Translator: Geoff Jensen Reviewer: Ellen Maloney
Centuries ago there lived an extraordinary individual.
We feel the impact of his innovations every time we use a pair of scissors,
test our courage to go sky diving,
and even when we cross the span of an elegantly designed bridge.
Today there's even a robotic surgeon named after him, perhaps in honor
of his expertise in both human physiology and his aptitude for engineering.
We recall his legacy when we glimpse a war chariot in a movie,
try to read something written backwards, and especially
when we contemplate some of the greatest paintings of all time.
Leonardo da Vinci was his name.
And he's what the world considers
the most celebrated Renaissance man there is.
Now contrary to popular belief, da Vinci wasn't trained exclusively to become
a professional painter, or even a scientist for that matter.
In fact, he received a basic education in reading and writing and exposure
to skills ranging from metal working and carpentry,
to drawing and painting.
Yet, it's precisely this unique background that enabled him to build a bridge
between the arts and the sciences.
This bridge is summarized most aptly, I believe, with an illustration --
an illustration of the Vitruvian man.
Sketched onto leathery parchment, this drawing represents
the true essence of the Renaissance:
a fusion of anatomical precision,
mathematical symmetry,
and artistic rendition--
science and art, analysis and intuition--
a symbol for thinking across the boundaries of disciplines,
using what you learn in one place and applying it to the other,
something that I have come to call interdisciplinary innovation.
Now, I stumbled upon this concept of interdisciplinary innovation
for the first time during my freshman year of high school.
I was reading a science article about thermal electrics.
And as someone who had grown up visiting the Grand Cooley Dam,
listening to lectures about the energy grid,
and ogling at solar panels --
(Laughter)
-- I was absolutely mind blown that I'd never seen, or at the very least
even heard of this technology before in my everyday life.
For those that don't know, thermal electrics are basically a way
to generate electricity from heat with no moving parts.
So, imagine placing one of these devices inside of your flashlight and being able
to power it with nothing but the heat coming from your hand.
We should be seeing these everywhere, right?
But we don't.
And so that prompted me to delve a little bit deeper.
And I found that it's oftentimes because thermal electric materials
are simply too expensive,
they're composed of toxic elements,
or they're not mechanically robust enough to be applied outside of the laboratory.
And after contacting thermal electrics experts ranging from foreign universities
to energy startups, I realized that there was this disconnect between
the materials research being done to synthesize the most efficient
material possible, and the engineers attempting to apply it commercially.
And so, drawing inspiration from this divide and collaborating with
professionals who expressed some of the same frustrations
over this disconnect,
I've been fortunate enough to be able to conduct my own research into developing
a more cost effective thermal electric module.
The new materials combination that I worked on may allow us to one day
charge a phone using the exhaust heat coming from your car's tail pipe,
or recover energy from the smoke stack of a nearby coal power plant.
But the most important thing that I discovered
during this entire process was that this project would not have been possible
if I hadn't taken into account both the material science
behind high performing compounds and the engineering principles
that define their compatibility.
And as a 15 year old who had been led to believe
that specialization equates success, this was a surprise to me.
But it's exactly what drew me further into the world of scientific research.
In my sophomore year I applied this Renaissance-esque principle
a little bit further.
While talking to a bio-engineering student about sepsis, which is a severe condition
caused by bacterial infections, I was surprised to learn that
a toxin that's excreted by half of all bacterial species is detected primarily
by using a chemical that's derived from the blood of a horseshoe crab.
The first thing I thought was, "Poor horseshoe crabs!"
(Laughter)
But then something else came to mind.
Something completely different that I had been reading about recently: polymers.
For several decades now, scientists have been pursuing
a new method of molecular recognition,
an imprinted polymer.
You might think of these structures as plastic antibodies that form around
a template and can bind to their target like a lock and key.
And so I wondered, what if it's possible to use such a polymer to bind to the toxin
and detect it and put an end to its activity?
And so I began my journey, traversing the lines between chemistry and biology,
diagnosis and therapy,
to design, create, and test a solution
that might one day allow us to mitigate the effects of sepsis.
Now, over these past two years the application of this principle
within my research has led me to places ranging from
the Intel International Science and Engineering Fair,
all the way to the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
But I want to say that I could not have done this without inspiration
from the work of scientists, both past and present.
You see, the concept of interdisciplinary innovation is certainly not a new one.
It's a practice that we find at every research institution around the world,
whether it's a computer scientist working to design new algorithms
to predict how proteins fold, to a mechanical engineer using cellulose
to create stronger transparent materials.
And it's these very connections across disciplines
that have introduced us to the wealth of novel solutions
that lie at the intersections of our existing knowledge.
But I ask: Why confine the motivation to think across disciplines
between the walls of a laboratory?
We all have a spark of the Renaissance polymath within us.
After all, I'm sure you remember at some point in your own childhood
receiving the devastating news that you can't be a pop star, a cowboy,
and a tech entrepreneur all at the same time.
(Laughter)
And while I can't say that channeling the Renaissance will allow you
to achieve those five-year-old dreams, it will enhance your ability to approach
problems from a more unique and inclusive perspective.
It starts with mustering the courage to pursue seemingly unrelated interests.
Society often tells us that we must focus on one discipline in life.
But it's the ability to defy this social norm that sets apart the innovators.
Take for example, Noam Chomsky, a modern day polymath.
As a student he explored his interests in both linguistics and logic.
Yet it never deterred him that he was pursuing two fields that most people
view as having very little in common, simply because they were both his passion.
Today, he is one of the most widely cited figures in the arts
and the humanities and has published several pioneering papers
on mathematical linguistics which have contributed to everything
from social media to psychology.
But there's no point in pursuing these passions if you don't delve deep
and sustain them over time.
The point is not to become a "Jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none,"
but rather to develop your expertise in an area that's not confined
to just one subject.
This principle is exemplified by Manjul Bhargava,
a mathematician with a unique background.
From a young age, he was exposed to Sanskrit scriptures
and learned how to play the tabla from renowned masters.
But he also held a pointed passion for mathematics,
completing all high school math and computer science at the age of 14.
To this day he continues to play the tabla
while teaching as a professor at the Princeton University.
And his cross pollination between music and math have led him
to numerous advances in number theory.
Most importantly, the innovation only takes place if you apply what you learn
in one discipline to the other.
The best way to do this is by learning the skills, not the discipline.
In this way, you don't restrict yourself to just one school of thought
and are instead equipped with the tools that can be applied in countless ways.
Perhaps the most well-known instance of this is Steve Jobs.
As the story goes, Jobs dropped out of Reed College at the age of 19
and decided to take calligraphy classes out of pure curiosity.
What he learned from this 2,600-year-old artistic practice
revolutionized the way he designed the Mac interface, with multiple aesthetic
and proportionally spaced typefaces.
Today, it's almost scary to think how our screens might look
without various fonts.
So to summarize, a courage to pursue your passions,
perseverance to delve deep within them,
and an initiative for interconnected application:
These are the qualities that define these three proponents
of the modern-day renaissance as well as countless others,
some of whom may even be sitting among us today.
But you might still be thinking, "Why is it important for me
or the people around me to channel an ideology of the past?"
To answer this question, it's necessary to talk
about our profound cultural legacy.
About four or five centuries ago, society deemed it acceptable --
even venerable --
to pursue multiple disciplines.
To be a Renaissance woman or man, experience a broad education,
and display competence in a variety of fields
was the ideal for citizens at the time.
Yet as time went on and we approached the 21st century,
specialization became more important than anything.
And while people acquired deep understandings of their field of study,
some went on to become experts with narrow mindsets
and limited perspectives of the disciplines of others.
But we often find that history repeats itself,
and in our case this might be necessary.
"We are currently preparing students for jobs that don't yet exist ...
using technologies that haven't been invented...
to solve problems we don't even know are problems yet."
This is a quote from Karl Fisch and Scott McLeod,
two high school technology teachers.
This task, as daunting as it sounds, seems possible when we encourage students
to cross-pollinate between the different subjects they learn from
and build bridges between them.
Imagine a classroom where students are allowed to soak up the history
of the leaning tower of Pisa, while also learning about the physics
of why it hasn't already fallen over.
Or the winter art project being compounded with an explanation --
the winter art project of making snow flakes, being compounded
with an explanation of fractals and the mathematical patterns
that we find in nature.
But it's not enough to simply encourage students
to pursue interdisciplinary interests.
In fact, this only becomes possible when we allow the people
that these students learn from and look up to,
to infuse the rich experiences that span these bridges
into the task at hand.
This means living in a world where an architect with a lifelong passion
for gardening, being able to put her love for nature to work,
by designing an eco-friendly building inspired by plants.
Or even an avid bookworm, who also happens to work as an IT specialist,
being able to use her experience with rhetoric
to craft more user-friendly error messages.
(Laughter)
You see, we are moving towards an intellectually advanced future
where solutions are no longer confined to just one discipline.
And as we do so it's important to keep in mind that the principles
of da Vinci and the Renaissance still stay with us no matter how dramatically
they may have changed in appearance over the past couple hundred years.
(Laughter)
This robotic Vitruvian man is a product of the technological advances
we've made since then,
yet it still retains elements of human structure and anatomy.
It represents the evolution of innovation.
But what excites me the most about this evolution is the fact
that so many of these innovations are spun from the convergence of knowledge
that we already hold.
Da Vinci once said, "I have been impressed with the urgency of doing.
Knowing is not enough; we must apply.
Being willing is not enough; we must do."
Thank you.
(Applause)