Good morning.
How are you? It's been great, hasn't it? I've been blown away [impress] by the whole thing. In fact, I'm
leaving. (Laughter) There have
been three themes, haven't there, running through the conference, which
are relevant to what I want to talk about. One is the extraordinary evidence of
human creativity in all of the presentations that we've had and in all of the
people here. Just the variety of it and the range [limits] of it. The second is that it's put us in a
place where we have no idea what's going to happen, in terms of the future. No
idea how this may play out [how it will go]
I have an
interest in education -- actually, what I find is everybody has an interest in education.
Don't you? I find this very interesting. If you're at a dinner party, and you
say you work in education -- actually, you're not often at dinner parties,
frankly, if you work in education. (Laughter) You're not asked. And you're
never asked back
[invite],
curiously. That's strange to me. But if you are, and you say to somebody, you
know, they say, "What do you do?" and you say you work in education,
you can see the blood run from their face. They're like, "Oh my God,"
you know, "Why me? My one night out all week." (Laughter) But if you
ask about their education, they pin you to the wall. Because it's one of those things that goes
deep with people, am I right? Like religion, and money and other things. I have
a big interest in education, and I think we all do. We have a huge vested interest in it,
partly because it's education that's meant to take us into this future that we
can't grasp [grip firmly]. If you
think of it, children starting school this year will be retiring in 2065.
Nobody has a clue --despite all the expertise that's been on parade [march of troops] for the
past four days -- what the world will look like in five years' time. And yet [still] we're meant to be
educating them for it. So the unpredictability, I think, is extraordinary.
And the third
part of this is that we've all agreed, nonetheless, [despite that] on the really extraordinary
capacities that children have -- their capacities for innovation. I mean,
Sirena last night was a marvel, wasn't she? Just seeing what she could do. And
she's exceptional, but I think she's not, so to speak, exceptional in the whole
of childhood. What you have there is a person of extraordinary dedication who
found a talent. And my contention is, all kids have tremendous talents. And we squander
[to spend wastefully or
extravagantly] them, pretty ruthlessly. [feeling or showing no mercy] So I want to talk
about education and I want to talk about creativity. My contention [a point asserted in argument] is that
creativity now is as important in education as literacy, and we should treat it
with the same status. (Applause) Thank you. That was it, by the way. Thank you
very much. (Laughter) So, 15 minutes left. Well, I was born ... no. (Laughter)
I heard a
great story recently -I love telling it- of a little girl who was in a drawing
lesson. She was six and she was at the back, drawing, and the teacher said this
little girl hardly ever paid attention, and in this drawing lesson she did. The
teacher was fascinated and she went over to her and she said, "What are
you drawing?" And the girl said, "I'm drawing a picture of God."
And the teacher said, "But nobody knows what God looks like." And the
girl said, "They will in a minute." (Laughter)
When my son
was four in England -actually he was four everywhere, to be honest- (Laughter)
if we're being strict about it, wherever he went, he was four that year. He was
in the Nativity play. Do you remember the story? No, it was big. It was a big
story. Mel Gibson did the sequel. You may have seen it: "Nativity II."
But James got the part of Joseph, which we were thrilled [a sudden sensation of excitement and pleasure]
about. We considered this to be one of the lead parts. We had the place crammed [fill completely, stuff] full
of agents in T-shirts: "James Robinson IS Joseph!" (Laughter) He
didn't have to speak, but you know the bit where the three kings come in. They
come in bearing gifts, and they bring gold, frankincense and myrrh. This really
happened. We were sitting there and I think they just went out of sequence,
because we talked to the little boy afterward and we said, "You OK with
that?" And he said, "Yeah, why? Was that wrong?" They just
switched, that was it. Anyway, the three boys came in -four-year-olds with tea
towels on their heads- and they put these boxes down, and the first boy said,
"I bring you gold." And the second boy said, "I bring you myrrh."
And the third boy said, "Frank sent this." (Laughter) [The kid confused
frankincense with “Frank sent this”.]
What these
things have in common is that kids will take a chance. If they don't know,
they'll have a go. Am I right? They're not frightened of being wrong. Now, I
don't mean to say that being wrong is the same thing as being creative. What we
do know is, if you're not prepared to be wrong, you'll never come up with
anything original -if you're not prepared to be wrong-. And by the time they
get to be adults, most kids have lost that capacity. They have become
frightened of being wrong. And we run our companies like this, by the way. We
stigmatize mistakes. And we're now running national education systems where
mistakes are the worst thing you can make. And the result is that we are
educating people out of their creative capacities. Picasso once said this -- he
said that all children are born artists. The problem is to remain an artist as
we grow up. I believe this passionately, that we don't grow into creativity, we
grow out of it. Or rather, we get educated out if it. So why is this?
I lived in
Stratford-on-Avon until about five years ago. In fact, we moved from Stratford
to Los Angeles. So you can imagine what a seamless [continuous] transition that was. (Laughter)
Actually, we lived in a place called Snitterfield, just outside Stratford,
which is where Shakespeare's father was born. Are you struck by a new thought?
I was. You don't think of Shakespeare having a father, do you? Do you? Because
you don't think of Shakespeare being a child, do you? Shakespeare being seven?
I never thought of it. I mean, he was seven at some point. He was in somebody's
English class, wasn't he? How annoying [displease] would that be? (Laughter) "Must
try harder." Being sent to bed by his dad, you know, to Shakespeare,
"Go to bed, now," to William Shakespeare, "and put the pencil
down. And stop speaking like that. It's confusing everybody." (Laughter)
Anyway, we
moved from Stratford to Los Angeles, and I just want to say a word about the
transition, actually. My son didn't want to come. I've got two kids. He's 21
now; my daughter's 16. He didn't want to come to Los Angeles. He loved it, but
he had a girlfriend in England. This was the love of his life, Sarah. He'd known
her for a month. Mind you,
they'd had their fourth anniversary, because it's a long time when you're 16.
Anyway, he was really upset on the plane, and he said, "I'll never find
another girl like Sarah." And we were rather pleased about that, frankly,
because she was the main reason we were leaving the country.(Laughter)
But something
strikes you when you move to America and when you travel around the world:
Every education system on earth has the same hierarchy of subjects. Every one.
Doesn't matter where you go. You'd think it would be otherwise, but it isn't.
At the top are mathematics and languages, then the humanities, and the bottom
are the arts. Everywhere on Earth. And in pretty much every system too, there's a hierarchy within the
arts. Art and music are normally given a higher status in schools than drama
and dance. There isn't an education system on the planet that teaches dance
everyday to children the way we teach them mathematics. Why? Why not? I think
this is rather important. I think math is very important, but so is dance.
Children dance all the time if they're allowed to, we all do. We all have
bodies, don't we? Did I miss a meeting? (Laughter) Truthfully,[telling or expressing the truth] what
happens is, as children grow up, we start to educate them progressively from
the waist up.[ the middle part of the human body, in this case, the
upper] And then we focus on their heads. And slightly
[in small measure or
degree ]to one side.
If you were
to visit education, as an alien, and say "What's it for, public
education?" I think you'd have to conclude -- if you look at the output,
who really succeeds by this,
who does everything that they should, who gets all the brownie points, [approval you get from your
teacher or boss by doing extra work or special favours ]who are the
winners -- I think you'd have to conclude the whole purpose of public education
throughout the world is to produce university professors. Isn't it? They're the
people who come out the top. And I used to be one, so there. (Laughter) And I
like university professors, but you know, we shouldn't hold them up as the
high-water mark of all human achievement.[something that has been accomplished] They're just
a form of life, another form of life. But they're rather curious, and I say
this out of affection
for them. There's something curious about professors in my experience -- not
all of them, but typically -- they live in their heads. They live up there, and slightly to one side.
They're disembodied, you know, in a kind of literal way. They look upon their
body as a form of transport for their heads, don't they? (Laughter) It's a way
of getting their head to meetings. If you want real evidence of out-of-body
experiences, by the way, get yourself along to a residential conference of
senior academics, and pop into the discotheque on the final night. (Laughter)
And there you will see it -- grown men and women writhing [to twist] uncontrollably, off the beat, waiting until
it ends so they can go home and write a paper about it.
Now our
education system is predicated on the idea of academic ability. And there's a
reason. The whole system was invented -- around the world, there were no public
systems of education, really, before the 19th century. They all came into being
to meet the needs of industrialism. So the hierarchy is rooted on two ideas.
Number one, that the most useful subjects for work are at the top. So you were
probably steered
[to direct the course of
(a vehicle or vessel) with a steering wheel, rudder, etc] benignly away from things at
school when you were a kid, things you liked, on the grounds that you would
never get a job doing that. Is that right? Don't do music, you're not going to
be a musician; don't do art, you won't be an artist. Benign advice -- now,
profoundly mistaken. The whole world is engulfed [to immerse] in a revolution. And the second is
academic ability, which has really come to dominate our view of intelligence,
because the universities designed the system in their image. If you think of
it, the whole system of public education around the world is a protracted
[to extend in time]
process of university entrance. And the consequence is that many highly
talented, brilliant, creative people think they're not, because the thing they
were good at school wasn't valued, or was actually stigmatized. And I think we can't afford
[to be able to do or spare
something, esp without incurring financial difficulties or without risk of
undesirable consequences] to go on that way.
In the next
30 years, according to UNESCO, more people worldwide will be graduating through
education than since the beginning of history. More people, and it's the
combination of all the things we've talked about -- technology and its
transformation effect on work, and demography and the huge explosion in
population. Suddenly, degrees aren't worth [to have a value] anything. Isn't that true? When I was a
student, if you had a degree, you had a job. If you didn't have a job it's
because you didn't want one. And I didn't want one, frankly. (Laughter) But now
kids with degrees are often heading home to carry on playing video games,
because you need an MA where the previous job required a BA, and now you need a
PhD for the other. It's a process of academic inflation. And it indicates the
whole structure of education is shifting beneath our feet. We need to radically rethink our view
of intelligence.
We know three
things about intelligence. One, it's diverse. We think about the world in all
the ways that we experience it. We think visually, we think in sound, we think
kinesthetically. We think in abstract terms, we think in movement. Secondly,
intelligence is dynamic. If you look at the interactions of a human brain, as
we heard yesterday from a number of presentations, intelligence is wonderfully
interactive. The brain isn't divided into compartments. In fact, creativity --
which I define as the process of having original ideas that have value -- more
often than not comes about through the interaction of different disciplinary
ways of seeing things.
, if she comes in I get annoyed [irritate]. I say, "Terry, please, I'm trying to fry an egg in here. Give me a break." (Laughter) Actually, you know that old philosophical thing, if a tree falls in a forest and nobody hears it, did it happen? Remember that old chestnut?[ an old or stale joke] I saw a great t-shirt really recently which said, "If a man speaks his mind in a forest, and no woman hears him, is he still wrong?" (Laughter)
And the third
thing about intelligence is, it's distinct. I'm doing a new book at the moment called
"Epiphany," which is based on a series of interviews with people
about how they discovered their talent. I'm fascinated by how people got to be
there. It's really prompted [refresh the memory] by a conversation I had with a
wonderful woman who maybe most people have never heard of; she's called Gillian
Lynne -- have you heard of her? Some have. She's a choreographer and everybody
knows her work. She did "Cats" and "Phantom of the Opera."
She's wonderful. I used to be on the board of the Royal Ballet in England, as
you can see. Anyway, Gillian and I had lunch one day and I said, "Gillian,
how'd you get to be a dancer?" And she said it was interesting; when she
was at school, she was really hopeless. [without skill or ability] And the school, in the
'30s, wrote to her parents and said, "We think Gillian has a learning
disorder." She couldn't concentrate; she was fidgeting.
I think now they'd say she had ADHD. Wouldn't you? But this was the 1930s, and ADHD hadn't been invented at this point. It wasn't an available condition. (Laughter) People weren't aware they could have that.
I think now they'd say she had ADHD. Wouldn't you? But this was the 1930s, and ADHD hadn't been invented at this point. It wasn't an available condition. (Laughter) People weren't aware they could have that.
Anyway, she went
to see this specialist. So, this oak-paneled room, and she was there with her
mother, and she was led and sat on this chair at the end, and she sat on her
hands for 20 minutes while this man talked to her mother about all the problems
Gillian was having at school. And at the end of it -- because she was
disturbing people; her homework was always late; and so on, little kid of eight
-- in the end, the doctor went and sat next to Gillian and said, "Gillian,
I've listened to all these things that your mother's told me, and I need to
speak to her privately." He said, "Wait here. We'll be back; we won't
be very long," and they went and left her. But as they went out the room,
he turned on the radio that was sitting on his desk. And when they got out the
room, he said to her mother, "Just stand and watch her." And the
minute they left the room, she said, she was on her feet, moving to the music. And
they watched for a few minutes and he turned to her mother and said, "Mrs.
Lynne, Gillian isn't sick; she's a dancer. Take her to a dance school."
I said,
"What happened?" She said, "She did. I can't tell you how
wonderful it was. We walked in this room and it was full of people like me.
People who couldn't sit still. People who had to move to think." Who had
to move to think. They did ballet; they did tap; they did jazz; they did
modern; they did contemporary. She was eventually auditioned for the Royal
Ballet School; she became a soloist; she had a wonderful career at the Royal
Ballet. She eventually graduated from the Royal Ballet School and founded her
own company -- the Gillian Lynne Dance Company -- met Andrew Lloyd Weber. She's
been responsible for some of the most successful musical theatre productions in
history; she's given pleasure to millions; and she's a multi-millionaire.
Somebody else might have put her on medication and told her to calm down.
Now, I think
... (Applause) What I think it comes to is this: Al Gore spoke the other night
about ecology and the revolution that was triggered by Rachel Carson. I believe
our only hope for the future is to adopt a new conception of human ecology, one
in which we start to reconstitute our conception of the richness of human
capacity. Our education system has mined our minds in the way that we strip-mine
[to take or pull (the
covering, clothes, etc) off (oneself, another person, or thing)] the
earth: for a particular commodity. And for the future, it won't serve us. We
have to rethink the fundamental principles on which we're educating our
children. There was a wonderful quote by Jonas Salk, who said, "If all the
insects were to disappear from the earth, within 50 years all life on Earth
would end. If all human beings disappeared from the earth, within 50 years all
forms of life would flourish."And he's right.
What TED
celebrates is the gift of the human imagination. We have to be careful now that
we use this gift wisely [prudently]
and that we avert
[prevent from occurring]
some of the scenarios that we've talked about. And the only way we'll do it is
by seeing our creative capacities for the richness they are and seeing our
children for the hope that they are. And our task is to educate their whole
being, so they can face this future. By the way -- we may not see this future,
but they will. And our job is to help them make something of it. Thank you very
much.
http://www.lavanguardia.com/lacontra/20101103/54063818455/la-creatividad-se-aprende-igual-que-se-aprende-a-leer.html
http://www.lavanguardia.com/lacontra/20101103/54063818455/la-creatividad-se-aprende-igual-que-se-aprende-a-leer.html
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