Chris Anderson is the curator of TED
"The single biggest amplifier has always been the great idea."
I work in a building full of extraordinary people. These people are never so excited as when they are sharing their latest discovery from the thousand or so presentations on TED Talks. Whether it’s a scientist prodding a brain, Bill Gates releasing mosquitoes into a crowd, a demonstration of a new prosthetic arm, a printable kidney, a mapping of the multiverse, or just a magic show, we gather around laptops enthusiastically carried between offices, gasping at the possibility of ideas. We’re nerds that way.
Chris Anderson made his fortune in publishing, back when people could make their fortune in publishing (we have not, as yet, made our fortune in publishing). He grew up in Pakistan, the child of medical missionaries. After a childhood that took him through the Himalayas, Afghanistan and India, he pioneered the British computer magazine industry. In the 1980s and early 1990s his company Future Publishing was responsible for some of the biggest-selling magazines around. These were the magazines that made my unashamedly geeky childhood bookshelves sag. Around the turn of the century, after moving across the pond and cracking the American market, Chris turned his attention to a much more ambitious project: changing the world.
The TED conference had been taking place in California since the early 1980s. TED (Technology, Entertainment, Design) was, historically, a place where well-to-do entrepreneurs could gather and be inspired by revolutionary thinkers, and by each other. After Chris and his not-for-profit foundation took the reins in 2001, TED went through some remarkable changes. Over the course of a decade, it has become a stage upon which some of the world’s greatest and most innovative thinkers share their ideas and, in eighteen minutes, give the talk of their lives, to an audience of hundreds of millions.
The real revolution happened in 2006, when Chris and his team made the decision to give all of their content away, on the internet, for free. A conference which had often been described as a fascinating, elitist playground of ideas for the privileged (who could afford the several-thousand-dollar seats) became a radical force for the spread of innovation. Its audience spiralled into the hundreds of millions.
In 2008, the conference spread its tentacles further into the grassroots with the launch of TEDx, a brand and toolkit for community-organised conferences staged around the world with the endorsement of central command. There are now several hundred TEDx conferences taking place every year, run by volunteers and attended by thousands.
TED has grown from a conference into a movement of ideas. Chris has come to believe that the power to share video online may well become one of the most important innovations in human history, up there with Gutenberg. As we attempted to speak on Skype, and I took in the pixelated bookshelves of TED’s New York offices, we grappled with disappearing sound and stuttering video, leading me to believe we may be a way off of that ideal. But Chris’s enthusiasm and world-changing fervour can’t be quelled by the simple limitations of the technology we have—the future is just around the corner.
Oh my goodness! Wow. That is a long time ago.
I think the art of the magazine has moved on a little since then, but that was a hilarious time. It was one of the first magazines that was put together with computerised typesetting.
We weren’t fully sure of the language to talk about it then, but I guess the narrative was passion and authenticity, and trying to tap into real voices.
There was nothing more exciting at the time than computers, and they were being written about by slightly cynical jaded professionals. The insight with that magazine was to find the kids who were really passionate about it and teach them to write, rather than try to inject passion into jaded hacks who were never going to get the excitement of that new world.
Passion was the clue, when I first went to TED, that there was something really special there. That’s part of why I fell in love with it and decided it was the kind of thing you could devote a life to. So there’s a tenuous connection, at least.
I’d made some money from the magazine world. I knew that at some point I wanted to figure out some way of using some of that money to make a difference, but it wasn’t clear how.
I was interested in all the upsides of human intention: technology, mass media, education, entrepreneurship. All of those things were of interest, but the single biggest amplifier has always been the great idea, the idea whose time has come, because it spreads of its own accord, sweeping all before it, rewiring brains as it goes, persuading people to do its bidding [laughs].
There was certainly a lot of excitement that there was something very special happening here, but it took several years to actually acquire TED and put it into the foundation, and then to realise that this was something that I could spend all of my time on. That was a process, but the falling in love was a lightning bolt.
It was a very powerful first year experience. It wasn’t on the first day, there was bafflement mainly then—why on earth was I listening to people from all these different disciplines? Did I really need to listen to architects, primatologists and so on? It didn’t make sense, because we don’t normally do that. We’re interested in the thing that we’re working on. Most of us have tunnel vision and we’re focussed on that. We’re told that that’s what you have to do to be successful—focus, dig deep, all that sort of stuff, to the extent that many people have lost the context of their work, and the fact that knowledge is connected.
You actually don’t really truly understand anything unless you understand the context in which it happens.
There is unbelievable inspiration and wisdom to be gained from listening to people well outside your field. The breakthrough spark often comes from outside the little box in which you’re focussed. All those things in their different moments were clear in a way at that very first TED.
But it was a very personal story of Aimee Mullins, the athlete who unscrewed her artificial leg on stage and changed it for a different one, and talked about possibility in a very personal way. I was sitting there with tears streaming down my face, thinking, “Okay, I get it, I get what people love about this thing.” The journey since then has been one of trying to let what was special there out into the world.
Back in 2002 when I first took over, YouTube was in no-one’s mind, and the power of online video and what that would mean, that just didn’t exist.
The early thoughts about what it meant to let TED out into the world were around the TED Prize—let’s get behind one of these ideas as a whole community and try to make it real—and things like early versions of our Fellows program—not everybody can afford to come to this thing, so let’s pick people who really should be here and pay for them to come.
We had a hopeful notion of a bigger audience, but we didn’t know how to do it. We’d talked with some TV companies about putting TED on TV, and really nobody was interested—“Talking heads are terrible television, you can’t possibly do that!” We thought they were wrong, but no-one was interested.
The economics eventually allowed online video to work. When you think about it, in pretty much two years, the de facto cost of sending one person’s heartfelt message from point A in the world to point B fell from about two dollars, when you’d have had to duplicated it onto a DVD and mail it in 2003, to a penny in 2006. There’s a spectacular cost reduction, and it really did change what was possible. Suddenly a whole bunch of things could be shared online that could never be shared before.
We decided to take a risk with some of the talks, a little bit fearful that we were giving away the crown jewels, but it felt like the right thing to do. The astonishing thing for us was not so much that it was hard to interpret the numbers—a few thousand people watched, it was neither small nor big—but what was special was the tone of the reactions to that experiment.
The people who were seeing them were reacting in ways that you could tell that the talks had just got inside their heads.
They made them laugh, they made them excited, they made them want to email all their friends, they made them weep. They sparked passion, and that was thrilling. That, to me, has always been the clue that you are onto something. It persuaded us to reengineer TED—instead of being a conference, it became a website. The conference generated the content, but the real audience was online, and it became “ideas worth spreading”.
A few months after that, in early 2007, we launched the new TED.com, and ever since, we’ve seen this constant upward march of viewership, which has been pretty exciting to see.
It sounds preposterous at first, it sounds like a cheap throw- away statement, but I actually think it is true. The reason it’s true is that human-to-human communication is powerful at a whole new level, more so than written communication can ever be.
It’s a cliché to say that ninety per cent, or pick a number, of communication is non-verbal, I don’t know if that is dependable, but certainly a lot of communication is non-verbal. When a speaker in a theatrical situation is surrounded by a watching audience, they are tracking every movement of their eyes, every emotional twitch on their face, every sound of vulnerability or confidence in their voice. They’re looking at their gestures, at their body language, but there’s an explosion of activity going on in the audience that you don’t get by reading print.
Some of it is actually quite mysterious, but at its best it is unbelievably powerful. My view is that online video has allowed that process, that experience, to go global, and that is a very big deal. It’s meant that, for the first time ever, the world’s most ambitious communicators, instead of spending all their time writing—which has been the right strategy for the last 500 years—can actually consider communicating directly, and for some of them, for people with the right talent who can figure it out, that becomes an extraordinary platform.
Suddenly there are these invisible people, who had brilliant ideas but no real way of getting them out there, with global audiences in the millions. It has transformed them, and is in danger of sending ripples right across the world.
It’s a very thrilling thing.
Viewed from the student end of it, this is an amazing time. For the first time in history, any ambitious student gets to sit and meet, a foot away on their screen, the world’s most gifted teacher in their subject, and learn directly from them. That’s an incredible thing. So it’s exactly that: it’s a giant leap in the very process of spreading ideas, and there will be huge knock-on effects.
It is fertile, and I don’t think it’s fully understood. It’s clear that a lot of learning is best thought of as linear. For example, to learn mathematics, there are certain skills you need to learn before you can learn other skills. However there are also many, many areas where the right way to think of ideas, or of innovation, is that those things happen as a result of the collision of different ideas in unexpected ways.
Matt Ridley’s phrase is that ideas spread by having sex, and I think that’s a perfectly good way to think of it. Every receiving brain out there is different, everyone is prepped a little differently, and when you combine a set of ideas from here, and a set of ideas from there, and mix them up, it’s in the mixing and in the provocation and in the catalytic work that occasionally something truly spectacular and new pops out.
Steven Johnson talks about ideas being liquid networks. This is why multidisciplinary thinking and provocation is so powerful, you can have these giant ah- ha! moments. Personally, for me about fourteen months ago, I had one of those moments watching a dance troupe. I realised that the process that had pulled them together—recruitment over the internet—and had driven their skills— seeing dancing online and that driving them to better themselves—was the exact same process that I’d seen happening in TED speakers: improvement through being shown stuff.
It got me very excited about the role that online video plays in innovation. By opening yourself up to stimulation from these different ideas, you can get a moment of blinding excitement from seeing the pieces together.
It’s a mixture of art and science, there’s no cast iron formula. In terms of putting a program together, it does seem to work to give exposure to lots of different parts of the brain. The reason that people get exhausted and bored at conferences is that they’re being hit again and again with one particular type of thinking. It’s your left-brain, analytical thinking, analytical thinking, analytical thinking, all in the same subject area. After not too long, it’s “take me out of here, I need coffee and I need it now.”
If you mix it up a bit, not just in subject matter terms but in way of thinking, so you include the aesthetic, you include comedy, it just works, our brains say “thank you very much”, and they find extra inspiration from that. The hard stuff, you are somehow more motivated to understand it, and when you do understand it, you feel it with greater excitement than if you were just being endlessly exposed to one serious topic after another.
So that’s part of it, trying to explain the artful ways of mixing it up. Beyond that, we try each year to come up with a theme that’s narrow enough to be interesting but broad enough to allow a really large array of content, and then you try and take people on a journey. It often starts off with some big ideas, big new discoveries and so forth, and you weave in some storytelling and remarkable artistic endeavour. As time goes on, there’s music in there, there’s comedy. Towards the end you may have some very personal storytelling, from people who are willing to be vulnerable. By that point, people have come away from a very closed and defensive attitude, and are willing to embrace that. If all goes well, by the end of the four days, people have a very strong sense of possibility.
In lots of ways. It was a big surprise, the extent to which it has taken off. We’re getting about ten to twenty license applications per day at this point. We’re not accepting all of them, but there are three or four TEDx events every day in the world, and it has been absolutely incredible to see how much time and effort and brilliance these organisers are putting into these events.
They’re mostly selling out. It’s become a number of things. One of the most exciting things it has become is a global laboratory of reinvention in the art of human-to-human communication. People are learning from each other, and we are learning from them. My view is that it still early days in this reinvention process, the way in which rediscovering what a modern campfire really looks like, we’re all in the process of doing that. These organisers are playing a fantastic role in that— apart from anything else, they are recruiting this massive army of speakers from every city on the planet that people have heard of, and giving them a chance to shine. Thousands of TEDx talks are posted on YouTube, so it’s this huge content aggregator, and we get to cherry pick the best of those for our site. Right there, being a funnel of great ideas from all over the world is a very powerful thought, and it’s turned TED from being an organisation of 50 people in New York, to a global force of thousands of volunteers, who are all as passionate about TED as we are. It’s been amazing to see.
You know, I’m not sure that the narrative is about this vision of one person. My internal narrative on this is that TED has a life of its own. A number of things happened, I hired an amazing team, there’s a lot of talent and commitment here, people love TED’s mission and work their hearts out for it. It is spectacular seeing that team fly, but beyond that,
seeing this global army of volunteers, as translators and TEDx organisers, doing their thing, and realising that we’ve tapped into an idea whose time has come.
The world is at a point where mass media has let us down in certain ways, the conversation there has gotten hijacked, to the dramatic or the confrontational or celebrity gossip, and there are actually millions of people out there hungry to learn, who believe in the possibility of a better future, and believe that they might even play a role in shaping it. They get really, really turned on by people willing to share that vision.
TED is best thought of as a way of sharing ideas that just happens to be a great fit for the world that we’re in right now. It really, really works well live and really works well online. It really works live because it is profoundly respectful of the audience’s time. Speakers are expected to make a massive effort to make sure that their eighteen minutes are really valuable, and useful to other people. And that turns out to be a lot more interesting than listening to another “blah, blah, blah” panel. It works well online because it’s long enough to say something really serious and be a counterpoint to all the trivial buzz that’s out there, but it’s still short enough to go viral, to be listened to on a coffee break and forwarded to your friends.
For better or worse, you can’t grow up in an international school and spend time in lots of different countries and not end up as some kind of global soul, so my lens has always been that there’s a big world out there, with lots of issues, lots of problems, it would be nice at some point to figure out some way of contributing. So that’s been there and I’ve been looking for it, and there’s huge, huge serendipity in ending up at TED at the right moment in my life. I play a role, but this thing, if we hadn’t done it, somebody else would have. And TED of course is only a small part of it; there are lots of other people doing amazing things and sharing video online, this world in which you can tap into crowd wisdom, and we can connect with each other in a whole different way. It’s a very exciting time to live and to work in media.