The worst men often give the best advice.

Host: The room is quiet, the soft hum of the world outside barely reaching the sanctuary within. Jack sits on the couch, the dim glow from the table lamp casting long shadows across the room. His fingers lightly tap the edge of the armrest, lost in his thoughts. Jeeny stands near the window, her eyes focused on the city skyline, the lights flickering like distant stars. The air feels still, but the tension between them is palpable, as though something unspoken lingers just below the surface.

Finally, Jeeny breaks the silence, her voice soft but curious.

Jeeny: “I came across something today that made me think. Francis Bacon once said, ‘The worst men often give the best advice.’” She looks over at Jack, her expression thoughtful. “What do you think of that?”

Jack: He raises an eyebrow, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “The worst men, huh? That’s an interesting way to put it.” He shifts slightly, his gaze narrowing as he considers the words. “I guess there’s truth in it, in a way. Sometimes the people who’ve made the biggest mistakes, who’ve lived the hardest lives, have the clearest understanding of what really matters. They’ve seen things. They’ve been through it.” His voice lowers, reflective, almost contemplative. “But then again, it’s hard to take advice from someone who’s messed things up so badly. You start to wonder if they even know what they’re talking about.”

Jeeny: She steps toward him, her eyes steady as she meets his gaze. “But isn’t that the point, Jack? The people who’ve made the mistakes are the ones who have the most to teach. They’ve failed, they’ve lost, and from that, they’ve learned what not to do.” She pauses, her voice softer now, almost insightful. “It’s easy to take advice from someone who seems perfect, but it’s often the ones who’ve been through the darkest times who can help guide you through your own.”

Host: The silence stretches between them for a moment, the only sound the soft ticking of a clock in the background. Jack’s expression softens, his thoughts clearly shifting. He looks away for a moment, as if considering her words more deeply.

Jack: “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he says slowly, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. “But sometimes, when you’re in the middle of a mess, you don’t exactly want someone who’s been there. You want someone who seems like they’ve got it all together, someone who hasn’t fallen into the same traps.” He pauses, the edge of his usual cynicism creeping back in. “It’s hard to trust advice from someone who seems like they’re still a work in progress.”

Jeeny: She walks over to the chair across from him, sitting down slowly, her voice calm but insistent. “But that’s exactly why their advice matters, Jack. It’s not about perfection. It’s about knowing what works and what doesn’t because they’ve been there. They can offer you a perspective you wouldn’t get from someone who’s never been tested, never had to climb out of their own mess.” Her eyes lock onto his, a quiet understanding in them. “Sometimes the best advice comes from the people who have the most scars.”

Jack: He looks at her, his skepticism still there, but it’s softened by the weight of her words. “I guess that makes sense. Wisdom isn’t about being flawless; it’s about having been through it all and survived.” He takes a deep breath, the weight of the thought settling in. “But it’s still hard to let go of the idea that someone with all those mistakes might not have learned anything from them.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s part of it, too,” she says, her voice gentle, but still carrying the weight of the conversation. “Even the worst men might not have all the answers, but that doesn’t mean their experiences aren’t valuable. Their mistakes are part of the reason they can give such real advice.” She pauses, her voice softening. “Sometimes, it’s the scars that give the advice its truth.”

Host: The air in the room feels heavier now, like the conversation is shifting, pulling them into a space of deeper reflection. Jack seems quieter, his usual defenses lower, though still reflecting on what she’s said. Jeeny’s expression is steady, her words resonating, yet also offering a sense of comfort — the kind that comes with knowing even the most flawed people can still have something meaningful to offer.

Jack: “I guess we all have something to offer, even if we don’t have it all figured out.” His voice is quieter now, more genuine. “Maybe it’s the fact that we’re not perfect that makes the advice real. Maybe that’s what makes it valuable.”

Jeeny: “Exactly,” she says with a soft smile, her eyes filled with understanding. “It’s the imperfections that shape us, and the honesty that comes with them. It’s how we learn, and it’s how we help each other grow.”

Host: The room feels quieter now, as though the weight of the conversation has shifted something between them. The world outside continues on, but inside, there’s a sense of peace, a recognition that the value of advice doesn’t always come from perfection, but from the wisdom gained through failure and experience.

As the evening settles in, the understanding between them lingers. The scars, the flaws, the mistakes — they all have something to teach. It’s just a matter of being open enough to learn from them.