Out of Character

Out of Character Plot Summary

Introduction

The crowd erupted in stunned gasps as Mark, the most respected community leader and moral compass of his small town, was led away in handcuffs. Just hours earlier, he had been giving an impassioned speech about integrity at the annual ethics conference. Now he stood accused of embezzling funds from the very charity he had founded. His friends and family were devastated, repeatedly muttering the same question: "How could someone so good do something so terrible?" This scene, though jarring, has played out countless times throughout human history, from political scandals to religious leaders' falls from grace to the everyday disappointments we experience with people we thought we knew. What if our understanding of character is fundamentally flawed? What if, instead of being a fixed, immutable quality etched into our souls, character is actually more fluid - shifting based on context, circumstance, and competing psychological forces? This is the revolutionary perspective that challenges our traditional view of moral character. By examining surprising research and real-world examples, we'll explore how situational factors can override our deeply held values, causing seemingly virtuous people to act unethically and apparent villains to perform heroic deeds. The implications are profound - not just for how we judge others, but for how we understand ourselves and navigate our own moral dilemmas. As we journey through the surprising science of character, prepare to discover how the battle between short-term desires and long-term interests shapes who we are in ways we rarely recognize.

Chapter 1: Moral Hypocrisy: Why Our Ethics Are More Flexible Than We Think

It was the eve of Valentine's Day, 2008, when George slipped out the side door of one of Washington, D.C.'s most luxurious hotels. He had meticulously arranged a romantic rendezvous - securing a lavish suite, arranging his lover's transportation, and ensuring champagne would be waiting on ice. For a man of his stature, carving out several hours for this tryst spoke volumes about its importance. George was a powerful man with powerful means who had built his career fighting corruption and protecting the vulnerable. Tonight, he told himself, he deserved some time off. As George Fox - the alias Eliot Spitzer used when checking into the Mayflower Hotel - entered the grand lobby, his pulse quickened in anticipation. But Governor Spitzer wasn't meeting his wife. That night, the crusader who had famously prosecuted hundreds of prostitution cases as New York's Attorney General was himself a client, about to be caught in a scandal that would destroy his career overnight. More troubling still, this wasn't a one-time lapse but a pattern of behavior from a man who had made ethics and integrity his political hallmarks. Client #9, as he became known, would soon be immortalized as the epitome of moral hypocrisy. Spitzer's case is hardly unique. Consider Rush Limbaugh condemning drug users while secretly battling prescription addiction, or Senator Larry Craig denouncing President Clinton's infidelity shortly before being caught soliciting sex in an airport bathroom. Sports icons like Mark McGwire criticized steroid use before admitting to it themselves, while William Bennett, author of "The Book of Virtues," preached self-control while gambling millions. As each fell from grace, the public wondered: How could they be such hypocrites? How could they violate the very principles they espoused? The surprising answer isn't that these individuals deliberately defied their own values. Rather, their moral beliefs themselves shifted based on circumstance. Research reveals that hypocrisy isn't simply about violating fixed ethical standards - it's about the mind's remarkable ability to adjust those standards to suit our needs. When participants in laboratory studies were given the opportunity to assign themselves an easy task (leaving a difficult one for someone else), they rated their selfish choice as moderately acceptable. Yet when observing someone else make the identical choice, they harshly condemned it as deeply unfair. Their moral judgment wasn't consistent - it flexed to accommodate their self-interest. What's happening is a continuous battle between competing psychological forces - one focused on immediate rewards, the other on long-term reputation and relationships. The mind isn't applying a single, stable moral standard but constantly recalibrating based on context. This explains why otherwise ethical people can rationalize behavior they would condemn in others. Understanding this flexibility challenges our assumptions about character. Perhaps hypocrisy isn't a rare moral failing of a few corrupt individuals but a fundamental feature of how all human minds negotiate the complex terrain between self-interest and social values, between who we aspire to be and what we want in the moment.

Chapter 2: Love vs Lust: The Psychology Behind Romantic Choices

Lust and love. We want them both, and the right combination can make life worth living. Consider the case of Tiger Woods, who suffered one of the most dramatic falls from grace in recent memory. Woods had built a billion-dollar empire on his sterling public image and exceptional golf skills until his "car accident" of November 30, 2009, when the carefully constructed web of lies concealing his multiple affairs began to unravel. VIP clubs, prostitutes, crude text messages - the tawdry details emerged in a torrent of scandal. The shame heaped upon him by sponsors, media, and fans was so overwhelming that Woods, once hailed as the greatest golfer of his generation, took a leave of absence from the game. His fans were left asking the inevitable question: who was the real Tiger? Previously thought to be a devoted husband and father, as disciplined in his personal life as on the golf course, he was overnight recast as an insatiable womanizer who sacrificed his family and career simply because he couldn't control his impulses. But was one version the "real" Tiger and the other a façade? The science suggests something more complex was at work - an ongoing battle between competing psychological forces: his desire for long-term stability with Elin Nordegren versus the short-term pleasures of affairs. It wasn't about inherent character flaws but about which force won in a given moment. This battle isn't unique to celebrities like Woods. Research shows our romantic decisions are guided by surprisingly powerful subconscious cues. Studies reveal that women in their most fertile phase not only can "smell" genetic fitness in potential mates but also dress more provocatively and show stronger attractions to masculine features. Meanwhile, men demonstrate remarkable insensitivity to risk when sexually aroused, willing to engage in unsafe behaviors they would normally avoid. These aren't character flaws but evolutionary mechanisms that once served important purposes in human survival and reproduction. Even jealousy - that powerful emotion that can transform reasonable people into stalkers - serves an adaptive function. When Lisa Nowak, the accomplished NASA astronaut, drove 900 miles wearing adult diapers to confront her ex-lover's new girlfriend, she wasn't displaying a unique psychological disorder. Laboratory studies show how easily jealousy can be triggered even in total strangers after minimal interaction. Participants who experienced a minor social rejection in an experiment were significantly more likely to inflict pain (in the form of hot sauce) on those who rejected them. What these findings reveal isn't that some people are inherently more prone to lust or jealousy, but that we all contain the capacity for both lifelong commitment and short-term desire. The mind's dueling systems - one focused on immediate pleasure, the other on long-term bonding - constantly vie for control. This isn't a battle between good and evil but between two adaptive strategies that have helped humans survive and reproduce over thousands of years. Understanding these dynamics helps explain why people can simultaneously be loving partners and jealous protectors, devoted spouses and susceptible to temptation - not because of character flaws, but because of the fundamental architecture of the human mind.

Chapter 3: From Pride to Hubris: The Thin Line Between Confidence and Arrogance

Thomas Mapother had a difficult childhood. Growing up in Syracuse, New York, his family moved frequently as his father, an engineer for General Electric, relocated for work. These moves were especially hard on Thomas and his three sisters because their father was abusive and unpredictable. Eventually, his mother divorced and the family struggled financially, accepting food stamps but refusing welfare out of pride. Young Thomas, feeling responsible as the "man of the family," got a newspaper route and contributed his earnings to support them. The constant relocations took their toll - Thomas attended fifteen different schools by age fourteen and was bullied in most of them. Always the new kid, he constantly had to prove himself to unwelcoming peers and demanding teachers. This was especially challenging given his natural quietness and dyslexia. Yet Thomas possessed a deep sense of pride that drove him to work relentlessly, spending hours struggling with schoolbooks despite his learning disability. When a knee injury ended his wrestling career in high school, he channeled his determination into acting, approaching it with the same single-minded resolve that characterized all his endeavors. At eighteen, Thomas Cruise Mapother - who shortened his name to Tom Cruise - moved to New York City, working odd jobs by day and taking acting classes by night. His perseverance paid off when he landed a small role in the movie "Taps." Director Harold Becker was so impressed by Cruise's intensity and confidence that he upgraded his part. This launched Cruise's meteoric rise to become one of America's most popular actors. Despite his success, Cruise maintained his work ethic. Director Ron Howard noted he was never late to set - even running to and from bathroom breaks. He eschewed luxury trailers and entourages, prompting Rob Reiner to observe: "He forgets he's a star. He just goes along like a normal person." Then something changed. As Cruise's fame skyrocketed, his humility seemed to evaporate. His interviews became defensive and dismissive. His infamous appearances on Today and Oprah showed a man who seemed to have lost touch with reality. The once-humble hardworking actor who had taken a paper route to help his family had been replaced by someone who lectured others on moral superiority and jumped on couches in manic displays. Formerly praised for professionalism, he was now mocked for egomaniacal behavior. What happened? Had Cruise been an egomaniac all along? Based on his history, that doesn't seem to be the case. His pride had originally driven him to help his family and persevere through dyslexia and rejection. Without it, Tom Cruise might have remained unknown. What we're witnessing is the thin line between pride and hubris. Pride - the feeling of satisfaction from accomplishment - can motivate perseverance and excellence. But when unchecked, it can transform into hubris - an inflated sense of importance disconnected from reality. Research shows this transformation isn't unique to celebrities. In laboratory studies, participants randomly praised for performance on a trivial task immediately felt more proud, worked harder on subsequent tasks, and naturally assumed leadership roles in group settings. Their peers not only saw them as leaders but actually liked them more for it. The praise - not any actual ability - created this effect. This reveals something profound about character: our sense of pride and humility isn't fixed but responds dynamically to social feedback. Success and acclaim can tip the scale from healthy pride toward hubris, while challenge and failure can restore perspective. The difference between the humble hard worker and the arrogant star often isn't a matter of inherent character but of context - of which psychological forces are currently winning the ongoing battle within us all.

Chapter 4: Compassion or Cruelty: What Determines Our Response to Others

The winter of 1914 was bleak for British and German troops entrenched outside Ypres, Belgium. World War I raged, and their only respite from exchanging gunfire came when they ventured into no-man's-land to retrieve their dead. The British High Command had deliberately conditioned soldiers to view Germans as "evil Huns" - bloodthirsty psychopaths - ensuring they'd have no qualms about killing. But on Christmas Eve, something remarkable happened. British soldiers noticed small lights appearing near German positions - candles placed on small conifer trees celebrating the holiday. Soon, German Christmas carols filled the air, to which the British responded with their own songs. Soldiers from both sides gradually ventured into the space between trenches and began fraternizing. They exchanged small gifts and conversed where possible. "If I had seen it on a cinematograph film I should have sworn that it was faked," wrote Lieutenant Sir Edward Hulse. Corporal John Ferguson was equally incredulous: "What a sight; little groups of Germans and British extending along the length of our front... Where they couldn't talk the language, they made themselves understood by signs, and everyone seemed to be getting on nicely. Here we were laughing and chatting to men whom only a few hours before we were trying to kill." The British High Command was furious. General Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien immediately ordered an end to all friendly communication and implemented troop rotations to prevent battalions from becoming familiar with their counterparts. But remarkably, the day after Christmas, the shooting resumed in earnest. Somehow, these soldiers had no difficulty firing at the same men with whom they had exchanged gifts and broken bread just hours before. How could humans transition so quickly from mortal enemies to peaceful neighbors and back to indifferent killers in less than twenty-four hours? This pattern repeats throughout history. During civil wars in the Ivory Coast and Nigeria, bitter enemies paused hostilities to rally behind national soccer teams, only to resume killing once the games ended. After disasters like 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, or the Haiti earthquake, people worldwide showed tremendous compassion, but once the shocking images faded from headlines, so too did much of that care, despite ongoing suffering. Research reveals a crucial factor determining whether we show compassion or indifference: perceived similarity. Laboratory studies demonstrate that we consistently help those we perceive as "like us" more frequently and generously. When participants believed a stranger shared even a trivial characteristic with them (such as being an "over-estimator" on a meaningless test), they were three times more likely to help that person with a difficult task. Similarly, simply having people tap their fingers in synchrony with someone else created enough of a bond to make them significantly more willing to assist that person later. The flip side is equally powerful. When we perceive others as fundamentally different, we can literally dehumanize them. Brain imaging studies show that when people view members of extreme outgroups (like the homeless or drug addicts), the brain regions involved in social cognition remain quiet while areas that process objects become active. Their minds respond as if these people were things, not humans. This automatic categorization explains how soldiers could shoot at men they'd befriended just hours earlier - the context had shifted them from the mental category of "fellow Christians celebrating Christmas" back to "enemy combatants." This flexibility isn't a character flaw but a fundamental feature of how our minds navigate social environments. Understanding this mechanism reveals that compassion and cruelty aren't fixed traits but responses shaped by our perception of who belongs to "our group" - a perception that can shift dramatically with even subtle changes in context.

Chapter 5: Trust and Fairness: The Hidden Rules of Social Exchange

Mohammad Sohail was closing his convenience store in Shirley, New York, one night in May 2009 when a hooded man burst in brandishing a baseball bat and demanding cash. Instead of reaching for the register, Sohail pulled out a rifle and aimed it at the assailant's head. The would-be robber collapsed to his knees, sobbing: "I'm sorry. I have no food. I have no money. My whole family is hungry." In that moment, Sohail saw not a criminal but a desperate person needing help. He asked the man to promise never to rob again, then gave him $40 and a loaf of bread. When Sohail went to get milk from the back of the store, the man disappeared. Sohail assumed that would be the end of it. He was wrong. That December, Sohail received an anonymous letter: "First of all I would like to say I am sorry... I needed to feed my family. When you had that gun to my head I was 100% that I was going to die.... Now I have a new child and good job, make good money staying out of trouble and taking care of my family. You gave me forty dollars. Thank you for sparing my life. Because of that you change my life." Enclosed was $50 - the $40 plus interest. No one had forced the former thief to repay the money; even Sohail hadn't expected it. "When you do good things for somebody, it comes back to you," Sohail reflected. What makes people transform from thieves to repayers, from selfish actors to followers of the Golden Rule? The answer strikes at what it means to be human. Social exchange - the trading of time, resources, and support - is fundamental to human society. Whether asking a friend to help move furniture, requesting a loan, or having a neighbor watch our children, we rely on others more than we realize. Yet each transaction involves risk - the possibility that our generosity won't be reciprocated. In the short term, taking without giving seems advantageous. But in the long run, this strategy fails; develop a reputation as a taker, and social isolation follows. To investigate what tips the scale toward fairness, researchers conducted an experiment where participants' computers "crashed" during a tedious task. For some, a fellow participant (actually a confederate) helped fix the problem, saving them from redoing their work. Later, they encountered someone requesting help with a boring project. Those who had experienced someone's kindness were significantly more likely to assist this stranger - and worked 50% longer on the tedious problems - than those who hadn't experienced help. The remarkable finding? This effect occurred even when the person requesting help wasn't the one who had helped them earlier. The feeling of gratitude, it seemed, motivated people to pay kindness forward to anyone, not just their benefactors. This pattern extends beyond laboratories. When Aaron Feuerstein's Malden Mills factory burned down in 1995, destroying 600,000 square feet of manufacturing space, he shocked everyone by using his $300 million insurance payout not to retire or rebuild overseas, but to rebuild locally while continuing to pay his employees' full salaries and benefits - $1.5 million weekly. The response was extraordinary. Productivity skyrocketed from 130,000 yards of fabric weekly to 230,000. "People were willing to work 25 hours a day," Feuerstein recalled. One employee remarked: "There isn't anything Mr. A could ask us that we wouldn't do. I even heard one of the guys say they'd take a bullet for Mr. A." What these examples reveal is that fairness and trust aren't simply moral imperatives but psychological mechanisms that foster successful long-term relationships. Emotions like gratitude function as social glue, binding people together and creating obligations that stabilize communities. However, this system isn't perfect. Studies show that darkness (even dimly lit rooms) can increase cheating, and seeing others behave dishonestly makes people more likely to cheat themselves. The mind constantly balances short-term temptations against long-term benefits, with context often tipping the scale. Understanding these hidden rules of social exchange reveals why fairness, trust, and reciprocity can vary so dramatically across situations. The Golden Rule isn't followed or abandoned because of fixed character traits but because of fluctuating psychological forces responding to subtle environmental cues - a fundamental insight into how human moral behavior actually operates.

Chapter 6: Risk and Reward: Why We Gamble With Our Character

Harry Watanabe opened a small gift shop in Omaha, Nebraska, in 1932, specializing in trinkets from Japan. His business, eventually named Oriental Trading Company, expanded into seventeen shops throughout the Midwest. Following Japanese tradition, Harry's son Terrance took over the family business in 1977. Under Terrance's leadership, the company shifted focus to party supplies and favors, eventually serving 18 million customers, producing 25,000 products, employing 3,000 workers, and earning $300 million annually. Terrance was extraordinarily devoted to the company's success - so much that friends and family noted his inability to maintain close romantic relationships. Harry must have been proud of his son's dedication, and Terrance himself surely took pleasure in his professional and financial achievements. How shocking, then, that in 2000, after shepherding the family business responsibly for over two decades, Terrance sold the company and subsequently lost a mind-boggling $127 million gambling in Las Vegas casinos in a single year. How could someone so successful, who had earned a fortune through intelligent business decisions, foolishly squander everything at the gaming tables? You might categorize Terrance with other addicts, seeing him as weak-willed or inherently flawed. But is the person who loses millions at casinos fundamentally different from someone who plays the stock market or invests in real estate? All three activities involve high-stakes gambling. The difference isn't character but sensitivity to risk and reward - psychological mechanisms that can shift dramatically based on context. A classic demonstration comes from experiments where participants were offered a chance to win chocolate chip cookies in a game of chance. When the cookies were merely described, participants rationally weighed the odds before deciding to play. But when researchers baked the cookies right in front of them, filling the room with delicious aromas, participants' willingness to take risks skyrocketed regardless of the odds. With temptation made immediate and visceral, rational calculation went out the window. Similar effects occur with sexual decisions. Studies show that men judge the risk of sexually transmitted diseases to be lower when evaluating more attractive women - completely irrational but psychologically predictable. Other research demonstrates that sexually aroused men report greater willingness to engage in risky behaviors they would normally avoid. It's not that these men are inherently reckless; rather, when reward cues are strong, the desire for immediate pleasure overrides caution. Our emotional states similarly influence risk perception. In one study, participants read news stories designed to evoke specific emotions, then estimated the likelihood of various events. Those feeling sad consistently overestimated the frequency of tragic events like children starving or brides being abandoned, while angry participants overestimated infuriating events like being cheated by car salespeople or stuck in traffic. Our moods literally color our perception of risk, regardless of statistical reality. This flexibility can be adaptive. Consider encountering an unfamiliar animal that kills one of your family members. Your emotional response - fear and avoidance of similar animals - may not be statistically justified after just one encounter, but erring on the side of caution makes evolutionary sense. The cost of taking a longer path to avoid potential danger is far less than risking another life. Similarly, your emotions might prompt you to ask for a promotion despite long odds, potentially yielding rewards you would have missed through purely rational calculation. When viewed through this lens, Terrance Watanabe's behavior becomes more comprehensible. Like participants tempted by the aroma of fresh cookies, he was responding to immediate sensory cues - the lights, sounds, and occasional wins of the casino - that overwhelmed rational consideration of long-term consequences. Brain imaging studies confirm that traders' pleasure centers activate during high-risk decisions, with the excitement increasing as the odds worsen. This isn't a character flaw unique to "gambling addicts" but an extreme manifestation of mechanisms we all possess. Understanding risk perception reveals that seemingly disparate behaviors - heroism and cowardice, prudence and recklessness - aren't fixed character traits but responses shaped by context, experience, and emotional state. When we judge someone as foolhardy or courageous, we're often witnessing not who they inherently are, but which psychological forces are currently winning the ongoing battle within.

Chapter 7: Prejudice and Tolerance: The Surprising Elasticity of Bias

Recorded aboard an Apache helicopter in Baghdad, July 12, 2007: "All right, we got a guy with an RPG [rocket-propelled grenade]." "I'm gonna fire." "No, hold on. Let's come around." "You're clear." "Let's shoot." "Light 'em up!" "Come on, fire!" "I got 'em!" "Got a bunch of dead bodies lying there." "Oh yeah, look at those dead bastards." These words document the final minutes in the life of Namir Noor-Eldeen, an Iraqi who wasn't an enemy combatant but one of Reuters' top freelance photographers documenting American and Iraqi efforts to root out insurgents. That day, Noor-Eldeen was taking photos in a Baghdad neighborhood when Apache helicopter gunners mistook his telephoto lens for an RPG (rocket-propelled grenade). By the time he realized they were aiming at him, it was too late. Noor-Eldeen and his companions, all unarmed, were killed in a bloody massacre. When this video was released after years of military suppression, public outcry followed. How could trained soldiers mistake a camera for a weapon? How could they fire without confirming their target was actually threatening? Many concluded the soldiers must be bigots, eager to kill any Iraqi. Yet this explanation seems inadequate. American troops often fought alongside Iraqi forces, entrusting their lives to them. If the gunners were truly prejudiced against all Iraqis, wouldn't there have been many more similar incidents? The military's investigation found no evidence of prior bias or reckless shooting. Still, would the triggers have been pulled so quickly if the man with the camera had been named Smith instead of Noor-Eldeen? If his skin had been lighter or his hair blond, would there have been more hesitation or better verification? The soldiers likely didn't consciously shoot the man because he looked Iraqi, but conscious thought doesn't always dictate action. To understand how bias operates unconsciously, researchers designed experiments simulating split-second decisions similar to those faced by police officers or soldiers. In one study, participants sat before computers with "shoot" and "don't shoot" buttons, viewing images of people holding either guns or harmless objects like wallets or phones. Their task was to shoot only those holding guns. Though participants weren't prejudiced by any standard measure, they were significantly more likely to mistakenly "shoot" unarmed Black individuals than unarmed white ones. Their minds were engaging in implicit racial profiling, judging the same object as more threatening when held by someone of a different race. This pattern reflects how the human mind quickly categorizes individuals into "us" versus "them" - a rapid assessment designed to predict whether an encounter will bring reward or harm. When someone falls into the "them" category, caution increases and threat perception heightens. These categorizations aren't fixed but shift based on context. During the 1914 Christmas Truce, British and German soldiers moved from seeing each other as enemies to fellow Christians sharing holiday traditions, then back to combatants. The categories themselves hadn't changed, but which one seemed most relevant had. Even more surprisingly, these biases can emerge from nothing. In a groundbreaking experiment, researcher Jane Elliott told her third-grade class that blue-eyed children were superior to brown-eyed ones. Within hours, previously friendly children began discriminating against their blue-eyed classmates. The next day, she reversed her claim, and the pattern of discrimination immediately flipped. More recent research shows that simply making adults feel angry is enough to create prejudice toward completely arbitrary groups. Participants who recalled angering events showed automatic dislike for individuals randomly assigned to a different arbitrary category (like "overestimator" versus "underestimator") - groups that couldn't possibly have real-world significance. These findings reveal something profound: prejudice isn't simply a character flaw in "bad people" but a psychological mechanism that can emerge in anyone under the right conditions. Understanding this mechanism explains puzzling cases like Mel Gibson, who supported GLAAD and met with Jewish leaders after making anti-Semitic and homophobic remarks. Rather than asking whether someone "is a bigot," we might better understand prejudice as a response that can be triggered or suppressed by situations that make us feel threatened or secure in our social identities. This elasticity of bias challenges traditional views of character as fixed and immutable. Like compassion, fairness, and risk perception, our capacity for prejudice or tolerance fluctuates based on context - not because we lack moral fiber, but because our minds evolved to navigate complex social environments where group boundaries sometimes matter for survival. Recognizing this doesn't excuse discrimination but offers insight into how to create conditions that bring out our better natures rather than our worst.

Summary

Throughout our exploration of human character, a revolutionary truth has emerged: character isn't fixed like a statue but fluid like a river, constantly shifting in response to context and circumstance. We've witnessed how moral hypocrisy emerges not from conscious deception but from the mind's remarkable ability to adjust standards to favor immediate self-interest. We've seen how pride becomes hubris, how compassion turns to cruelty, how fairness yields to selfishness - not because people fundamentally change, but because different psychological forces temporarily gain the upper hand in specific situations. This ongoing battle between long-term interests and short-term desires shapes our behavior in ways we rarely recognize. The implications transform how we might approach our own growth and judge others. Rather than labeling someone a "cheater" or "saint" based on isolated actions, we can recognize the contextual factors that tip the scale toward virtue or vice. We can design environments that support our better natures, whether through creating accountability structures that reinforce fairness, practicing techniques that enhance compassion, or simply being mindful of when our judgments might be clouded by anger or fear. Most importantly, understanding the fluid nature of character offers both grace and responsibility - grace in recognizing that we all contain multitudes, capable of both selflessness and selfishness depending on circumstance, and responsibility in acknowledging that while we cannot control every aspect of our character, we can learn to recognize the forces that shape it and create conditions where our better selves emerge more consistently.

About Author

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David DeSteno

David DeSteno is a professor of psychology at Northeastern University, where he directs the Social Emotions Group. At the broadest level, his work examines the mechanisms of the mind that shape moral behavior. David is a fellow of the Association for Psychological Science and the American Psychological Association, for which he served as editor-in-chief of the journal Emotion. His work has been repeatedly funded by the National Science Foundation and has been regularly featured in the media, including The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, CBS Sunday Morning, and NPR's Radiolab and On Point.He is the author of How God Works, Emotional Success, The Truth About Trust, and co-author of Out of Character. He frequently writes about behavioral science for outlets including The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Atlantic, The Boston Globe, Harvard Business Review, and Mother Jones.David received his Ph.D. in psychology from Yale University.

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