Japan's youth are losing interest in science and as a result, threatening the nation's industrial progress. According to Japan Science and Technology Agency, young Japanese are surrounded by high-tech devices(设备), but are not interested in how they work.

    Japanese businesses have succeeded partly because they've a great many engineers. A drop in interest could lead to a decline(减少) in their numbers and quality. "In the past, the young had a big interest in science and technology," said Hirano, director of the agency's policy department.

    There are two main reasons for the problem. The first is known as "black box syndrome" of modern technology.

    Electronic devices depend on tiny silicon chips（芯片）, which can only be made in big factories, whose workings can't be seen by the eyes. The devices, unlike machines of the past driven by gears and wheels, are simply boxes.

    Young Japanese, brought up on video games and at home with computers, enjoy using modern technology, but this is a passive interest and different from the interest in how things work. "You need an active interest to get interested in science. This is declining in the young," said Hirano.

    About two-thirds of Japanese in their 20s use PCs, twice the number of those in their 50s. But only 40% of those in their 20s say they are interested in news about science and technology, compared to 60% of the 50 to 60 year olds.

    "Another reason for it is that life in modern Japan is too comfortable," he said. "A wealthy society reduces people's desire to modernize and develop their country. To a degree, you can't avoid this when the fruits of science and technology are fully developed." Similarly, science in Europe and the US has also suffered a lack of interest.

    A young woman sits alone in café sipping tea and reading a book. She pauses briefly to write in a nearby notepad before showing her words to a passing café waiter: “Where are the toilets please?” This is a familiar scene in Tokyo's so-called “silent cafes”, where customers are not allowed to speak, and only communicate by writing in notepads.

    The concept rises by a desire to be alone among young Japanese, a situation brought by economic uncertainly, a shift in traditional family support structures and the growing social isolation. The phenomenon is not limited to coffee shops but covers everything from silent discos, where participants dance alone wearing wireless headphones connected to the DJ, to products such as small desk tents designed for conversation-free privacy in the office. One Kyoto company even offers single women the opportunity to have a “one woman wedding” – a full bridal affair, complete with white dress and ceremony, and the only thing missing is the groom. The trend has its own media expression – “botchi-zoku”, referring to individuals who consciously choose to do things completely on their own.

    One recent weekday afternoon, Chihiro Higashikokubaru, a 23-year-old nurse, travelled 90 minutes from her home, to Tokyo on her day off in order to enjoy some solo time. Speaking quietly at the entrance of the café, Miss Higashikokubaru said: “I heard about this place via Twitter and I like the idea of coming here. I work as a nurse and it's always very busy. There are very few quiet places in Tokyo, and it's a big busy city. I just want to come and sit somewhere quietly on my own. I'm going to drink a cup of tea and maybe do some drawings. I like the idea of a quiet, calm atmosphere.”

    The desire to be isolated is not a new concept in Japan, home to an estimated 3.6 million “hikikomori” – a more extreme example of social recluses（隐士）who withdraw completely from society.

    More and more comment(评论) sections are being shut down online.

    Autumn Phillips had had enough. On August 19, the executive editor of the Quad-City Times in Iowa, and Illinois, US visited her website, qutimes. com, and saw a story about a man who had been shot to death. When she got to the readers' comments section at the end, she was shocked by what she saw. Below the story was a growing string of comments—a racist remark about democratic( 民主的) voters, a negative comment about police...So Phillips decided to do something she had been thinking about for a long time: she shut down the comment section.

    Phillips was not alone in making such a move. Last week, NPR announced it too was closing its online comments section. The decisions don't mean that the news outlets are no longer interested in what their audiences are thinking. Both stressed their eagerness to hear from readers and listeners on social networks. But both agreed that comments had deviated from their original intention. And so they had.

    In the early days of digital journalism, comments were seen as a key part of the new media, a wonderful opportunity for strengthening the dialogue between news producers and their audiences. It was a welcome change, given that for long many news organizations were far too separated from their readers. Much more back and forth conversation seemed like healthy and welcome evolutions. Sadly, that's not the way things turned out. Rather than a place for exchanging ideas, comments sections became the home of ugly name-calling, racism and anti-women language. Besides their poisonous quality, comments seem out of place today.

    “Since we made the announcement, I've received an outpouring of responses from our readers,”she says. “I've heard from parents whose children were hurt by our online comments. I've heard from people who said they wouldn't send in letters to the editor because they were attacked so fiercely by comments, and it wasn't worth it.”

    On a cool morning, Wilson Kasaine heads out along a dirt path in southern Kenya. His calmness makes it easy to forget that he's tracking one of the most dangerous animals in the world. Kasaine is tracking lions—especially one lion called Marti, who is the real-life Lion King of Selenkay Conservancy.

    Tracking lions on foot may sound like a death wish, but Kasaine has been doing it for most of his life. Born into a traditional Maasai family he quickly grew to understand the beauty and danger of wildlife. Living with big wild animals forces him to develop a good sense of where they have been and where they may be going. During his 12-kilometer walks to and from school, he learned how to tell the paw prints (爪印)of a lion from those of other animals.

    Growing up, Kasaine knew that improving his tracking abilities would help him avoid surprise meetings with dangerous animals. For many Maasai, tracking is mainly a matter of self-protection. But Kasaine is tracking lions to meet them and to protect them. He leads a small group of wide-eyed tourists over the red sandy path, searching for the lion that has left upon it his prints.

    Each year, thousands of tourists crowd Kenya's national parks to try to have a look at the “big five”; elephants, rhinoceros, leopards, buffaloes and lions. The international draw of these animals matters a lot because the nation's economy is tied to the protection of its wildlife. If Kenya's wildlife disappears, so does its second-largest source of income.

    Wildlife protection efforts in Kenya meant marking off land exclusively (专门地) for animals. But it also meant that the people who had originally lived in the area were forced to leave their land and into smaller surrounding areas. They are also finding it increasingly hard to keep a traditional Maasai lifestyle. But people are glad that it really makes a difference to wildlife protection.

    A man came home from work late, tired, to find his 5-year-old son waiting for him at the door.

    “Daddy, how much money do you make each hour?”

    “If you must know, I make ＄20 each hour.”

    “Oh,” the little boy answered, with his head down. He thought for a moment, looked up and said, “Daddy, could you lend me ＄10?”

    The father was furious, “If you asked for the money to buy a toy or some other rubbish, go straight to your room and think about why you are so selfish (自私)！”

    The little boy went to his room with no words and shut the door. After a short while, the father calmed (平静) down, and started to think, “Maybe he really needs to buy something and he didn't really ask for money very often.” So he went to the little boy's room.

    “Sorry！Maybe I was too hard on your just now.” said the man, “Here's ＄10.”

    “Oh, thank you Daddy！” he said happily. Then the boy took out some coins. When the father found that the boy already had money, he got angry again.

    “Why do you want more money since you already have some?” the father shouted angrily.

    “Because I didn't have enough, but now I do.” The little boy replied, “Daddy, I have ＄20 now. Can I buy one hour of your time? Please come home early tomorrow. I would like to have dinner with you. ”

"Assume you are wrong." The advice came from Brian Nosek, a psychology professor, who was offering a strategy for pursuing better science.

To understand the context for Nosek's advice, we need to take a step back to the nature of science itself. You see despite what many of us learned in elementary school, there is no single scientific method. Just as scientific theories become elaborated and change, so do scientific methods.

But methodological reform hasn't come without some fretting and friction. Nasty things have been said by and about methodological reformers. Few people like having the value of their life's work called into question. On the other side, few people are good at voicing criticisms in kind and constructive ways. So, part of the challenge is figuring out how to bake critical self-reflection into the culture of science itself, so it unfolds as a welcome and integrated part of the process, and not an embarrassing sideshow.

What Nosek recommended was a strategy for changing the way we offer and respond to critique. Assuming you are right might be a motivating force, sustaining the enormous effort that conducting scientific work requires. But it also makes it easy to interpret criticisms as personal attacks. Beginning, instead, from the assumption you are wrong, a criticism is easier to interpret as a constructive suggestion for how to be less wrong—a goal that your critic presumably shares.

One worry about this approach is that it could be demoralizing for scientists. Striving to be less wrong might be a less effective motivation than the promise of being right. Another concern is that a strategy that works well within science could backfire when it comes to communicating science with the public. Without an appreciation for how science works, it's easy to take uncertainty or disagreements as marks against science, when in fact they reflect some of the very features of science that make it our best approach to reaching reliable conclusions about the world. Science is reliable because it responds to evidence: as the quantity and quality of our evidence improves, our theories can and should change, too.

Despite these worries, I like Nosek's suggestion because it builds in cognitive humility along with a sense that we can do better. It also builds in a sense of community—we're all in the same boat when it comes to falling short of getting things right.

Unfortunately, this still leaves us with an untested hypothesis （假说）: that assuming one is wrong can change community norms for the better, and ultimately support better science and even, perhaps, better decisions in life. I don't know if that's true. In fact, I should probably assume that it's wrong. But with the benefit of the scientific community and our best methodological tools, I hope we can get it less wrong, together.