Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Comunicacion. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Comunicacion. Mostrar todas las entradas

domingo, 16 de septiembre de 2012

Your Scientific Reasoning Is More Flawed Than You Think

New concepts don’t replace incorrect ones: they just learn to live together
It takes longer to accurately recall counterintuitive theories. Image: iStock / Frank Ramspott
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In one sense, science educators have it easy. The things they describe are so intrinsically odd and interesting — invisible fields, molecular machines, principles explaining the unity of life and origins of the cosmos — that much of the pedagogical attention-getting is built right in.  Where they have it tough, though, is in having to combat an especially resilient form of higher ed’s nemesis: the aptly named (if irredeemably clichéd) ‘preconceived idea.’ Worse than simple ignorance, naïve ideas about science lead people to make bad decisions with confidence. And in a world where many high-stakes issues fundamentally boil down to science, this is clearly a problem.
Naturally, the solution to the problem lies in good schooling — emptying minds of their youthful hunches and intuitions about how the world works, and repopulating them with sound scientific principles that have been repeatedly tested and verified. Wipe out the old operating system, and install the new. According to a recent paper by Andrew Shtulman and Joshua Valcarcel, however, we may not be able to replace old ideas with new ones so cleanly. Although science as a field discards theories that are wrong or lacking, Shtulman and Valcarcel’s work suggests that individuals —even scientifically literate ones — tend to hang on to their early, unschooled, and often wrong theories about the natural world. Even long after we learn that these intuitions have no scientific support, they can still subtly persist and influence our thought process. Like old habits, old concepts seem to die hard.
Testing for the persistence of old concepts can’t be done directly. Instead, one has to set up a situation in which old concepts, if present, measurably interfere with mental performance. To do this, Shtulman and Valcarcel designed a task that tested how quickly and accurately subjects verified short scientific statements (for example: “air is composed of matter.”). In a clever twist, the authors interleaved two kinds of statements — “consistent” ones that had the same truth-value under a naive theory and a proper scientific theory, and “inconsistent” ones. For example, the statement “air is composed of matter”  is inconsistent: it’s false under a naive theory (air just seems like empty space, right?), but is scientifically true. By contrast, the statement “people turn food into energy” is consistent: anyone who’s ever eaten a meal knows it’s true, and science affirms this by filling in the details about digestion, respiration and metabolism.
Shtulman and Valcarcel tested 150 college students on a battery of 200 such statements that included an equal and random mix of consistent and inconsistent statements from several domains, including astronomy, evolution, physiology, genetics, waves, and others. The scientists measured participants’ response speed and accuracy, and looked for systematic differences in how consistent vs. inconsistent statements were evaluated.
If scientific concepts, once learned, are fully internalized and don’t conflict with our earlier naive concepts, one would expect consistent and inconsistent statements to be processed similarly. On the other hand, if naive concepts are never fully supplanted, and are quietly threaded into our thought process, it should take take longer to evaluate inconsistent statements. In other words, it should take a bit of extra mental work (and time) to go against the grain of a naive theory we once held.
This is exactly what Shtulman and Valcarcel found. While there was some variability between the different domains tested, inconsistent statements took almost a half second longer to verify, on average. Granted, there’s a significant wrinkle in interpreting this result. Specifically, it may simply be the case that scientific concepts that conflict with naive intuition are simply learned more tenuously than concepts that are consistent with our intuition. Under this view, differences in response times aren’t necessarily evidence of ongoing inner conflict between old and new concepts in our brains — it’s just a matter of some concepts being more accessible than others, depending on how well they were learned.
There are, though, a few lines of evidence arguing against this interpretation. First, the authors found that participants who had best mastered scientific concepts (determined by their overall accuracy) were especially slow to verify inconsistent statements. A learning-based explanation of performance would have predicted the opposite — that mastery and speed should go hand in hand. More convincingly, a different study has shown that even those who’ve achieved an extremely high level of competence in a specific scientific field are still prone to make classifications based on naive, early concepts from childhood. In a speeded classification task analogous to Shtulman and Valcarcel’s, university biology professors were found to take longer to classify plants as living relative to moving nonliving things, a bias toward equating motion with life that is evident in young children.
Taken together, these findings suggest that we may be innately predisposed to have certain theories about the natural world that are resilient to being drastically replaced or restructured. These naive theories provide hunches and rules of thumb that likely helped us survive long before we needed to contemplate the atom, cells, or relativity. While some theories of learning consider the unschooled mind to be a ‘bundle of misconceptions’ in need of replacement, perhaps replacement is an unattainable goal. Or, if it is attainable, we may need to rethink how science is taught.
Are you a scientist who specializes in neuroscience, cognitive science, or psychology? And have you read a recent peer-reviewed paper that you would like to write about? Please send suggestions to Mind Matters editor Gareth Cook, a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist at the Boston Globe. He can be reached at garethideas AT gmail.com or Twitter @garethideas.

jueves, 16 de agosto de 2012






Quantum Teleportation Achieved over Record Distances

Opinion, arguments & analyses from the editors of Scientific American

 




Telescope used in teleportation experiments
The European Space Agency's Optical Ground Station on Tenerife in the Canary Islands was used as a receiver in recent quantum teleportation experiments. Credit: ESA
Two teams of researchers have extended the reach of quantum teleportation to unprecedented lengths, roughly equivalent to the distance between New York City and Philadelphia. But don’t expect teleportation stations to replace airports or train terminals—the teleportation scheme shifts only the quantum state of a single photon. And although part of the transfer happens instantaneously, the steps required to read out the teleported quantum state ensure that no information can be communicated faster than the speed of light.
Quantum teleportation relies on the phenomenon of entanglement, through which quantum particles share a fragile, invisible link across space. Two entangled photons, for instance, can have correlated, opposite polarization states—if one photon is vertically polarized, for instance, the other must be horizontally polarized. But, thanks to the intricacies of quantum mechanics, each photon’s specific polarization remains undecided until one of them is measured. At that instant the other photon’s polarization snaps into its opposing orientation, even if many kilometers have come between the entangled pair.
An entangled photon pair serves as the intermediary in the standard teleportation scheme. Say Alice wants to teleport the quantum state of a photon to Bob. First she takes one member of a pair of entangled photons, and Bob takes the other. Then Alice lets her entangled photon interfere with the photon to be teleported and performs a polarization measurement whose outcome depends on the quantum state of both of her particles.
Because of the link between Alice and Bob forged by entanglement, Bob’s photon instantly feels the effect of the measurement made by Alice. Bob’s photon assumes the quantum state of Alice’s original photon, but in a sort of garbled form. Bob cannot recover the quantum state Alice wanted to teleport until he reverses that garbling by tweaking his photon in a way that depends on the outcome of Alice’s measurement. So he must await word from Alice about how to complete the teleportation—and that word cannot travel faster than the speed of light. That restriction ensures that teleported information obeys the cosmic speed limit.
Even though teleportation does not allow superluminal communication, it does provide a detour around another physics blockade known as the no-cloning theorem. That theorem states that one cannot perfectly copy a quantum object to, for instance, send a facsimile to another person. But teleportation does not create a copy per se—it simply shifts the quantum information from one place to another, destroying the original in the process.
Teleportation can also securely transmit quantum information even when Alice does not know where Bob is. Bob can take his entangled particle wherever he pleases, and Alice can broadcast her instructions for how to ungarble the teleported state over whatever conventional channels—radio waves, the Internet—she pleases. That information would be useless to an eavesdropper without an entangled link to Alice.
Physicists note that quantum entanglement and teleportation could one day form the backbone of quantum channels linking hypothetical quantum processors or enabling secure communications between distant parties. But for now the phenomenon of teleportation is in the gee-whiz exploratory phase, with various groups of physicists devising new tests to push the limits of what is experimentally possible.
In the August 9 issue of Nature, a Chinese group reports achieving quantum teleportation across Qinghai Lake in China, a distance of 97 kilometers. (Scientific American is part of Nature Publishing Group.) That distance surpasses the previous record, set by a group that included several of the same researchers, of 16 kilometers.
But a more recent study seems to have pushed the bar even higher. In a paper posted May 17 to the physics preprint Web site arXiv.org, just eight days after the Chinese group announced their achievement on the same Web site, a European and Canadian group claims to have teleported information from one of the Canary Islands to another, 143 kilometers away. That paper has not been peer-reviewed but comes from a very reputable research group.
Both teams of physicists faced serious experimental challenges—sending a single photon 100 kilometers and then plucking it out of the air is no easy task. In practical terms, both groups’ Alices and Bobs needed laser-locked telescopes for sending and receiving their photons, as well as complex optics for modifying and measuring the photons’ quantum states.
But that’s nothing compared to what the physicists have in mind for future experiments. Both research groups note that their work is a step toward future space-based teleportation, in which quantum information would be beamed from the ground to an orbiting satellite.
About the Author: John Matson is an associate editor at Scientific American focusing on space, physics and mathematics. Follow on Twitter @jmtsn.
The views expressed are those of the author and are not necessarily those of Scientific American.

SOURCE: Scientific American

sábado, 28 de julio de 2012


Posted: 28 Jul 2012 01:36 AM PDT
Referencia: Nature.com ,
Autor: S. Liem, 25 de julio 2012

¿Quién necesita la jerga? El mes pasado, un estudiante de doctorado de física en la Universidad de Innsbruck, Austria, ganó un concurso por explicar el concepto de una llama con palabras que podía comprender un niño de 11 años de edad. Ben Ames, el ganador, realizó un video de 7,5 minutos, donde introdujo palabras como "oxidación" y "pirólisis", sólo para parodiarlas.

La premisa de este concurso estuvo dirigida a la aversión que tienen los divulgadores de ciencia por el uso de la jerga. A muchos les parece que la literatura científica es un lenguaje pomposo y estéril, diseñado para evitar nuestra comprensión. Lectura de algunos documentos parece una especie de ejercicio sádico. ¿Traducirlo? Imposible. Así que pueden imaginarse la impopularidad de mi creencia de que la jerga no sólo es esencial para el discurso científico, sino que también tiene su lugar en el debate público.

Ciertamente, hay mucho en la literatura académica que realmente no se puede defender —frases pasivas innecesarias, por ejemplo—; sin embargo, también creo que el rechazo de la jerga también refleja la gran hostilidad hacia el lenguaje difícil que impregna la cultura moderna.

Cuando nos enfrentamos con cualquier jerga, la científica, el habla de los negocios, la jerga legal, la gente tiende a suponer que cada término podría ser sustituido por alguno más coloquial. Al principio, puede parecer innecesario que los economistas usen la palabra francesa 'tramo' en lugar de 'capa', 'trozo' o 'corte'; pero los sinónimos comunes son problemáticos, ya que pueden ser intercambiados y fácilmente confundidos por los demás.

Los términos especializados captan la complejidad y especificidad de los conceptos científicos. Consideremos la astronomía, en la que tanto 'fotometría' como 'espectroscopia' denotan unas técnicas que podrían ser descritas de una forma libre como 'métodos de estudio de la luz'.

Sin embargo, la fotometría es la medición de la intensidad de la luz y la espectroscopia es el estudio de la relación de la luz con su origen. Ambas son técnicas complejas, importantes y altamente específicas. No hay otras palabras atrapen tan bien su sentido, y si perdemos esa jerga, perdemos a su vez su significado.

La literatura científica está llena de distinciones que pueden parecer pedantes. Consideremos por ejemplo, esta frase, la "células ganglionares de la retina intrínsecamente fotosensibles' (ipRGC). El término se refiere a un tipo específico de neuronas ubicadas en el ojo, y aunque la frase no sea divertida de analizar, cada palabra es importante. Un 'ganglio', vagamente definido, es una masa de tejido, que suele hallarse en el ojo, por lo que 'célula' se refiere a una parte específica de ese tejido. No todos los ganglios se encuentran en la retina, por lo tanto, el término 'retina' está justificado. Y no todos los ganglios de la retina son 'intrínsecamente fotosensibles', por lo que también se mantiene. Esto es quizá la verdad más difícil de aceptar para los divulgadores más idealistas. Nos llevaría uno cuantos párrafos la explicación de todas las demás distinciones científicas contenidas en el término 'ipRGC'. Muchos divulgadores de ciencia romperían el término (en un proceso que ellos llaman 'destilación'), para llamarlo finalmente algo así como un 'tipo especial de ganglio' o 'neuronas situadas en el ojo'. Esta redacción es más fácil de entender, pero que no presenta toda la verdad. Yo no estoy diciendo que los divulgadores siempre deban usar la jerga, pero sí quiero subrayar lo que se puede perder cuando no lo hacen.

La verdad tiende a ser complicada, y aquí la jerga ofrece su ventaja más obvia: la compresión. Hay una compresión emocional en muchos escritos, quizás el más visto (tal vez apócrifo) fue el de Ernest Hemingway: "En venta: zapatos de bebé, nunca usados". Los escritores técnicos utilizan la jerga para comprimir la información. La renuencia a utilizarla puede conllevar consecuencias graves. Consideremos de nuevo, los términos 'permuta de incumplimiento crediticio', hay detrás toda una escuela de pensamiento que sugiere que estos términos han sido diseñados únicamente para confundir, aburrir a la gente, y llevarla  hacia la apatía y la inacción. Para mí, sin embargo, me parece una sesgada justificación para no ocuparse lo suficiente, y pone de relieve el rechazo general al esfuerzo por obtener el significado.

La jerga requiere el trabajo de los lectores en general. Aunque también requiere del trabajo de aquellos que la utilizan. Los químicos y los físicos hablan lenguajes completamente diferentes, igual que los cosmólogos y los astrónomos, así como los glaciólogos y los hidrólogos. Estas divisiones lingüísticas no se han creado por el simple deseo de alienarse con un lenguaje noble y muy complicado, sino que son una consecuencia natural de abarcar la inimaginable complejidad del universo natural. Para este fin, la jerga es una necesidad, igual que el trabajo necesario para entenderla.

Otras palabras quizá necesiten de un cierto trabajo para su entendimiento, como en el caso de la jerga. Entender el significado de palabras tales como "portentoso" y "pretencioso" o "voracidad" y "veracidad", o tal vez para hacer la distinción significativa entre "impeler" y "compeler".

Me parece preocupante que la misma antipatía que algunos autores expresan hacia la jerga se haya arraigado en la actitud general del público hacia el lenguaje erudito. Yo sostengo que esto no es una mera coincidencia. Parece que la gente no sólo esté resentida con lenguaje especializado, sino con cualquier lenguaje que requiera un alto grado de esfuerzo para entenderlo, apreciarlo y utilizarlo. Cuando oye algunas quejas por tener que haber ido a consultar un diccionario —y especialmente cuando la consulta no pasa de trasladarse a otro ordenador—, me invade el deseo de agarrar por las solapas a esa gente y agitarla hasta hacer un sonajero con sus dientes. ¿Por qué hay tanta gente que no quieren esforzarse en los placeres y connotaciones que abarcan los idiomas? Cuando los escritores evitan la jerga sin cuestionamientos, los lectores comienzan a pensar que no responde a ningún propósito. El mundo aumenta su complejidad cada día, y no podemos permitirnos reducir nuestra capacidad para describirla.

- Nature 487, 407 (26 julio 2012) doi:10.1038/487407a 

Fuente: Bitnavegantes...Pedro Donaire