The golden rule prevents me from padding my criticism with a layer of poetic fluff. I (and I assume others) readily see through obligatory rhetorical nonsense. I find it irritating and insulting, because it implies that you think you’re tricking me into thinking that I’m not receiving criticism, and that I would have irrationally overreacted to your criticism if you hadn’t cunningly veiled it.
If we are working together, I want your honesty, and I do not want us to fail together because I’ve done something wrong and you were too “polite” to express your genuine disapproval. If I’m dealing with a child, or someone who is very emotional and not very smart, perhaps, I should adopt your patronizing scheme. But I will not treat my technical coworkers like children, and I expect the same of them.
You’re fooling yourself if you think that polite criticism doesn’t work better on you than rude criticism. You may prefer directness and honesty, but you’re still human, and you’ve still got an ego.
Also, following the golden rule to the letter is an example of the typical mind fallacy—and it’s particularly bizarre when you know you’re atypical in that regard. The golden rule is best used as a default—a heuristic for how to treat people in general when you have no more specific data about how a particular person would prefer you to treat them. Can you imagine if masochists applied the golden rule when sleeping with someone new? “Well, I like being beaten, so clearly that’s okay to do to someone else.” No. If you have atypical preferences, a better base heuristic is what’s common, especially when the common thing is considered more respectful. On which note:
But I will not treat my technical coworkers like children, and I expect the same of them.
You’ve got this backwards. Being direct and telling people what to do without showing any regard for their own ability or status is how you treat children. When you’re respectful to other people, you’re treating them like adults.
The golden rule prevents me from padding my criticism with a layer of poetic fluff. I (and I assume others) readily see through obligatory rhetorical nonsense. I find it irritating and insulting, because it implies that you think you’re tricking me into thinking that I’m not receiving criticism, and that I would have irrationally overreacted to your criticism if you hadn’t cunningly veiled it.
If we are working together, I want your honesty, and I do not want us to fail together because I’ve done something wrong and you were too “polite” to express your genuine disapproval. If I’m dealing with a child, or someone who is very emotional and not very smart, perhaps, I should adopt your patronizing scheme. But I will not treat my technical coworkers like children, and I expect the same of them.
You’re fooling yourself if you think that polite criticism doesn’t work better on you than rude criticism. You may prefer directness and honesty, but you’re still human, and you’ve still got an ego.
Also, following the golden rule to the letter is an example of the typical mind fallacy—and it’s particularly bizarre when you know you’re atypical in that regard. The golden rule is best used as a default—a heuristic for how to treat people in general when you have no more specific data about how a particular person would prefer you to treat them. Can you imagine if masochists applied the golden rule when sleeping with someone new? “Well, I like being beaten, so clearly that’s okay to do to someone else.” No. If you have atypical preferences, a better base heuristic is what’s common, especially when the common thing is considered more respectful. On which note:
You’ve got this backwards. Being direct and telling people what to do without showing any regard for their own ability or status is how you treat children. When you’re respectful to other people, you’re treating them like adults.
If you just tell children what to do without regard for their own ability or status, you aren’t getting very far.
The only other way to secure their cooperation involves beating them…
Oh, thoroughly agreed. That was an observation, not an advocation.