BEING RIGHT DOESN’T MEAN YOU HAVE TO KEEP ARGUING
Sometimes it is not the wrong answers that exhaust us, but the effort to explain the right answer to the wrong person. Throughout my academic career, I witnessed many examples of this. I saw people spend far more time and energy than necessary trying to convince others of something they knew to be true. More often than not, nothing changed. The only result was that the people arguing became even more distant from one another.
I remember a short story that illustrates this well:
One day, a judge asks two men standing before him:
— How much is two times three?
One of the men answers:
— Eight.
The other immediately objects:
— It is six!
The argument quickly escalates.
— It is eight.
— It is six.
— You don't know mathematics.
— You are the one who doesn't know mathematics.
Their voices rise, their tempers flare. A simple math problem is almost turning into a fight.
Finally, the judge announces his decision:
— The man who says “two times three is eight” is free. You, however, will spend one month in prison.
The man who gave the answer six looks at the judge in astonishment.
— But Your Honor, two times three is six. You know that too!
The judge calmly replies:
— Of course I do. I know perfectly well that two times three is six. But you exhausted yourself trying to convince someone who believes it is eight. That is your punishment.
The story is not really about mathematics. It is about people.
In life, it is not possible to correct every mistake, convince every person, or bring every argument to a conclusion. More importantly, we do not need to engage in every argument. Sometimes people do not argue because they are searching for the truth; they argue because they want to protect what they already believe.
This is where the difference between someone who seeks the truth and someone who simply wants to be right becomes clear. A person who seeks the truth listens. They compare what they hear with what they already believe. And when they realize they are wrong, they can step back and say:
“I was mistaken.”
Being able to say those words is not as easy as it sounds. For some people, the purpose of an argument is not to find the truth but to avoid losing.
In such arguments, the subject gradually changes. At first, the question is simply, “How much is two times three?” Then your knowledge is questioned. Next, your character. Then your past.
“You're always like this.”
“You did the same thing last year.”
“Everyone already knows what you're like.”
Before you know it, the subject of the conversation is no longer the truth. Ego has taken over.
During my years at the university, I also witnessed more subtle versions of this. A faculty member, instead of admitting a mistake, would come up with new arguments to defend it. A manager, rather than discussing a wrong decision, would begin questioning the motives of the person who criticized it.
At moments like these, a person stops defending an idea and becomes the lawyer for their own rightness.
Yet maturity does not mean winning every argument. Sometimes maturity means recognizing that the person in front of you has not come to understand you but simply to oppose you, and knowing when to remain silent. Because not everyone is open to being convinced.
For some people, an idea has ceased to be something they can reconsider. It has become an identity that must be protected.
Their party cannot be wrong.
Their teacher cannot be wrong.
Their leader cannot be wrong.
Their family cannot be wrong.
And, of course, their own opinions cannot be wrong.
In such a situation, no matter how strong your evidence may be, changing the direction of the argument is difficult. The problem is no longer a lack of information. It is a refusal to accept the possibility of being wrong.
As I have grown older, I have noticed that I have become more selective about the arguments I engage in. In the past, whenever I saw something I believed was wrong, I immediately wanted to correct it. Now I first ask myself:
“Is this person really looking for the truth, or do they simply want to be right?”
If the answer is the latter, I often choose to remain silent. Because it is not our job to correct everyone's mistakes. Nor are we responsible for changing everyone's mind. We need to learn where to spend the limited time we have in life.
Some conversations enrich you; some arguments take away nothing but your time and peace of mind. Being able to tell the difference may be one of the important forms of wisdom that comes with age.
Sometimes remaining silent when you have something to say is more valuable than remaining silent because you have nothing to say. Because silence is not always a retreat.
Sometimes it simply means refusing to spend your energy on an argument that does not deserve it.
Life is short. Time is limited. Instead of spending that time with people who are constantly trying to prove themselves right, it is more valuable to talk with people who listen to us, make us think, and, when necessary, are willing to tell us, “You are wrong.”
Because the purpose of a good argument is not to defeat the other person but to come a little closer to the truth.
And perhaps as we grow older, we learn this distinction more clearly:
Being right is one thing. Getting everyone to admit that you are right is another.
Sometimes the person in front of you is not ready to understand. Sometimes they simply do not want to. And sometimes admitting that you are right would require them to rethink things they have believed for years.
In such a situation, saying the truth once is enough. There is no need to force the matter beyond that. Because the truth does not require you to exhaust yourself trying to make someone accept it.
Two times three is six. You do not need everyone to agree with you to know that it is true.
Some truths do not need applause.
You cannot convince everyone.
You cannot win every argument.
And sometimes the most mature answer you can give is no answer at all.
Because what exhausts us most of the time is not the wrong answer. It is having to explain the right answer again and again to someone who does not want to hear it.