The More You Know, the Less You Speak

Early in my career, I believed competence announced itself. I thought knowledge needed volume, that confidence required projection, and that leadership meant having an answer for everything; preferably first and preferably loud. Time, war, failure, and most importantly, experience cured me of that illusion. Experience has a way of sanding down the rough edges of certainty until what remains is quieter, more deliberate, and far more dangerous in the right hands.

There’s a reason the most seasoned professionals in a room tend to speak last—or not at all.

Psychologists David Dunning and Justin Kruger put a name to a pattern many of us had already witnessed in the military long before it was studied: the Dunning–Kruger Effect. In short, people with limited knowledge in a domain often overestimate their competence, while those with genuine expertise tend to underestimate theirs. The less you know, the more certain you are. The more you know, the more aware you become of what you don’t know.

In uniform, this effect isn’t theoretical: it’s operational.

We’ve all seen it: the loudest battle captain in the TOC, the junior leader who just finished a school or read a doctrine update and now feels compelled to correct everyone within earshot, the guy who confuses confidence with competence. They speak often, speak forcefully, and speak with certainty. And the longer they talk, the more experienced leaders exchange looks across the room.

Because those leaders recognize the danger.

Real experience introduces friction. It teaches you that every plan survives contact with reality for about five minutes, that second- and third-order effects matter, and that certainty gets people hurt. Once you’ve watched a “textbook solution” collapse under pressure, you learn to respect nuance. Once you’ve buried friends, bravado loses its charm.

That’s when your volume drops.

The most capable leaders I’ve served under didn’t dominate conversations. They asked questions. They listened. They let junior leaders talk themselves into clarity—or into revealing what they didn’t understand. Silence, for them, wasn’t absence. It was assessment.

In combat, speaking less is often a survival skill. The experienced patrol leader doesn’t narrate every thought. The seasoned NCO doesn’t feel the need to prove he’s in charge every minute. He observes, processes, and intervenes only when necessary. He knows that words carry weight, and unnecessary words create noise—sometimes literal, sometimes deadly.

This extends beyond tactics and into leadership culture.

Inexperienced leaders often believe authority must be constantly reinforced. They manage by talking: correcting, briefing, reminding, posturing. They confuse motion with progress. Experienced leaders understand that authority is reinforced by consistency, competence, and restraint. When they speak, people listen—because they don’t waste words.

The Dunning–Kruger Effect explains why this gap exists. Early in a career, a little knowledge creates dangerous confidence. You’ve learned enough to recognize patterns but not enough to understand exceptions. You mistake familiarity for mastery. Over time, exposure humbles you. Complexity reveals itself. You begin to see the edges of your understanding—and those edges are sharp.

So you slow down.

You start asking, What am I missing?
You start listening for what isn’t being said.
You stop trying to win arguments and start trying to solve problems.

This is especially critical in environments where lives are on the line. In the military, law enforcement, and first response communities, ego-driven verbosity isn’t just annoying, it’s also it’s corrosive. It shuts down subordinate input. It discourages dissent. It creates a culture where speaking up becomes risky, and silence becomes compliance.

Ironically, the leaders who talk the most often learn the least.

The inverse is also true: those who speak less tend to learn more. They absorb information laterally and vertically. They recognize that the private on the ground, the medic in the stack, or the junior analyst behind the screen may see something they don’t. Silence creates space for others to contribute. And in complex systems, more perspectives mean better decisions.

This doesn’t mean effective leaders are passive or indecisive. Quite the opposite. When action is required, they act decisively. When direction is needed, they give it clearly. But they don’t fill silence just to prove they belong in the room.

They already know they do.

As careers progress, many of us experience an uncomfortable transition: we realize we’re no longer the smartest person in every room—and never were. That realization can either threaten the ego or mature it. The former leads to louder voices and tighter control. The latter leads to trust, delegation, and restraint.

The best leaders choose restraint.

There’s also a personal dimension to this. With experience comes the understanding that not every thought needs to be shared, not every argument needs to be won, and not every mistake needs immediate correction. Wisdom teaches timing. It teaches that silence can de-escalate, protect relationships, and preserve credibility.

It teaches that sometimes the most professional response is to listen, nod, and wait.

In a culture that often rewards assertiveness over accuracy and confidence over competence, this lesson is countercultural. But in high-stakes professions, it’s essential. The more you know, the more you respect uncertainty. The more you respect uncertainty, the less you feel compelled to speak without purpose.

Silence, used correctly, is not weakness. It’s discipline.

So if you find yourself talking less as the years go by, if you feel more comfortable listening than lecturing, if you pause before offering an opinion—that’s not regression. That’s growth. That’s experience asserting itself.

The loudest voice in the room may command attention.
The quietest one often commands respect.

And more often than not, the person who knows the most is the one who doesn’t feel the need to prove it.

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Charles served over 27 years in the US Army, which included seven combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan with various Special Operations Forces units and two stints as an instructor at the United States Military Academy at West Point. He also completed operational tours in Egypt, the Philippines, and the Republic of Korea and earned a Doctor of Business Administration from Temple University as well as a Master of Arts in International Relations from Yale University. He is the owner of The Havok Journal, and the views expressed herein are his own and do not reflect those of the US Government or any other person or entity.