The most dangerous people are not those who make mistakes.

They are those who cannot admit them.

Every human being who has ever lived has been wrong about something. We make decisions with incomplete information, imperfect judgment, and limited understanding. Mistakes are not the exception. They are part of being human.

The question is not whether we make mistakes.

The question is what we do when we discover them.

As I have gotten older, I have become less interested in whether people agree with me and more interested in whether they are willing to change their minds when the facts change. In my experience, that tells me more about a person’s character than intelligence, education, wealth, or status.

Many years ago, I made a mistake at work. I honestly do not remember the details anymore. What I remember is being called into a meeting with two managers. It was obvious they were upset, and that the matter was serious.

They explained what I had done.

I listened.

When they finished, I said something very simple.

“You know, you’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

I remember watching the tension leave the room.

The meeting changed immediately. It stopped being a confrontation and became a conversation about moving forward. They were no longer dealing with someone trying to defend a mistake. They were dealing with someone willing to accept responsibility for one.

I did not lose my job.

That experience taught me a lesson I have never forgotten.

Most people can forgive a mistake.

What is much harder to forgive is a refusal to acknowledge one.

Unfortunately, too many institutions reward people for defending their position long after the facts have changed.

The problem is not limited to politics, business, government, or the legal system. It exists wherever human beings are given authority.

And authority matters because mistakes made by powerful people rarely stay small.

A private citizen can make a mistake and affect a few people.

A manager can affect an organization.

A corporate executive can affect thousands of employees.

A judge can affect a person’s freedom.

A prosecutor can affect a person’s liberty or even their life.

An advanced artificial intelligence system could someday affect millions.

Power magnifies consequences.

For that reason, authority should never reduce accountability. It should increase it.

The greater the power someone possesses, the greater their obligation to seek the truth and correct mistakes when they are discovered.

That principle becomes especially important in the justice system.

I believe there is a significant difference between an honest mistake and misconduct.

An honest mistake occurs when someone acts in good faith based upon the evidence available at the time and later discovers they were wrong.

Misconduct begins when the truth becomes clear, and a person knowingly refuses to accept it.

Most prosecutors enter the profession because they genuinely believe in justice and public service. The justice system depends on that commitment.

However, the true test of that integrity does not come when the evidence supports a conviction. It comes when new evidence challenges one.

A prosecutor who pursues a case based on the evidence available and later learns that new evidence changes the picture is still operating within the reality of human limitations.

A prosecutor who knowingly hides evidence, ignores compelling evidence of innocence, or fights to preserve a conviction they no longer honestly believe is just has crossed a different line.

At that point, the issue is no longer the original mistake.

It is the refusal to correct it.

That distinction matters because the refusal to correct an injustice can become a greater moral failure than the error that created it.

I have similar feelings about compassion.

I believe compassion is one of the things that separates civilization from simple survival.

Compassion causes us to care for the sick, the elderly, the struggling, and those who have failed. Compassion allows us to give second chances. Compassion reminds us that every person is more than the worst thing they have ever done.

Without compassion, I think we lose something essential about what it means to be human.

But compassion is not the same thing as the absence of accountability.

Compassion without accountability can become permissiveness.

Accountability without compassion can become cruelty.

A healthy society requires both.

I generally oppose the death penalty. Yet I can imagine circumstances where a person repeatedly demonstrates such extreme violence that my compassion shifts toward protecting the innocent people around them.

That is not a rejection of compassion.

It is an acknowledgment that compassion applies to potential victims as well.

The challenge is always finding the balance.

Popular fiction has long understood this problem.

Captain Kirk was not compelling because he was always right.

He was compelling because he could change course.

One of my favorite expressions associated with that spirit is simple:

“I stand corrected.”

Those three words represent something that seems increasingly rare.

Humility.

Not weakness.

Accountability to the truth.

There is strength in admitting error.

There is confidence in accepting correction.

There is wisdom in understanding that being wrong today does not prevent us from being right tomorrow.

What prevents growth is not error.

It is pride.

The same lesson applies to artificial intelligence.

The danger is not only that future AI may be powerful. The danger is that it may be powerful and unable to stand corrected.

Science fiction author Isaac Asimov famously proposed the Three Laws of Robotics, intended to govern intelligent machines:

Isaac Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics

First Law

A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

Second Law

A robot must obey orders given by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

Third Law

A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Those laws have inspired discussions about artificial intelligence for decades. If I were to propose a Fourth Law, it would be this:

My Fourth Law

An intelligence entrusted with authority over human lives, liberty, property, opportunities, or rights must seek the truth, acknowledge its mistakes, and never knowingly continue an injustice.

In many ways, I believe the same principle should govern human beings.

Judges should follow it.

Prosecutors should follow it.

Politicians should follow it.

Corporate leaders should follow it.

Military commanders should follow it.

Artificial intelligence should follow it.

Ordinary citizens should follow it.

A society cannot function if those in power refuse to admit when they are wrong.

History is filled with examples of mistakes.

History is also filled with examples of people who knew they were wrong and refused to change course.

The second group has often done far more damage than the first.

The original mistake is often less damaging than the refusal to correct it.

That is true for individuals.

It is true for institutions.

It is true for governments.

And someday, it may be true for artificial intelligence.

The ability to stand corrected is not a weakness.

It is one of the safeguards that keeps power from becoming dangerous.

If there is one lesson I would pass on to future generations, it is this:

Seek the truth.

Show compassion.

Accept responsibility.

And when the facts prove you wrong, have the courage to say three simple words:

“I stand corrected.”