Books like Blind Spots

Yale professor John Bargh is a wonderful writer and a great storyteller.

We all know that our minds operate at both a conscious and an unconscious level, but not until I read this book did I realize how much happens at the unconscious level and that this helps explain everything from how getting a flu shot affects our attitudes toward immigration to how having power can induce us to try to unfairly advantage people we perceive to be like us at the expense of “out-group” members. 

I was intrigued to learn about “moral disengagement,” which is a particular way of thinking about the processes, pressures, and biases that lead good people to do bad things.

The creation of the late Albert Bandura, a psychologist at Stanford University and one of the most influential psychologists of modern times, moral disengagement is the process by which we separate our identity as good people from the bad acts that we do so that we can do what we wish but still think of ourselves as good folks.

At more than 400 pages, this book is not a quick read, but learning about the mechanisms of moral disengagement is endlessly fascinating. The book never bores.   

This is the best book I’ve read about the human dreams and failings of white-collar criminals.

With Soltes’ direct access to headline names—like Bernie Madoff, Jeffrey Skilling, and Marc Drier—I steeped myself in his profound research on our myths about “nurture vs. nature,” whether companies are inherently “good” or “bad,” and whether criminal behavior inside companies is performed by fundamentally “bad” people. The book taught me about the psyche of embezzlers and the conditions inside companies that influence their stealing. That knowledge took me beyond my own familial myths about George Hormel’s embezzler and enhanced my understanding of why he likely did his stealing.

The book also outlined the great impact of white-collar crime on families, companies, and our economy, leading me to a more nuanced understanding of southern Minnesota in the 1920s. History and humanity are woven together in whole cloth, and Soltes’ work allowed me to speculate about… show more.

I know and admire Paul Woodruff, a noted philosopher at the University of Texas. His worldview has been shaped by his experiences as a young soldier in the Vietnam War and he has spent much of his professional life trying to make sense of those experiences.

The book begins with Woodruff remembering a time, 50 years ago, when he was lying in ambush in Vietnam, pondering the question that he attempts to answer in this book: “What makes the difference in a human being between acting ethically and not? Specifically, in a soldier, between committing atrocities and holding back?” He realized at that moment that all his philosophy training at Princeton had not helped him answer that question.

Much of his discussion in this book, written half a century later, finds useful guidance by focusing on the psychological influences of behavioral ethics rather than the philosophical musings of Socrates.

I like to think I’m a good person—and this book reminded me that being one doesn’t make hard decisions any easier. What it did give me was permission to stop expecting clarity all the time. I appreciated how it showed that ethical choices aren’t always about right vs. wrong but sometimes right vs. right.

It helped me see that moral discomfort isn’t a failure—it’s a sign that I care. And that these decisions, while messy and imperfect, are survivable. That meant something to me. I didn’t walk away with all the answers, but I did walk away feeling braver.

I’ve never forgotten the Milgram experiment—but I’d never turned it inward until I read this book. It forced me to ask: Do I ever follow instructions just because they’re expected? That question unsettled me—in a good way.

This book helped me recognize the quiet moments where obedience can blur into complicity. And more importantly, it gave me tools to pause, reflect, and re-anchor my values. What stayed with me most was the reminder that ethical clarity doesn’t have to happen in isolation. Community and collaboration are essential—not going it alone is a value I didn’t realize I’d been craving.

I loved this book because it doesn’t pretend that ethical decision-making is clean or easy—it acknowledges the mess and dives right in. I’ve always found myself frustrated by how people talk about ethics like it’s obvious or binary: “I would always do this” or “I’d never do that.” But real life isn’t like that, and this book knows it.

Reading it felt strangely comforting, like someone finally said out loud that these choices are hard—and that it’s okay to struggle with them. It reads like self-help in the best way. I didn’t just come away feeling smarter; I came away knowing myself better. It helped me clarify my values and gave me language for the quiet tug-of-war that happens inside when I’m facing a tough call.

This is a book that describes why design thinking can be a powerful tool for innovation and problem-solving.

Brown argues that traditional approaches to problem-solving often rely on linear and analytical thinking, which can be limiting when it comes to addressing complex and multifaceted challenges.

Brown presents a framework for design thinking that emphasizes empathy, experimentation, and collaboration.

I found numerous examples of individuals and organizations in the book that have successfully used design thinking to create innovative solutions to a wide range of problems, from improving healthcare to redesigning public spaces.

I found practical strategies of applying design thinking in life and work.

This is a pleasure to read and full of good ideas.

Most of the book deals with errors in how people make future-oriented decisions, and how we can overcome these errors. Yet the author also has good advice about how we should go about predicting plausible futures. He notes that experts with a flexible worldview make better predictions than those who follow a narrow belief or ideology.

Friendly tip: I do not recommend reading this novel while isolated from your family due to travel and illness, because this book hits hard in all the right ways.

It invites both the protagonist and the reader to explore the deepest wells of regret and the branching infinities that our life choices produce. In doing so, the novel beautifully confronts the seductive lure of “what could have been” while reminding us of the quiet beauty in what is.

As someone whose mind is often lost in the past or gazing into the future, this ultimate lesson of the book provided a much-needed sense of clarity.