Written by Ryan Baum, Psyclone
Every election feels like a defining moment, a turning point that will shape the nation's future. And in its wake, the losing side struggles to comprehend how the outcome could have happened. But the 2024 election didn’t just leave partisans shaken—it left them baffled. To Trump’s critics, his return to power seemed unthinkable, a rejection of facts, norms, and even reality itself. To his supporters, his victory was not just expected but inevitable, a course correction for a nation they believed had lost its way.
How could two groups of people, living in the same country and witnessing the same events, interpret them in such radically different ways? The answer is not simply political—it is psychological.
We don’t vote the way we think we do. We like to believe our choices are shaped by careful reasoning, a measured evaluation of policies and character. But that’s not how human decision-making works. People vote the way they shop, the way they fall in love, the way they decide whom to trust—not through spreadsheets and pros-and-cons lists, but through instinct, emotion, and perception. This election wasn’t just about policies; it was about identity. It wasn’t just about who would lead the country—it was about who voters believed they were and what kind of world they wanted to live in.
At Psyclone, in partnership with Gazelle Global Research, we set out to understand the true forces behind Trump’s 2024 victory. We didn’t just analyze what voters said. We examined how they felt, what they believed, and how they misunderstood each other. The results upended many assumptions.
This election was more than a battle of ideas. It was a case study in human psychology—how we make decisions, how we justify them, and why we so often fail to understand the people who choose differently than we do.
The Influence of Positive Emotions
Politics can feel like a battleground of anger and division, but our study revealed something unexpected: Positive emotions, more than negative ones, were the primary motivators for both Trump and Harris supporters.
We surveyed 3,276 voters, analyzing 87 distinct emotions, and the data was striking. While negative emotions played a role in opposition, they weren’t what secured votes. Instead, feelings of optimism, hopefulness, and encouragement were the strongest predictors of support. People didn’t just vote against something—they voted for something.
This runs counter to the popular narrative that Trump’s victory was fueled by resentment or backlash. In reality, a staggering 92 percent of Trump voters said they cast their ballot for him rather than against Harris. Among Harris supporters, the trend was similar—72 percent voted for her rather than against Trump. This means that while both sides view the opposition as a threat, their actual vote was motivated more by the candidate they believed in rather than the one they rejected.
For years, political strategists have operated under the assumption that fear and outrage drive voter behavior. And while negative emotions certainly galvanize opposition, they do not reliably translate into electoral victory. Hope, aspiration, and the promise of something better—that’s what moves people to action.
This insight changes how we understand Trump’s win. It wasn’t just a referendum on the Biden-Harris administration. It wasn’t simply a backlash. It was a psychological phenomenon: people casting their votes based on the world they wanted to live in, not just the one they feared.
The Great Misunderstanding
Picture this: You’re sitting at a family dinner, and the conversation inevitably turns to politics. Your uncle, a die-hard Trump supporter, shakes his head at the thought of Kamala Harris in the White House. Your cousin, a passionate Harris voter, fires back about how dangerous another Trump presidency would be. They talk past each other, each convinced that the other side is blind, brainwashed, or worse.
This scene isn’t just happening in living rooms across the country—it played out in our study, too. And one of the most striking findings was just how deeply each side misunderstood the other’s motivations.
If you ask a Harris voter why people support Trump, they’ll likely cite racism, misinformation, or an alarming willingness to buy into his lies. But ask a Trump supporter the same question, and you’ll hear something else entirely —his record in office, his economic policies, his tough stance on immigration, and the belief that he represents their values.
This disconnect cuts both ways. Many Trump supporters assume that Harris voters are driven by identity politics, a single-minded focus on abortion, or just sheer hatred of Trump. But when we asked Harris supporters directly, their reasons sounded quite different. They pointed to her qualifications, her commitment to democracy, and her ability to relate to ordinary people.
And yet, here’s where it gets interesting: The number one reason each side believes the other voted for their candidate is rooted in identity. Or, as Frank Sinatra would put it, they think it’s the “A-number-one, top of the list” reason. Harris voters assume Trump’s base supported him because they are racist and wouldn’t vote for a Black or female candidate. Meanwhile, Trump voters believe Harris supporters backed her because she is Black and female.
But does the data support these assumptions?
Among Harris voters, identity wasn’t their primary reason, but it was a factor—60 percent said her gender influenced their decision, and 45 percent cited her race. On the flip side, the perception that Trump voters were primarily motivated by racism doesn’t hold up. A solid 80 percent of Trump supporters said they would vote for a female candidate, and 84 percent said they would back a Black candidate, so long as that candidate shared their political values.
So where does that leave us? The assumption that Trump voters are inherently racist is not supported by the data. However, the perception that Harris voters factored identity into their decision does hold true—though it wasn’t their top reason.
Does this mean racism plays no role in Trump’s coalition? Not exactly. Racism isn’t an on/off switch—it exists on a spectrum. A small fraction of Trump’s base may hold openly racist views, but branding all Trump supporters as racists is entirely inaccurate. The reality is that the vast majority of them appear perfectly willing to back candidates from all walks of life.
Trust, Lies, and Politics
What really drives people to vote for one candidate over another? It turns out the answer isn’t simple—far from it. Our study identified an impressive 174 distinct factors that positively correlate with voting behavior. That’s right: one hundred and seventy-four. Analyzing these factors revealed that the forces behind Trump’s victory were far more complex and deep-rooted than initially expected. While issues like immigration, the economy, and identity politics were frequently cited, they are better understood as surface-level manifestations of broader underlying concerns.
Two themes came up again and again: trust and competence.
Despite their deep differences, Trump and Harris supporters had something in common—both groups overwhelmingly believed their own candidate was competent. Among Trump voters, 83 percent said he was at least somewhat competent. Among Harris voters, that number was nearly identical—82 percent. But when it came to assessing the other side’s candidate? Confidence collapsed. Only 21 percent of Trump voters considered Harris competent. Among Harris voters, just 19 percent said the same about Trump.
And trust? The pattern was eerily similar. Despite Trump’s well-documented history of false statements, 85 percent of his supporters described him as truthful. The exact same percentage—85 percent—of Harris supporters said the same about her. Meanwhile, trust in the opposing candidate was abysmal. Only 21 percent of Trump voters believed Harris was truthful. Among Harris voters, that number dropped to 15 percent for Trump.
Here’s where things get even more revealing. Digging deeper into perceptions of dishonesty, both groups acknowledged their own candidate lies at times—a majority of Trump supporters (57 percent) and 44 percent of Harris supporters said their candidate lies at least sometimes. And yet, this awareness did little to erode overall perceptions of trustworthiness. In other words, people didn’t need to believe their candidate was always honest—they just needed to believe they were honest enough in the ways that mattered.
So what, then, drives trust in the candidates? The reasons vary drastically between the two groups. Trump supporters trust him because they believe he follows through on his promises, performed well in his first term, and "tells it like it is." Harris supporters, on the other hand, trust her due to her experience, policy positions, and perceived compassion.
As for distrust, Trump voters view Harris as untrustworthy because they believe she has been dishonest about border issues, Biden’s declining health and competence, her background and identity, and her shifting stance on key policies, labeling her a “flip-flopper.” Conversely, Harris voters distrust Trump primarily because of his frequent lying, criminal indictments, and broken promises.
At the heart of all this is a fundamental truth about political trust: it’s not really about honesty. It’s about alignment. People don’t support a candidate because they believe every word they say. They support them because they believe that, at the end of the day, that person represents their interests and worldview.
This explains why Trump supporters can acknowledge that he lies and still trust him. We reached out to Steven Pinker, Professor of Psychology at Harvard University, for insight, and he referenced a quote often attributed to Franklin D. Roosevelt, about Anastasio Somoza: “He may be a son of a bitch, but he’s our son of a bitch.” When someone is seen as a champion for a cause, their flaws become secondary to their ability to unify and strengthen their side.
It’s also why Harris voters can accept that politicians sometimes shift positions but still see her as the better option. Because when a politician aligns with your deeper priorities, honesty takes a back seat to something far more powerful: the belief that, no matter what, they’re standing up for people like you.
Truth in the Eye of the Beholder: How Voters Verify and Interpret Facts
In an age where information moves faster than we can process it, truth has become a prized currency. Voters, regardless of their political leanings, insist they want the facts. But how do they determine what’s true? And just how much effort do they put into verifying the information they consume?
To understand this, we set out to answer a few key questions: Do voters even care whether the news they consume is factual? Do they fact-check its accuracy? And if so, how do they go about it?
Let’s start with the first question: Do voters care about the truth? The answer is an emphatic yes —for both Trump and Harris supporters. Our research found that 94 percent of Trump voters and 95 percent of Harris voters consider consuming truthful, fact-based news to be important.
But believing that truth matters is one thing—actively verifying it is another. So, we probed deeper: Do people actively fact-check the news they consume? Once again, the numbers were remarkably similar—89 percent of Trump voters and 90 percent of Harris voters reported checking the accuracy of information during the election.
This brought us to a crucial follow-up: What does “fact-checking” actually mean to them? When pressed on their methods, a significant majority—64 percent of Trump voters and 70 percent of Harris voters—said they seek out supporting or contradicting evidence when evaluating claims. Even more—72 percent of Trump supporters and 75 percent of Harris supporters—said they cross-check multiple news sources before settling on a conclusion.
But here’s the real paradox: If both groups care about truth, fact-check their news, and even use similar verification methods, why do they end up believing such drastically different things? Does one side simply think more logically than the other?
To explore this, we tested voters’ rational reasoning skills—completely removed from political context. Participants solved logic puzzles that required objective, analytical thinking. One classic example: choosing between two medical treatments—one with a 90 percent survival rate, the other with a 10 percent mortality rate. Even though both describe the same outcome, people tend to avoid the one framed around mortality, because our brains naturally gravitate toward positive framing. Another test: "A bat and a ball together cost $1.10. The bat costs $1.00 more than the ball. How much does the ball cost?" The intuitive answer is ten cents, but the correct answer—if you slow down and think it through—is five cents.
The result? No meaningful difference in rational thinking between Trump and Harris voters. When stripped of partisan influence, both groups displayed similar reasoning abilities. In other words, America’s political divide is not a matter of one side being more intelligent or logical than the other—it stems from the fact that, as humans, we are all inherently biased.
The Power of Bias
We like to think of ourselves as rational creatures, carefully weighing evidence before forming beliefs. But in reality, we’re all susceptible to narratives that confirm what we already feel to be true.
The data underscores this point. When asked how closely their candidate’s views aligned with their own, an identical 90 percent of Trump and Harris voters said their candidate reflected their values. Moreover, when correlating the 174 identified factors with voting behavior, two of the strongest correlations were “Has views that align with my own” (r = .78) and “Has beliefs that are consistent with my own” (r = .77). In other words, people don’t just vote for a candidate—they vote for a worldview that mirrors their own.
This helps explain a paradox at the heart of American politics. When asked to describe the qualities they value most in a leader, both groups named the same thing: honesty and trustworthiness. And yet, despite this shared priority, voters fundamentally disagree on what is true.
Why? Because Today’s political affiliations operate more like sociocultural tribes rather than coherent ideologies. People don’t simply select a party based on policy preferences; they gravitate toward a political identity that aligns with their sense of self. That identity might be shaped by faith in science, religious beliefs, or single-issue concerns like gun rights or climate change. But once someone has stepped inside a political tribe, that identity becomes a filter—shaping how they interpret the world, what they believe to be true, and, crucially, what they refuse to believe.
Psychologists call this motivated reasoning—the unconscious tendency to embrace information that supports one’s beliefs and dismiss facts that challenge them. It’s not a partisan flaw; it’s a deeply human one. Motivated reasoning encompasses several cognitive biases, including confirmation bias (seeking out and trusting news sources that align with one’s beliefs), myside bias (judging arguments from one’s own party as stronger than identical arguments from the opposing side), and identity-protective cognition (rejecting facts that threaten one’s ideological identity).
This is why facts alone rarely change opinions. Political beliefs aren’t just about policy positions; they’re woven into personal identity, as fundamental as religion or family loyalties. Asking someone to abandon them isn’t just asking them to rethink an issue. It’s asking them to rethink who they are.
In a sweeping 2018 meta-analysis, psychologist Peter Ditto and his colleagues examined whether political bias was more pronounced on one side of the ideological spectrum than the other. Analyzing 51 studies, the research found both sides were equally susceptible to motivated reasoning. However, the nature of this bias differed by ideology. Conservatives were more likely to reject scientific consensus on climate change and evolution, while liberals were more likely to dismiss economic arguments that conflicted with progressive policies. The takeaway? Political bias isn’t a Republican or Democratic problem—it’s a human one.
Consider a 2003 study by psychologist Geoffrey Cohen, which tested how political beliefs shape perceptions. Participants watched identical footage of a protest, but researchers altered the framing to test their reactions. When the protest was described as opposing abortion, conservatives viewed it sympathetically while liberals were critical. When the same footage was framed as an anti-military demonstration, the roles reversed. The participants weren’t evaluating the protest objectively—they were filtering it through their ideological commitments. This underscores the challenge of rational discourse: even when presented with the same evidence, people interpret it differently depending on their political identity.
Another layer of bias, known as The Singularity Effect, explains why people respond more emotionally to a single, identifiable individual than to large-scale groups. For instance, during the Rwandan genocide, reports of 800,000 deaths failed to evoke the same emotional reaction as an image of a single orphaned child. Large numbers create psychological distance, but personal stories evoke empathy.
A similar effect played out in our study. Voters were more drawn to individual candidates than to political parties. Among Trump voters, 70 percent said their vote was primarily for him, while only 16 percent said it was mainly in support of the Republican Party. Among Harris voters, 54 percent said they voted for her as an individual, while just 21 percent cited loyalty to the Democratic Party.
This brings us to the strength—and ultimate weakness—of Harris’s candidacy. From an evolutionary perspective, humans evolved in small social groups, where personal relationships mattered more than abstract groups. This is why voters respond more to individual candidates than to political parties, which are impersonal by nature.
Trump’s dominance in the Republican primary demonstrated his strong personal connection with Republican voters. He earned his nomination through a competitive process, decisively outperforming his rivals. Harris, by contrast, was placed on the ticket without a primary. The Democratic National Committee (DNC) allowed Joe Biden to become the nominee without requiring him to compete. Had Biden been forced through a rigorous primary, his weaknesses in communication and electability may have been exposed earlier. In a truly competitive process, the best communicator—the candidate who resonates most with voters—tends to emerge naturally.
Harris’s struggles in the 2020 Democratic primary, four years earlier, underscore this point. She entered the Democratic primary with strong expectations but dropped out early due to declining poll numbers and financial difficulties, while 15 other major candidates remained in the race. By contrast, Pete Buttigieg— widely regarded as a strong communicator and the winner of the Iowa caucuses—outperformed her significantly.
Why didn’t Buttigieg go even further? One possibility is that Democratic voters at the time believed a gay candidate couldn’t defeat Trump, leading them to opt for what they saw as the safer choice in Joe Biden. This echoes what happened in 2008, when some Democrats doubted whether a Black candidate could win the presidency. However, through a competitive primary process, one candidate emerged as a standout communicator—a leader whose personality and ability to connect with voters transcended identity politics. That candidate, of course, was Barack Obama. His success demonstrated that charisma, communication, and leadership matter more than demographic identity alone.
Harris, in contrast, was placed on the ticket through political maneuvering rather than voter-driven selection. Without a primary, Democratic voters lost the opportunity to vet and choose the strongest candidate through open competition. Historically, the most compelling communicators—those who truly connect with voters—tend to emerge when given the chance to compete.
In today’s hyper-polarized political landscape, where identity and ideology often overshadow policy, personal connection remains one of the most decisive factors in elections. Voters don’t just choose policies—they choose people.
The Truth is Losing: How Our Information Diet is Making Us Sick
If you want to understand why American politics feels more divided than ever, look no further than where people get their information. The days when most Americans tuned into the same evening news broadcasts are long gone. Instead, we live in a fragmented media landscape where people seek out sources that align with their existing beliefs, reinforcing ideological bubbles. This isn’t just about personal preference—it’s about algorithms, money, and a digital ecosystem that prioritizes engagement over truth.
Think of social media like a Vegas casino. It’s designed to keep you hooked, constantly scrolling, and always coming back for more. But instead of slot machines, the game is outrage. Platforms like Facebook, YouTube, and X don’t just passively show you content; they actively decide what you see based on what’s most likely to keep you engaged. And the surest way to capture attention? Emotion. The stronger, the better. Anger. Fear. Vindication. The more a post triggers those responses, the more the algorithm amplifies it.
This is why our news feeds are increasingly filled with sensational, emotionally charged content—stories designed not to challenge our perspectives, but to confirm them. And in a system where attention is currency, misinformation isn’t just a bug—it’s a feature.
It’s tempting to believe that in an age of unlimited information, truth will naturally rise to the top.
But that assumption is dangerously flawed. As historian Yuval Noah Harari explained in a conversation with Sam Harris:
“You think that if you flood the world with information, the truth will just rise to the surface. It won’t—it will sink to the bottom. Most information is junk. It’s like thinking that the more you eat, the healthier you will be. No. Yes, you need food to survive, but if you just keep eating junk food, it’s not going to be good for you. The world needs an information diet.
The truth is a subset of information, and a very small subset because the truth is very costly. If you want to produce a truthful account of something, you must invest a lot of time, effort, and money—looking for evidence, fact-checking, and analyzing. So, the truth is very costly. Fiction, on the other hand, is very cheap.
The truth is also very complicated because reality is complicated. Fiction can be as simple as you want. And people prefer simplicity over complexity.
The truth is costly and complicated, Fiction is cheap, simple, and you can make it as attractive and entertaining as you’d like it to be. So, in a completely free market of information, the truth will lose.”
This dynamic is particularly evident in the emotions that drive political behavior. In our study, we found that one statistically significant emotion associated with Trump voters is entertained (r = .37). Supporters often describe him as funny, blunt, and refreshing—someone who “tells it like it is.” This isn’t a trivial detail; it highlights the way entertainment shapes political appeal. Trump’s presence in the media isn’t just about policy; it’s about performance. When information is engaging, aligns with preexisting beliefs, and is easy to process, people are far more likely to accept it as true.
Furthermore, the danger isn’t just that misinformation exists—it’s that trust in legitimate fact-checking institutions is eroding. As traditional news outlets lose credibility in the eyes of many Americans, people turn to alternative sources that validate their existing worldviews, deepening the divide.
Historically, organizations like mainstream media outlets, scientific institutions, and regulatory agencies have played a crucial role in upholding rigorous standards of verification. Are they perfect? Of course not. They have biases. They make mistakes. But they remain far more reliable than anonymous social media accounts, partisan influencers, or politically motivated actors pushing disinformation.
We need as many institutions as possible that prioritize truth and rigorous fact-checking. Without them, the truth risks being permanently submerged in this ocean of misinformation, and distinguishing fact from fiction will become an impossible task.
Where America Gets Its News
What Americans believe about politics often depends on where they get their news. To map this media landscape, our team analyzed 66 different sources, spanning TV networks, social media platforms, podcasts, and even people who aren’t affiliated with any official outlet but wield influence online. The findings reveal stark divides in media consumption, but also surprising areas of overlap.
Among Trump voters, Fox News is the dominant source, with 66 percent relying on it for information. Local news follows at 55 percent, with Facebook (50%) and YouTube (48%) also playing major roles. Harris voters, meanwhile, turn most often to local television news (59%) and mainstream networks like NBC (54%), CBS (49%), ABC (49%), and CNN (49%).
At first glance, it looks like two different realities. But look closer, and a more nuanced picture emerges. While partisan media habits are strong, they aren’t absolute. A full 35 percent of Trump voters regularly watch CNN. And despite Fox News being a conservative stronghold, a third of Harris voters tune in. This suggests that many Americans aren’t living in airtight information bubbles—though their primary news sources still shape how they interpret events.
So, what does this mean for political discourse? It means engagement across ideological divides isn’t just important—it’s essential. If politicians and thought leaders want to reach skeptical audiences, they need to meet them where they are. Democrats appearing on Fox News won’t suddenly make the network endorse them, just as Republicans won’t find MSNBC rolling out the red carpet. But facts, when presented consistently and compellingly, are harder to dismiss—even in a room full of skeptics.
A Rational Approach to Education
Our brains were never designed for scientific, numerical, or statistical thinking. For most of human history, survival depended on quick judgments, gut instincts, and inherited wisdom. If your ancestors saw dark clouds gathering, they didn’t need a meteorological report to take shelter. They relied on patterns and experience—what worked before would probably work again.
But the modern world is different. The biggest decisions we make—about our health, our finances, and even our political choices—demand a kind of thinking that doesn’t come naturally: logical reasoning, statistical analysis, and an openness to evidence that challenges our assumptions.
And yet, our education system doesn’t prioritize these skills. Instead, we drill students in advanced algebra, calculus, and other abstract mathematical concepts, while neglecting something far more useful in daily life: the ability to evaluate information rationally. Probability, statistical reasoning, and media literacy are essential for navigating today’s world, yet they’re often overlooked in favor of formulas and equations that most people will never use again.
We don’t just need students to be literate and numerate—we need them to be rational.
Openness to Evidence
One of the most fascinating questions in psychology is why some people are more open to new evidence than others. Cognitive scientist Gordon Pennycook has spent years studying this, looking at why certain individuals quickly update their beliefs when presented with new facts, while others dig in their heels—ignoring, dismissing, or outright rejecting contradictory information.
In a 2020 study, Pennycook and his colleagues introduced the concept of Actively Open-Minded Thinking about Evidence (AOT-E), which measures how much people believe their opinions should shift in response to new information. Their findings revealed a clear trend: those who scored higher on this measure were more likely to align with the scientific consensus and reject conspiracy theories, paranormal claims, and certain religious dogmatisms. Follow-up studies reinforced these findings.
To test this idea, we conducted our own study, analyzing whether Trump and Harris voters differed in their willingness to change their minds when confronted with new information.
For instance, we presented participants with solid, non-politically biased research that contradicted popular beliefs. The topics were deliberately apolitical: no debates about climate change or election fraud, just straightforward findings on everyday assumptions.
One study demonstrated that stretching has no significant impact on injury prevention, whereas warming up with light activity is more effective. Another study found that in blind taste tests, people often struggle to distinguish between expensive and inexpensive wines. These findings challenge widely held assumptions, but how willing were people to accept them?
While a majority of both Trump and Harris voters expressed openness to reassessing their beliefs, the degree of willingness differed significantly. When presented with the injury prevention study, 78% of Harris voters said they would reconsider their views, compared to just 61% of Trump supporters. Similarly, when it came to the wine study, 89% of Harris voters said they would adjust their beliefs, while only 65% of Trump voters expressed the same willingness.
Finding Common Ground
It’s one thing to reconsider your pre-run ritual or your favorite bottle of Cabernet. But what happens when new evidence challenges something deeper—your traditions, your faith, even your understanding of the world itself?
Tradition, after all, is more than just a set of old habits—it’s a foundation for identity, continuity, and belonging. It’s the reason why people gather around the same family recipes for Thanksgiving, why religious rituals persist across generations, and why communities rally around certain shared customs. Tradition is an anchor, a way of passing down wisdom and meaning, connecting us to those who came before.
But tradition and evidence do not always coexist peacefully.
Our study found that differences in openness to new evidence extended beyond physical science into matters of faith. When asked to rate their certainty in God’s existence on a scale from 0 to 100 percent, 91% of Trump voters reported a score above 50 (indicating they believed God’s existence was more likely than not), compared to just 49% of Harris voters. Even more strikingly, 63% of Trump voters were completely certain of God’s existence (a score of 100%), while only 25% of Harris voters reported the same level of certainty.
We also asked participants whether they trust science or religion more when it comes to understanding the world. Here, the divide was stark: 88% of Harris voters said they trust science more, compared to just 46% of Trump voters. Meanwhile, 68% of Trump voters said religion provides a reliable understanding of reality, compared to only 34% of Harris voters.
But there was one finding that stood out—a rare point of agreement. Despite ideological and religious differences, trust in science as a source of knowledge remained high across both groups: 85% of Trump voters and 96% of Harris voters agreed that science provides an accurate framework for understanding the world.
This last statistic is crucial. The overwhelming acceptance of science across both groups highlights a shared respect for scientific inquiry, despite ideological and religious differences. It suggests that science remains a unifying force—a common ground where diverse perspectives can converge.
This balance—the ability to hold personal faith while still valuing empirical evidence—is exactly what the Founding Fathers sought to preserve when they established the United States. In 1802, Thomas Jefferson wrote that there should be a "wall of separation between church and state" to protect both religion and government. They understood the importance of religious freedom, but they also recognized that governance should be rooted in principles that apply to everyone, regardless of their individual faith. The separation of church and state was designed not to suppress religion but to ensure that public policy was guided by reason, debate, and verifiable facts.
That balance is no less important today. When it comes to making decisions that affect society—particularly in public health, education, and governance—science does something tradition cannot: it questions itself. It revises. It corrects. The very nature of scientific inquiry is to embrace uncertainty, to refine ideas rather than cling to them. That’s not a weakness—it’s a strength. It’s how we separate what feels true from what is true.
Because at the end of the day, the truth is not partisan. The truth does not care how we vote. And if we are willing to meet it with open minds, it just might bring us together.
Conclusion
Bias is a tricky thing.
It slips into our thinking unnoticed, reshaping how we see the world. It doesn’t announce itself—it just lingers in the background, steering our beliefs, filtering the facts we accept, and nudging us toward conclusions that feel right, even if they aren’t. It’s why two people can look at the same evidence and walk away with entirely different interpretations. Politics, religion, personal experience—all of these shape the lenses through which we view reality.
But here’s the catch: reality doesn’t care about our lenses.
Rationality is impartial. It doesn’t bend for ideology, and it doesn’t shift to accommodate personal beliefs. And when we strip away our biases, research suggests that people— regardless of their political leanings— are surprisingly similar in how they process truth. We care whether the information we consume is true, and we verify facts in surprisingly similar ways. The real divide, then, isn’t between those who seek truth and those who don’t. It’s between those willing to challenge their biases and those who let those biases determine what they accept as real.
That divide matters. Because truth and morality are not separate concepts; they are deeply intertwined and interdependent. Truth is the foundation upon which moral progress is built. A moral society isn’t just one that means well; it’s one that prioritizes human well-being and minimizes harm. But how can we do that if we don’t know what helps or harms in the first place? When falsehoods shape our choices, suffering follows.
Consider radical extremism. A child born into a family of jihadist terrorists isn’t predestined to embrace violence. There’s no biological blueprint for fanaticism. It’s the ideas they inherit—the stories they’re told about the world—that push them in that direction. The distinction between people and ideas is crucial. History offers clear examples, such as Hitler, who alone could not have orchestrated the Holocaust; it was the spread of his ideology that led to mass atrocities. If we accept that morality is about minimizing harm and promoting well-being, then truth becomes indispensable. Only with an accurate understanding of reality can we determine which actions lead to progress and which inflict harm.
This is evident in today’s political climate, where misinformation has led to measurable harm. Describing Donald Trump as one of the most untruthful leaders in modern American history is not a matter of opinion—it is a fact, backed by over 30,000 documented false or misleading statements. His false claims during the COVID-19 pandemic about vaccines and the virus’s severity resulted in needless deaths. Spreading lies about election fraud doesn’t just distort public perception—it incites real-world violence, as seen on January 6, 2021.
And misinformation isn’t confined to one political party. The left, too, falls prey to distorted narratives. Support for terrorist organizations like Hamas often arises from a poor or incomplete understanding of historical global conflicts. Similarly, calls for defunding police departments, often ignore data showing that under-policing, rather than over-policing, is the bigger problem in many communities. When progress is built on ideology rather than truth, it ceases to be progress at all. Instead, it becomes regression—a step backward for society.
But here’s the hopeful part: truth is different from other universal values like love or kindness. It’s something a society can actually build itself around. And if we did, we would be far less divided.
Astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson has floated a thought experiment called Rationalia, a hypothetical society where all decisions are grounded in evidence and reason. His vision is summed up in a single-line constitution: "All policy shall be based on the weight of evidence." In such a world, healthcare decisions were shaped by medical data, not wishful thinking. Where laws were crafted based on measurable outcomes, not ideological purity tests. Where education focused on proven learning methods, not political battles over curriculum.
Of course, critics argue that not everything can be reduced to numbers. Ethics and morality are messy, and often subjective. But Rationalia challenges us to consider an essential truth: societies function best when decisions are driven by facts rather than fear, tribalism, or misinformation. When we ignore reality, we make choices that cause unnecessary harm. But when we ground our actions in truth, we move toward a world that is not only more informed but also more just.
The way forward is clear: If we want a society that is fairer, more compassionate, and less torn apart by tribalism, we must start by looking in the mirror. That means questioning our own biases, staying open to new information, and putting reality ahead of ideology—even when it’s inconvenient.
It’s easy to get caught up in what divides us—politics, religion, identity. But as our research reveals, there’s something we all share: a fundamental respect for truth and science. This is our common ground, the place where real unity is possible. Because truth is more than mere knowledge; it is the foundation of morality itself.
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Excellent essay.