Early in his Metaphysics, Aristotle makes a claim about where thinking starts. "It is owing to their wonder that men both now begin and at first began to philosophize," he wrote. And "a man who is puzzled and wonders thinks himself ignorant" (Metaphysics 1.2, W. D. Ross's translation).

That second line is easy to skip past, but it's a striking idea. For Aristotle, noticing what you don't know wasn't a sign of a weak mind. It was where a strong one got started.

I've come to think you can hear this in everyday conversation. Some people habitually say things that sound, at first, like admissions of weakness: "I'm not sure," "I could be wrong," "Let me think about that." The clue is what you do next. If "I could be wrong" makes you check the evidence, or "Let me think" makes you test your first answer, those phrases are doing real work. They make room for reality to correct you. They aren't an IQ test, but if they come naturally to you, you may be thinking more carefully than you give yourself credit for.

1. "I could be wrong about this"

In 1650, as his army faced Scotland, Oliver Cromwell wrote to the leaders of the Scottish church, who were confident their position rested on "the Word of God." His most famous line has outlived the dispute: "I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken" (Letter to the General Assembly of the Kirk of Scotland, 3 August 1650, from Thomas Carlyle's edition).

It's good advice, though Cromwell was asking his opponents to doubt themselves, not offering to doubt himself. That's the hard part. Most of us find it much easier to see how someone else might be mistaken.

Psychologists call the willingness to apply it to yourself intellectual humility. In a 2017 set of four studies, people who scored higher on a measure of intellectual humility were more open and curious, less dogmatic and less likely to see a politician who changed their mind as "flip-flopping." In one study, they were also better at telling strong arguments from weak ones (Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 2017).

"I could be wrong, but here's how I see it" doesn't make your view weaker. What matters is what comes next: looking up the figure, rereading the email or asking someone who was there. That shows you're paying attention to the evidence, not just defending a position.

2. "How does that actually work?"

Most of us feel we understand everyday things far better than we do. In a well-known set of studies, people rated how well they understood how everyday devices work. After trying to write out a detailed, step-by-step explanation, they rated their understanding lower. The researchers called this the illusion of explanatory depth (Cognitive Science, 2002).

A later study applied the same idea to politics. When people were asked to explain in detail how a policy they held strong views on would actually work, their sense of understanding dropped and their positions became more moderate. Simply listing reasons for their views didn't have the same effect (Psychological Science, 2013).

"How does that actually work?" can sound naive. It's often the opposite. Before you ask anyone else, try explaining the next step yourself. If you can't say what happens after the money is approved, you've found the part worth asking about.

3. "Let me think about that for a second"

The Analects records a short exchange about a nobleman named Ji Wenzi, who "always pondered thrice before acting." Confucius heard about it and said, "Twice is enough" (Analects 5.20, Robert Eno's translation). The joke cuts both ways. Thinking before you act is good. Endless deliberation isn't.

That first pause matters more than it might seem. The psychologist Shane Frederick designed a short test built around questions with tempting wrong answers. The best known: a bat and a ball cost $1.10 together, and the bat costs $1.00 more than the ball. How much is the ball? Many people answer 10 cents. The right answer is 5 cents. Frederick described the test as measuring the ability or disposition to resist reporting the first answer that comes to mind, and found that scores were related to other measures of cognitive ability (Journal of Economic Perspectives, 2005).

"Let me think about that for a second" is the spoken version of that check. In a meeting, it might sound like "Before we agree, let me run the numbers again." Confucius would add only one thing: then decide.

4. "What would change my mind?"

Francis Bacon noticed a trap in human thinking four centuries ago. "The human understanding, when any proposition has been once laid down... forces everything else to add fresh support and confirmation," he wrote. Contrary evidence gets ignored or explained away (Novum Organum 1.46, Joseph Devey's edition).

He illustrated it with an old story. A man was shown a temple wall hung with paintings offered by sailors who had made vows during storms and survived shipwreck, and was asked whether this didn't prove the power of the gods. His reply: "But where are the portraits of those who have perished in spite of their vows?"

Modern researchers took Bacon's idea seriously enough to test it. In two experiments, people who were prompted to consider the opposite of what they expected showed less bias in how they judged evidence and people. The prompt worked better than simply telling them to be fair and unbiased (Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 1984).

"What would change my mind?" is a practical way to ask Bacon's question about the missing portraits. It goes a step further than admitting you could be wrong. A good answer names the evidence that would actually persuade you.

5. "That's a good point"

Montaigne loved a good argument and disliked people who couldn't stand being contradicted. "When any one contradicts me, he raises my attention, not my anger," he wrote. "I advance towards him who controverts, who instructs me; the cause of truth ought to be the common cause both of the one and the other" (Essays 3.8, "Of the Art of Conference", Charles Cotton's translation).

That last idea is the useful one. If both people in a disagreement care about getting it right, a good point from the other side helps you both.

"That's a good point. I hadn't thought about the timing. Let's move the launch back a week." The last sentence matters most. Acknowledging a point keeps the conversation on the problem rather than on who's winning, and acting on it shows you meant it. It can also make the other person more willing to consider your points in return.

6. "It depends"

Aristotle warned against demanding more certainty than a subject can give. "It is the mark of an educated man to look for precision in each class of things just so far as the nature of the subject admits," he wrote (Nicomachean Ethics 1.3, W. D. Ross's translation). Mathematics allows exact proofs. Questions about how to live, or how to handle a difficult colleague, usually don't.

"It depends" can be a dodge. Said well, it's the start of a better answer. "Should I take the job?" "It depends. How much do you care about the commute compared with the pay?" That response takes the question seriously enough to see what it actually turns on.

The useful version always finishes the sentence: it depends on what, and why.

7. "I wonder why..."

Aristotle's point about wonder has a modern echo. A review of research on academic performance found that intelligence was the strongest single predictor. But in the researchers' model, measures of conscientiousness and intellectual curiosity together predicted academic performance about as strongly as intelligence did. The authors called curiosity the "hungry mind" (Perspectives on Psychological Science, 2011).

Curiosity often shows up as a small phrase dropped into ordinary conversation. "I wonder why that shop is always empty on Tuesdays." "I wonder how they decided on that rule." People who say this a lot aren't necessarily the ones with the most answers. They're the ones who keep noticing questions.

Following up even occasionally, with a search, a book or a question to someone who knows, is how a passing thought turns into something you understand.

8. "I'm still learning this"

Epictetus thought the first job of anyone who wanted to learn was to drop their pretensions. "What is the first business of him who philosophizes? To throw away self-conceit," he said. "For it is impossible for a man to begin to learn that which he thinks that he knows" (Discourses 2.17, George Long's translation).

"I'm still learning this" is a modern way of keeping that door open. It's different from false modesty. You can be competent at something and still say, "I've done a few of these, but I'm still learning the tax side, so I'll ask our accountant to check it before it goes out."

It can also change how others treat you. People often explain things more patiently to someone who has said they want to understand than to someone pretending they already do.

These phrases can be overdone

Any of these phrases can become a verbal habit or a performance. "I could be wrong" can be said without meaning it, and "It depends" can be a way of avoiding a hard answer.

Some situations also call for confidence. A doctor in an emergency or a pilot in bad weather needs to act decisively, and endless hedging can be its own kind of poor judgment. Confucius's "Twice is enough" applies here too.

The useful version always comes with follow-through: the phrase leads you to check, test or change your mind when the evidence calls for it.

One place to start

In your next disagreement, before you make your case, ask yourself one question: "What would change my mind?" Then answer it as specifically as you can.

For example: "I think the new schedule saves time. If the same work takes longer for two weeks in a row, I'll rethink it."

If you can't come up with an answer like that, it may be worth listening a little longer.