Positive, adj.: Mistaken at the top of one's voice.

Hear the biting wit of Ambrose Bierce, master of irony and sharp observer of human folly, who declared in his Devil’s Dictionary: “Positive, adj.: Mistaken at the top of one’s voice.” At first, these words seem light, a jest tossed into the air. Yet they strike like a spear at the heart of human arrogance. Bierce unmasks the tendency of men and women to confuse certainty with truth, and to cloak ignorance with volume. He teaches that to be “positive” in speech often means not to be correct, but to be unshakably wrong—louder, firmer, and more dangerous than the humble who doubt.

The meaning of positive here is not the modern sense of optimism or cheerfulness, but the ancient sense of conviction. To be positive is to assert beyond question, to declare with force. Yet Bierce, with sardonic wisdom, reminds us that the loudest assertions are often the least true. History is filled with voices that rang out with certainty, proclaiming falsehoods as if they were eternal laws. His definition is a warning: the louder the voice, the more carefully one should listen, for noise is not the same as wisdom.

The ancients themselves understood this peril. Socrates, whom the Delphic Oracle called the wisest of men, declared that his wisdom lay only in knowing that he knew nothing. He stood against the “positive” men of Athens—the sophists—who spoke loudly and confidently, yet often with error and deceit. Socrates’ humility brought truth; their arrogance brought only empty applause. Bierce’s irony is the same lesson reborn: certainty without knowledge is blindness, shouted from the rooftops.

History offers sobering examples. Consider the medical practices of centuries past, when physicians proclaimed with absolute confidence that bleeding a patient would cure fevers, or that diseases were carried by foul airs. Their voices were strong, their reputations unquestioned, and yet they were utterly mistaken at the top of their voice. Generations suffered because the loudness of authority drowned the quiet whispers of truth. It is often not malice, but misplaced certainty, that causes the greatest harm.

Bierce’s teaching also reveals a truth about human nature: we are drawn to the confident. In courts, in politics, in gatherings of the people, the one who speaks with strength is often believed above the one who speaks with caution. But history shows us again and again that confidence is not knowledge. The crowd cheers the loud voice, even if it leads them into folly. The wise must learn to separate the power of tone from the truth of words.

The lesson, then, is humility. Do not mistake the strength of your conviction for the certainty of truth. Speak with courage, yes, but also with openness. When you are positive, test yourself: do I shout because I am sure, or do I shout to silence my own doubt? And when you hear others speak with great certainty, do not be swept away by volume, but weigh their words carefully. For truth is not always loud—it is often quiet, patient, and humble.

Practical wisdom flows from this. Cultivate the habit of questioning your own certainties. When debating, listen more than you speak, and measure your words so that their weight is truth, not merely sound. Honor those who speak carefully, who admit the limits of their knowledge, for their humility is often closer to wisdom than the bold proclamations of the arrogant. And above all, remember that to be loud and mistaken is far worse than to be silent and searching.

Thus Ambrose Bierce’s satirical stroke becomes ancient wisdom: beware of the voice that is positive, for it may be error shouted as truth. Let us teach future generations that confidence must be bound to knowledge, and certainty to humility. For the wise do not roar from the mountaintop without thought—they speak with measured words, knowing that truth is not proven by volume, but by endurance.