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Why it's good to admit when you're wrong – and how to improve

Why it's good to admit when you're wrong – and how to improve

The Guardian5 days ago

You may be familiar with the feeling. Someone factchecks you mid-conversation or discredits your dishwasher-loading technique. Heat rises to your face; you might feel defensive, embarrassed or angry. Do you insist you're right or can you accept the correction?
Admitting to being wrong can be difficult and uncomfortable. But the ability to admit to incorrect ideas or beliefs – what psychologists call 'intellectual humility' – is important. Research shows that people with higher intellectual humility think more critically, and are less biased and less prone to dogmatism.
People high in intellectual humility 'are able to acknowledge the limits of their knowledge and beliefs', says Tenelle Porter, an assistant professor of psychology at Rowan University. They recognize that we all get things wrong and are willing to admit their own gaps in knowledge. Meanwhile, people low in intellectual humility tend to overconfidently cling to their beliefs, and are not swayed by opposing evidence.
People who are more intellectually humble tend to have better relationships. Being unable to acknowledge other people's perspectives can damage the trust in a relationship, says therapist and author Nedra Glover Tawwab. Acknowledging that you're wrong, on the other hand, can be a great opportunity to deepen a relationship.
Research suggests that couples who score higher in intellectual humility tend to have healthier conflict management, as well as higher relationship quality and satisfaction. On average, people prefer to befriend or date people who are more humble, says Daryl Van Tongeren, who studies psychology and social values at Hope College. People also tend to be more committed to and satisfied with relationships when they perceive their partners to be more humble, Van Tongeren adds, and having both individuals in a couple rank highly in humility is associated with a healthier, less stressful transition into parenthood.
People with low intellectual humility will often react defensively when contradicted, says Leor Zmigrod, a political neuroscientist who recently wrote a book about rigid, ideological thinking. They might feel personally attacked or insulted, and arrogantly double down, she says.
But recognizing such qualities in yourself can be easier said than done. When Van Tongeren published his book on humility, people would say things like: 'Humility – that's what my father in law needs.'
'No one starts off by saying: 'Oh, humility, that's what I need,'' he says.
Our personalities can be flexible if we put in the work, says Tawwab. So how does someone get better at admitting they're wrong?
Studies show that 'people are terrible at knowing whether they're very flexible or very rigid thinkers,' says Zmigrod. But a good way to start is to practice noticing how you respond to being contradicted. Be mindful of when your emotions and ego get in the way of a thoughtful response, she says – and over time you may be able to recognize your patterns.
A person's intellectual humility is also linked with how flexible their thinking is in general, Zmigrod says. So if you notice defensiveness or anger when, say, a regular routine is disrupted, that could be a sign that your intellectual humility could use some work.
If self-driven introspection is difficult, Van Tongeren recommends asking trusted people to assess how open they think you are to new perspectives, and whether they think you get defensive of your own ideas. 'Ask people from a variety of areas of your life,' he says, because 'you might be really humble at work, but not super humble at home, or vice versa.' You can glean information about your intellectual humility while also signaling to others that you're trying to work on yourself. Before attempting this, consider whether you're honestly ready to hear this kind of feedback.
Learning to be more gracious when contradicted is an important skill, because an inability to recognize when you're wrong diminishes trust in relationships, says Tawwab.
The first thing to do is 'reframe what being wrong means', says Tawwab. A lot of people internalize the idea that being wrong means they're stupid, ignorant or worth less as a person, she says. But if we lived in a world where no one was wrong or allowed to be wrong, 'we would live in a world that has never shifted', she says. Seeing it as associated with personal growth, curiosity and other positive values will make being wrong feel less fraught.
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There are science-backed ways to engender intellectual humility.
One is quite simple: listen. People who can admit when they're wrong tend to be better listeners, says Van Tongeren. But more than that, when one person in a conversation is a good, deep listener, 'the act of listening actually cultivates and generates humility' for both parties.
If you find yourself resisting admitting being wrong, Porter recommends casting your memory back to a time when you realized you had erred. Research suggests that when you remember your own fallibility, 'that can help recalibrate us and make us more open to listening to what we might be missing,' she says.
If you want to encourage someone else in your life to work on their intellectual humility, they first need to feel like they're in an environment where it's safe to make mistakes, says Tawwab. And 'people tend to digest information best when they're seeking it out for themselves,' she says. So rather than lecture them on the importance of acknowledging their errors, it may be best to simply share articles, books or personality quizzes that can help them self-reflect and come to their own conclusions.
You can also take the edge off by suggesting that you both work on this issue together, says Van Tongeren.
Once you're able to recognize when you're wrong and admit it to yourself without an emotional or ego-driven reaction, being able to verbalize your mistakes will come much more easily.
And when it comes to telling another person that you were wrong, Tawwab says you don't have to do it immediately. After a conversation, it might take you some time to process and accept this assessment. In that case, you can go back to the person a few days later. 'Even if you can't do it in the present moment, you can still recover that conversation and build that trust,' she says.
Over time, hopefully you'll get better and faster at it, eventually being able to notice and address errors in the moment. And you'll likely deepen your relationships as a result, she says.
There are many headwinds when it comes to intellectual humility, says Porter, especially in contemporary life. Social media creates echo chambers, people constantly express ever more polarized views, and false information proliferates online. All this pushes us away from being willing and able to change our minds or admit we're wrong. But remember that we as people value these traits, she says, regardless of how challenging it is to maintain them.

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Meet the 100-year-old Catholic priest who still performs daily Mass
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Meet the 100-year-old Catholic priest who still performs daily Mass

The Rev. James Kelly, a venerable figure in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, has marked an extraordinary dual milestone, celebrating both his 100th birthday and the 75th anniversary of his ordination. The longest-serving priest in the archdiocese, his remarkable life of service recently faced a challenge, from which he emerged with renewed gratitude. Throughout his extensive ministry, Kelly has baptized thousands, officiated countless marriages, and provided solace to the sick in hospitals. His travels have taken him across the globe, fostering friendships with notable figures, including an opera superstar and, notably, a saint. Kelly's journey nearly concluded in 2024 following a health crisis that necessitated life-saving surgery. He attributes his recovery to divine intervention, expressing a profound sense of gratitude for the additional time he has been granted. "The Lord was wonderful to me to give me the health and the strength and the energy to travel, to meet beautiful things — God was always giving me surprises," Kelly says. Born on January 7, 1925, into a devoutly Catholic family in Philadelphia's Roxborough neighbourhood, Kelly's calling to the priesthood was evident from a young age. While other children harbored dreams of careers in sports or medicine, his aspiration was singularly focused on serving the church, a path he has faithfully followed for three-quarters of a century. 'When I was 4 or 5 years old, I'd play Mass,' he says, laughing, as he recalls that his parents were his first congregants. 'I always had a little altar in my room, and I'd have a glass, and some flowers in there, and I'd make a vestment, put a scarf on, and have some candy, and give Communion to everybody." Kelly wakes up at dawn to celebrate Mass at the retirement living community that he now calls home. He listens to opera. He bakes pies. Memories, parachute jumps and climbing a bridge to save a life Sitting in his room, Kelly flips through a photo album detailing his journey. He smiles with every page turn, pointing to black-and-white photos of him as a toddler and milestones as a Catholic — his baptism, confirmation and ordination as a priest. 'I turned down Hollywood!' he says, laughing as he points to the portrait of a dapper, young priest, his hair slicked and flashing a wide smile. He also points to the photo published by a Philadelphia newspaper of the time when he climbed in his Roman collar to the top of a bridge and dissuaded a man from jumping to his death. 'Nobody would climb there, so I climbed up — it was 400 feet high. It was a bitter cold day,' he says. 'I was able to talk to him and break him down emotionally, so he wouldn't jump. I told him, 'What's your grandchild going to say one day: Papa, why didn't you take me fishing?'" He points to other photos of the many ceremonies he proudly led during his 19 years as pastor of Saint Pius X Parish in Broomall, Pennsylvania, about 10 miles (16 kilometers) west of Philadelphia. There are images of him during a vacation in Mexico when he made a parachute jump. Or that one time, when he visited the majestic Iguazu Falls on the border between Argentina and Brazil, which he recalls as one of the most beautiful sights of his life. 'Everywhere you turned, there was a rainbow, there was a mist … the water gushing forth and spray and the colors," he says. 'It was, as the kids would say, awesome.' Imagination, friends and being grateful for the simple pleasures Imagination, he says, is one of his favorite words, recalling that he wrote his college thesis on it. 'Jesus used his imagination to teach,' he says, in what became an example when he prepared his own sermons. He treasures other memories, such as traveling to more than 100 countries and meeting Saint Teresa of Kolkata, also known as Mother Theresa. Kelly says the two became friends over the years after meeting in Philadelphia and running into each other at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. The centenarian also shared the time when he took a group of blind children to a live performance of his friend, acclaimed soprano Joan Sutherland. 'I've been fortunate to meet some of the most magnificent, good people in this world, and they've been most generous and gracious to me," Kelly says. These days, he enjoys simple pleasures: the taste of cherries, a beautiful song, or his favorite meal — roast chicken with mashed potatoes, fresh string beans, and corn on the cob. He loves learning and often attends lectures on music, art history and Egyptology at the Normandy Farms Estates retirement community where he resides in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania. His apartment is decorated with a painting of the Virgin Mary that he drew with chalk, a portrait of his mother, and a note signed by the late Pope Francis. On his bedside table, he keeps an image of Carlo Acutis, the Catholic Church's first millennial-era saint. Kelly is inspired by Carlo, who died at 15 in 2006, especially the teen's devotion and how he used his computer skills to create an online exhibit about scores of eucharistic miracles recognized by the church over centuries. The ritual of a humble daily Mass and the secret to a long life Every morning, he wakes up without the need of an alarm clock and says the same prayer: 'Lord, what surprise do you have for me today?' 'I hope it'll be a nice one that I'll love and enjoy. I never know, but I want to thank you for whatever happens today.' After a cup of coffee, he celebrates Mass in his apartment for a few residents of his community. 'When I moved here, I never thought I was going to have a private chapel!' Kathleen Quigley, a retired nurse, quipped after a recent service. 'I just love my faith, and he's such a stronghold of faith that it's wonderful for me to have. I just come right downstairs, have Mass, we talk, he shares his food.' Kelly once ministered to large congregations, but he feels the daily Mass in his living room is as important. 'It's not in a beautiful chapel or church. But it's here that I can offer my love and efforts to the Heavenly Father,' he says. After the final prayer, he always remembers to be grateful. 'That's all I can say — two words: thank you. It's wonderful that I have another day, and I might be able to eat some delicious cherries today, and meet people, new friends," he says. "God knows what surprises I'll encounter today.' His secret to longevity? 'I drink lots of milk,' he says, laughing. 'And I say lots of prayers.'

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