Книга "Thinking, fast and slow" всё о том же - о тех косяках, которые мы допускаем, когда делаем выводы о себе, людях и мире, или когда принимаем решения, и которые умудряемся не замечать. Иногда - просто потому что мы не задумываемся. Иногда - потому что различие заметно только с применением научных методов. Например, в одном из экспериментов испытуемым дали задание обработать некоторое количество слов, причём у одной из групп часть слов была связана со старостью ("седой", "пенсия" и т.п), а у второй все слова были в этом смысле нейтральной. После этого задания испытуемых просили пройти в соседний корпус... и оказалось, что те, кому ненавязчиво намекали на старость, шли от одного корпуса к другому заметно медленнее, чем представители контрольной группы. Ничего особенного вроде бы, но сколько всего проходит мимо нашего сознания, но отражается на наших действиях!
Отличие автора этой книги от Канемана 60-х, наверное, в том, что сегодняшний не просто рассказывает о всех необычностях, которые узнал в результате своих экспериментов, но и пытается научить читателей находить эти необычности вокруг себя и в себе, и говорить о них
Вот, собственно, ссылочка на это чудо на английском.
На русском найдёте и сами, она называется "Думая быстро, решай медленно". Я бы решил, что весь перевод - такой же идиотский, как и перевод названия, но Канеман учит, что нет, не такой же идиотский, а гораздо ближе к среднему уровню идиотскости, так-то.
Заинтересовавшимся - вот отрывочек с одним из объяснений, откуда берутся злые люди, а в частности злые преподы.
I had one of the most satisfying eureka experiences of my career while teaching flight instructors in the Israeli Air Force about the psychology of effective training. I was telling them about an important principle of skill training: rewards for improved performance work better than punishment of mistakes. This proposition is supported by much evidence from research on pigeons, rats, humans, and other animals.
When I finished my enthusiastic speech, one of the most seasoned instructors in the group raised his hand and made a short speech of his own. He began by conceding that rewarding improved performance might be good for the birds, but he denied that it was optimal for flight cadets. This is what he said: “On many occasions I have praised flight cadets for clean execution of some aerobatic maneuver. The next time they try the same maneuver they usually do worse. On the other hand, I have often screamed into a cadet’s earphone for bad execution, and in general he does better t t ask yry abr two repon his next try. So please don’t tell us that reward works and punishment does not, because the opposite is the case.”
This was a joyous moment of insight, when I saw in a new light a principle of statistics that I had been teaching for years. The instructor was right—but he was also completely wrong! His observation was astute and correct: occasions on which he praised a performance were likely to be followed by a disappointing performance, and punishments were typically followed by an improvement. But the inference he had drawn about the efficacy of reward and punishment was completely off the mark. What he had observed is known as regression to the mean, which in that case was due to random fluctuations in the quality of performance. Naturally, he praised only a cadet whose performance was far better than average. But the cadet was probably just lucky on that particular attempt and therefore likely to deteriorate regardless of whether or not he was praised. Similarly, the instructor would shout into a cadet’s earphones only when the cadet’s performance was unusually bad and therefore likely to improve regardless of what the instructor did. The instructor had attached a causal interpretation to the inevitable fluctuations of a random process.
The challenge called for a response, but a lesson in the algebra of prediction would not be enthusiastically received. Instead, I used chalk to mark a target on the floor. I asked every officer in the room to turn his back to the target and throw two coins at it in immediate succession, without looking. We measured the distances from the target and wrote the two results of each contestant on the blackboard. Then we rewrote the results in order, from the best to the worst performance on the first try. It was apparent that most (but not all) of those who had done best the first time deteriorated on their second try, and those who had done poorly on the first attempt generally improved. I pointed out to the instructors that what they saw on the board coincided with what we had heard about the performance of aerobatic maneuvers on successive attempts: poor performance was typically followed by improvement and good performance by deterioration, without any help from either praise or punishment.
The discovery I made on that day was that the flight instructors were trapped in an unfortunate contingency: because they punished cadets when performance was poor, they were mostly rewarded by a subsequent improvement, even if punishment was actually ineffective. Furthermore, the instructors were not alone in that predicament. I had stumbled onto a significant fact of the human condition: the feedback to which life exposes us is perverse. Because we tend to be nice to other people when they please us and nasty when they do not, we are statistically punished for being nice and rewarded for being nasty.