I have found it of enormous value when I can permit myselfto understand the other person. The way in which I have worded this statement may seem strange to you， Is it necessary to permitoneself to understand another? I think it is. Our first reactionto most of the statements （which we hear from other people）
is an evaluation or judgment， rather than an understanding ofit. When someone expresses some feeling， attitude or belief，our tendency is almost immediately to feel “that’s right，” or“that’s stupid，”“that’s abnormal，”“that’s unreasonable，”“that’sincorrect，”“that’s not nice.” Very rarely do we permit ourselves tounderstand precisely what the meaning of the statement is to theother person.
I once employed an interior decorator to make some draperiesfor my home. When the bill arrived， I was dismayed.
A few days later， a friend dropped in and looked at thedraperies. The price was mentioned， and she exclaimed with anote of triumph： “What? That’s awful. I am afraid he put one overon you.”
True? Yes， she had told the truth， but few people like to listento truths that reflect on their judgment. So， being human， I triedto defend myself. I pointed out that the best is eventually thecheapest， that one can’t expect to get quality and artistic taste atbargain—basement prices， and so on and on.
The next day another friend dropped in， admired thedraperies， bubbled over with enthusiasm， and expressed a wishthat she could afford such exquisite creations for her home. Myreaction was totally different. “Well， to tell the truth，” I said， “Ican’t afford them myself. I paid too much. I’m sorry I orderedthem.”
When we are wrong， we may admit it to ourselves. And if weare handled gently and tactfully， we may admit it to others andeven take pride in our frankness and broad-mindedness. But not if someone else is trying to ram the unpalatable fact down ouresophagus.
Martin Luther King was asked how， as a pacifist， he could bean admirer of Air Force General Daniel “Chappie” James， thenthe nation’s highest-ranking black officer. Dr. King replied， “Ijudge people by their own principles—not by my own.”
In a similar way， General Robert E. Lee once spoke to thepresident of the Confederacy， Jefferson Davis， in the mostglowing terms about a certain officer under his command.
Another officer in attendance was astonished. “General，” he said，“do you not know that the man of whom you speak so highlyis one of your bitterest enemies who misses no opportunity tomalign you?” “Yes，” replied General Lee， “but the president askedmy opinion of him; he did not ask for his opinion of me.”
In other words， don’t argue with your customer or your spouseor your adversary. Don’t tell them they are wrong， don’t get themstirred up. Use a little diplomacy.
PRNCIPLE 2：
Show respect for the other person’s opinions.
Never say， “You’re wrong.”
Chapter 12
If You’re Wrong， Admit It
Within a minute’s walk of my house there was a wild stretch ofvirgin timber， where the blackberry thickets foamed white in thespringtime， where the squirrels nested and reared their young，and the horseweeds grew as tall as a horse’s head. This unspoiledwoodland was called Forest Park—and it was a forest， probablynot much different in appearance from what it was whenColumbus discovered America. I frequently walked in this parkwith Rex， my little Boston bulldog. He was a friendly， harmlesslittle hound; and since we rarely met anyone in the park， I tookRex along without a leash or a muzzle.
One day we encountered a mounted policeman in the park， apoliceman itching to show his authority.
“What do you mean by letting that dog run loose in the parkwithout a muzzle and leash?” he reprimanded me. “Don’t youknow it’s against the law?”
“Yes， I know it is，” I replied softy， “but I didn’t think he woulddo any harm out here.”
“You didn’t think！ You didn’t think！ The law doesn’t givea tinker’s damn about what you think. That dog might kill asquirrel or bite a child. Now， I’m going to let you off this time; butif I catch this dog out here again without a muzzle and a leash，you’ll have to tell it to the judge.”
I meekly promised to obey.
And I did obey—for a few times. But Rex didn’t like the muzzle，and neither did I; so we decided to take a chance. Everything was lovely for a while， and then we struck a snag. Rex and I racedover the brow of a hill one afternoon and there， suddenly—to mydismay—I saw the majesty of the law， astride a bay horse. Rexwas out in front， heading straight for the officer.
I was in for it. I knew it. So I didn’t wait until the policemanstarted talking. I beat him to it. I said：“Officer， you’ve caught mered-handed. I’m guilty. I have no alibis， no excuses. You warnedme last week that if I brought the dog out here again without amuzzle you would fine me.”
“Well， now，” the policeman responded in a soft tone.“I knowit’s a temptation to let a little dog like that have a run out herewhen nobody is around.”
“Sure it’s a temptation，” I replied， “but it is against the law.”
“Well， a little dog like that isn’t going to harm anybody，” thepoliceman remonstrated.
“No， but he may kill squirrels，” I said.
“Well now， I think you are taking this a bit too seriously，” hetold me. “I’ll tell you what you do. You just let him run over thehill there where I can’t see him—and we’ll forget all about it.”
That policeman， being human， wanted a feeling of importance;so when I began to condemn myself， the only way he couldnourish his self-esteem was to take the magnanimous attitude ofshowing mercy.
But suppose I had tried to defend myself—well， did you everargue with a policeman?
But instead of breaking lances with him， I admitted that hewas absolutely right and I was absolutely wrong; I admitted itquickly， openly， and with enthusiasm. The affair terminatedgraciously in my taking his side and his taking my side.
