliite mõne lähedal asuva kohviku leidmiseks viimase ...
(Laughter)
(Naer)
in the last day or last week, right?
päeva või nädala jooksul, õigus?
(Applause)
(Aplaus)
And that, I think, is a great case study, a great lesson in the power -- the marvelous, unplanned, emergent, unpredictable power -- of open innovative systems. When you build them right, they will be led to completely new directions the creators never even dreamed of. I mean, here you have these guys who basically thought they were just following this hunch, this little passion that had developed, then they thought they were fighting the Cold War, and then, it turns out, they're just helping somebody find a soy latte.
Ja see, ma usun, on väga hea näide ja õppetund sellest imelisest, planeerimata, arenevast, ettearvamatust jõust, mis on avatud innovaatilistel süsteemidel. Kui need õigesti ehitada, antakse neile hoopis teistsugune suund, kui nende loojad eales ette oskavad kujutada. Needsamad kaks meest mõtlesid, et nad järgisid lihtsalt üht ideekest, seda väikest tekkinud kirge; pärastpoole nad arvasid, et peavad külma sõda, ja nüüd tuleb välja, et nad aitavad kellelgi lihtsalt tassi kohvi leida.
(Laughter)
(Naer)
That is how innovation happens. Chance favors the connected mind.
Nii toimubki innovatsioon. Juhus soosib seoseid loovat mõistust.
Thank you very much.
Suur tänu!
(Applause)
(Aplaus)