By Bob Cox
When
it comes to the critical subject of criticism, chances are good that
you’ve run across someone who practices the fine art of brutal
honesty. They may even behave like an annoying and obnoxious
braggart, declaring how unafraid they are to tell it like it is,
anytime, anywhere and to anyone.
On
the one hand, offering honest and direct feedback can be an extremely
admirable character trait, but only when it’s delivered and
received in a healthy way. When the stakes are high, the decision to
be completely open and transparent by sharing the uncensored version
of what you believe, think or feel does require the positive
character trait of courage.
Unfortunately,
it also requires an even greater negative quality: callousness. When
you choose the sledgehammer approach to swatting lies like flies, you
may get lucky and squash a few, but look at the destruction you’re
causing! Also, you’re likely to be seen as a self centered
narcissist and that only cares about your desire to express an
unfiltered message. Brutal honesty typically leads to an ironic and
miserable outcome because the truth-teller may sincerely believe that
their misguided approach will build a foundation of trust and
respect, when in fact it often destroys it, especially when the
motives of the truth-teller are called into question.
Case
in point: When I was a child, my dad was my hero for a number of very
good reasons. At the top of that list was his unwavering commitment
to always being honest and expecting no less from me. All those warm
and fuzzy feelings evaporated quickly during my 16th
year of life. Shortly after being uprooted 400 miles from the home I
grew up in, I fell into a spiraling whirlpool of self pity and
despair that I believed was caused by being separated from the people
and places I loved. After articulating those honest feelings with
daily updates about my miserable little life that I blamed him for,
dad responded with cold heartedness by telling me that I needed to
get a job. While I knew he was being honest, I questioned his
motives, believing that he cared less about my happiness and more
about his by shutting me up once and for all! Looking back, I can
understand the method to his madness.
Since
I cannot endorse the sledgehammer approach to honesty, do I advocate
lying in order to spare the feelings of others? No, because lying is
primarily motivated by one of two fears: Either you’re afraid of
not being strong enough to handle the guilt of hurting someone else’s
feelings or you’re afraid the recipient is too fragile to handle
your criticism. Either way, fear becomes the primary motive to
avoiding the truth and that fear will become fertile soil for a
bumper crop of pain and misery.
So,
what on earth am I advocating? I believe in tempering the brutal
impact of authentic criticism with generous quantities of compassion.
One way to achieve that healthy balance is to strive for the Platinum
Rule, which is to do onto others the way they (not you) would like to
be done onto. To practice the Platinum Rule successfully, you have to
be willing to extend generous amounts of time and energy to
thoroughly understand the person you’re planning to critique. Once
you learn more about the person, then you’ll be in a better
position to deliver an honest and compassionate message that builds a
solid foundation of mutual trust and respect.
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