Two Ways of Arguing: For the Sake of Truth or the Sake of Victory
A few years ago, I read Morality by Jonathan Sacks - a book I’ve recommended more times than I can count. It’s thoughtful, wise, and full of compassion, weaving together philosophy, theology, sociology, and current events with remarkable insight. One idea that has stayed with me ever since (quietly transformative, once it truly sank in) is his distinction between two kinds of arguments: those made for the sake of truth, and those made for the sake of victory.
That struck a deep chord. I’ve always been intensely curious and eager to acquire knowledge from various sources, not just academic ones. With that comes a desire to understand, to gain clarity, and to uncover truth, not to dominate a conversation or prove a point. I’m self-aware enough to recognise that I don’t seek debate for ego or personal gain. I welcome disagreement. I ask questions. I challenge ideas - not for the thrill of winning, but to enrich the dialogue and offer perspective.
As Sacks puts it: “An argument for the sake of truth respects both sides. It is a form of engagement, not conquest.”
That, to me, is the highest form of discourse.
At the heart of every argument lies a choice, whether conscious or not. Do we argue to discover what is true, or do we argue to win? This isn’t just a rhetorical distinction. It speaks volumes about our relationship to knowledge, ego, and the people around us.
Arguing for the Sake of Truth
When we argue for the sake of truth, we enter a collaborative space. It’s not me versus you - it’s us versus the problem. The goal isn’t to dominate, but to gain clarity, deepen understanding, and align more closely with reality.
In this kind of argument, disagreement becomes a gift. It shines a light on our blind spots. It challenges our assumptions. It sharpens our thinking. The ego might take a hit, but the mind grows stronger. People who argue this way are not only open to changing their minds they welcome it. Because doing so isn’t a defeat. It’s progress.
This mindset takes intellectual humility. It requires a genuine desire to know what is true, rather than to appear right. It assumes the other person holds a piece of the puzzle we don’t and that their perspective is worth listening to, not just countering.
For the Sake of Truth - A Psychological Perspective
When we argue for the sake of truth, we’re operating from a space of curiosity and cognitive flexibility. Psychologists refer to this as epistemic humility; the recognition that our knowledge is always partial and provisional. It’s a trait linked with better decision-making, stronger relationships, and even higher levels of emotional intelligence.
This kind of argument reflects a growth mindset, the belief that we can improve our thinking through challenge and reflection. People with this mindset aren’t threatened by disagreement; they’re energised by it. Their self-worth isn’t tied to being right, which frees them to explore rather than defend.
Neurologically, these conversations activate the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for higher-order thinking, empathy, and self-regulation. It’s why truth-seeking arguments often feel slower and more reflective. You’re less reactive, more receptive. You’re not fighting, you’re connecting.
Arguing for the Sake of Victory
Then there’s the other kind of argument, the one we see far more often: arguing to win.
In this mode, conversation becomes a battlefield. The aim isn’t discovery; it’s domination. The goal is to be right or at least to be seen as right. Truth becomes secondary to performance.
Here, facts are wielded like weapons. Listening becomes a tactic, not a gesture of respect. Silence is ammunition, not space to reflect. Every flaw in the other person’s argument is a chance to score points not an opportunity to understand. The ego swells. The mind narrows. And all too often, the loudest voice prevails - not because it holds more truth, but because it refuses to yield.
When I was younger, I’d find myself in these kinds of arguments, thinking (somewhat naively) that if I just brought more logic, more clarity, more thoughtful insight to the conversation, they would see. I believed that if I offered a better perspective, they would at least reflect and acknowledge it, even if they didn’t agree. A simple “I hear you, but I still disagree” would have sufficed.
But more often than not, the response was rejection. Not of the idea, but of the possibility that new information might shift their viewpoint. The need to defend their existing narrative overpowered any openness to growth.
This kind of argument is everywhere, on political stages, in social media threads, and sadly, even in personal relationships. It may feel satisfying in the moment, especially to the ego. But it leaves a residue. People feel unseen. Perspectives go unexplored. And the truth, whatever it may have been, gets buried beneath the wreckage of rhetorical victory.
For the Sake of Victory - A Psychological Perspective
Arguing to win often comes from a place of ego-protection. The brain perceives disagreement not as a cognitive challenge, but as a social threat, triggering the amygdala, the part responsible for fight-or-flight responses. This is sometimes called an amygdala hijack - when reason takes a back seat to self-preservation.
This mode is driven by confirmation bias, our tendency to favour information that supports our existing beliefs, while ignoring or dismissing anything that contradicts them. Once we’re in this state, the argument isn’t about ideas anymore, it’s about protecting identity, status, or pride.
These conversations also often trigger status anxiety. We fear being perceived as wrong or less intelligent, so we double down, even when part of us suspects we might be missing something.
Why This Matters
Disagreement is inevitable. But how we disagree changes everything - our relationships, our workplaces, our communities, even our ability to solve complex problems.
When we argue only to win, we become sharp debaters but shallow thinkers.
When we argue to understand, we create space for ideas to evolve, and for people including ourselves to grow.
The irony? The most meaningful victories often come when we stop trying to win and start trying to learn.
So the next time you feel yourself stepping into an argument, pause and ask:
“Am I here to understand or to conquer?”
One path leads to truth. The other, just to noise.
