I think that this perspective focuses entirely too much on people’s feelings about things, and not nearly enough on the facts of the matter. Consider the following alternative analysis, based on a simple enumeration of possibilities.
We start with Bob believing that Alice betrayed him. There are then two possibilities for the truth value of this belief; and, orthogonally, there are two[1] possibilities for how Bob chooses to proceed with his interaction with Alice. This yields a joint set of four scenarios:
Alice betrayed Bob. Bob expresses his belief straightforwardly, saying: “Alice, you betrayed me”.
Alice betrayed Bob. Bob uses the NVC-style[2] expression, saying: “I feel alone” (or something along these lines).
Alice did not betray Bob. Bob behaves as in scenario (1).
Alice did not betray Bob. Bob behaves as in scenario (2).
In scenario 1, Bob maintains his defenses, so to speak; he does not make himself vulnerable to further exploitation, abuse, etc. on Alice’s part. He curtails (though by no means entirely closes off) the possibility of reconciliation or understanding—but as we have stipulated that Alice did indeed betray Bob, this is fine; the onus to make a concerted effort to reconcile must be on Alice. No burden of understanding or forgiveness, nor even emotional vulnerability, ought to be imposed upon Bob, until and unless Alice takes serious steps toward making up for her misdeed. (In fact, supposing the betrayal to be sufficiently serious, Bob may never forgive or reconcile with Alice; and this is right and proper.)
In scenario 2, Bob lowers his defenses; he exposes vulnerability; he gives Alice information and openings with which to further exploit him. As Alice betrayed him once, she may well do so again; people who betray trusts, who exploit those close to them, rarely do so once. (Note that this consideration does not even depend on conscious ill intent on Alice’s part; betrayal by neglect or thoughtlessness changes this scenario not at all.) Bob invites further harm, and perhaps even worse harm than before. Any attempt at reconciliation assumes good faith from the counterparty, after all; but, by construction, such good faith is lacking in this scenario. Bob is making a grave, and potentially quite costly, mistake.
In scenario 3, Bob is harming a relationship which may be repaired. The worst case is that Alice, in turn, feels betrayed by the accusation, and that reconciliation is closed off, where otherwise it may have been possible. Yet the question of whether Alice betrayed Bob or not, is a question of fact; that the facts involved are facts about expectations, about communication having taken place (or not), about agreed-upon (or assumed) obligations, etc., makes them no less factual. Whether Alice did, or did not, betray Bob, may be discovered, and demonstrated, to any good-faith observer (mediator, counselor, etc.). Supposing (as we do, in this scenario) that Alice did not betray Bob, this fact may be established. If Bob is interested in repairing his relationship with Alice, and Alice likewise, this remains possible, though difficult—but the difficulty stems from Bob’s sense of betrayal, even assuming away any communication errors. Still, the worst case is bad—there can be no denying that.
In scenario 4, the interaction (presumably) proceeds smoothly; everyone’s hurt feelings are soothed; no one’s feelings are newly hurt. Alice and Bob reconcile and continue their relationship as before (and possibly even stronger than before).
The question, then, is: what is the relative weight that we should place on each of these scenarios? Do we disvalue (2) more than (3), or vice-versa—and how much more, the one than the other? How much do we value (4)?
These are not easy questions. They must be answered with attention to the particulars of a person’s situation—their personality, their social circle, etc.—and with the fact firmly in mind that such choices, if made repeatedly, compound, and form incentives for the actions of others, and signal various things to various sorts of people.
What is clear from this analysis, however, is that the “NVC-style” approach absolutely does not dominate. There are quite common environments and contexts, in fact, where it is clearly dominated by the other.[3]
Two within the context of the scenario, anyhow. Bob is of course free to do any number of other things, but those other options are not (currently) under discussion.
By this I only mean to refer to the sort of communication Vaniver endorses in his post and comments; I make no claim of knowing precisely what sort of formulations NVC would actually prescribe in such cases.
Your analysis seems fine, and it also seems worth noting that while Circling might teach you broadly applicable lessons, they’re time-boxed containers where everyone involved has chosen to be there. That is...
These are not easy questions. They must be answered with attention to the particulars of a person’s situation—their personality, their social circle, etc.—and with the fact firmly in mind that such choices, if made repeatedly, compound, and form incentives for the actions of others, and signal various things to various sorts of people.
It seems to me like some large part of the usefulness of Circling comes from “owning experience” compounding and forming incentives and signalling things. That’s separate from the claim that you should own your experience everywhere.
I think that this perspective focuses entirely too much on people’s feelings about things, and not nearly enough on the facts of the matter.
I think that, at least with relationships, people’s feelings are often the primary facts of the matter. Like, obviously when you’re interacting with your barista, what you ordered and what drink they prepared are the primary facts of relevance, and how the two of you feel about it is secondary. But if Alice and Bob are choosing to build a relationship together, how they think and feel about their interactions is much more important than basic facts about those interactions.
not nearly enough on the facts of the matter.
Actually, a different take: “owning experience” is about teaching people the map-territory distinction in emotionally charged situations. Like, it will feel as tho “the territory is that you betrayed me,” and the principle forces a swap to “my map is that I’m alone.” This lets you look at how the map is constructed, which is potentially more fruitful ground for exploration than whether or not it passes or fails a particular experimental test this time.
And the change in type is important; if you just let people say the words “my map” instead of “the territory” they will change their language but not their thinking, and this will impede their ability to go deeper.
I think that this perspective focuses entirely too much on people’s feelings about things, and not nearly enough on the facts of the matter. Consider the following alternative analysis, based on a simple enumeration of possibilities.
We start with Bob believing that Alice betrayed him. There are then two possibilities for the truth value of this belief; and, orthogonally, there are two[1] possibilities for how Bob chooses to proceed with his interaction with Alice. This yields a joint set of four scenarios:
Alice betrayed Bob. Bob expresses his belief straightforwardly, saying: “Alice, you betrayed me”.
Alice betrayed Bob. Bob uses the NVC-style[2] expression, saying: “I feel alone” (or something along these lines).
Alice did not betray Bob. Bob behaves as in scenario (1).
Alice did not betray Bob. Bob behaves as in scenario (2).
In scenario 1, Bob maintains his defenses, so to speak; he does not make himself vulnerable to further exploitation, abuse, etc. on Alice’s part. He curtails (though by no means entirely closes off) the possibility of reconciliation or understanding—but as we have stipulated that Alice did indeed betray Bob, this is fine; the onus to make a concerted effort to reconcile must be on Alice. No burden of understanding or forgiveness, nor even emotional vulnerability, ought to be imposed upon Bob, until and unless Alice takes serious steps toward making up for her misdeed. (In fact, supposing the betrayal to be sufficiently serious, Bob may never forgive or reconcile with Alice; and this is right and proper.)
In scenario 2, Bob lowers his defenses; he exposes vulnerability; he gives Alice information and openings with which to further exploit him. As Alice betrayed him once, she may well do so again; people who betray trusts, who exploit those close to them, rarely do so once. (Note that this consideration does not even depend on conscious ill intent on Alice’s part; betrayal by neglect or thoughtlessness changes this scenario not at all.) Bob invites further harm, and perhaps even worse harm than before. Any attempt at reconciliation assumes good faith from the counterparty, after all; but, by construction, such good faith is lacking in this scenario. Bob is making a grave, and potentially quite costly, mistake.
In scenario 3, Bob is harming a relationship which may be repaired. The worst case is that Alice, in turn, feels betrayed by the accusation, and that reconciliation is closed off, where otherwise it may have been possible. Yet the question of whether Alice betrayed Bob or not, is a question of fact; that the facts involved are facts about expectations, about communication having taken place (or not), about agreed-upon (or assumed) obligations, etc., makes them no less factual. Whether Alice did, or did not, betray Bob, may be discovered, and demonstrated, to any good-faith observer (mediator, counselor, etc.). Supposing (as we do, in this scenario) that Alice did not betray Bob, this fact may be established. If Bob is interested in repairing his relationship with Alice, and Alice likewise, this remains possible, though difficult—but the difficulty stems from Bob’s sense of betrayal, even assuming away any communication errors. Still, the worst case is bad—there can be no denying that.
In scenario 4, the interaction (presumably) proceeds smoothly; everyone’s hurt feelings are soothed; no one’s feelings are newly hurt. Alice and Bob reconcile and continue their relationship as before (and possibly even stronger than before).
The question, then, is: what is the relative weight that we should place on each of these scenarios? Do we disvalue (2) more than (3), or vice-versa—and how much more, the one than the other? How much do we value (4)?
These are not easy questions. They must be answered with attention to the particulars of a person’s situation—their personality, their social circle, etc.—and with the fact firmly in mind that such choices, if made repeatedly, compound, and form incentives for the actions of others, and signal various things to various sorts of people.
What is clear from this analysis, however, is that the “NVC-style” approach absolutely does not dominate. There are quite common environments and contexts, in fact, where it is clearly dominated by the other.[3]
Two within the context of the scenario, anyhow. Bob is of course free to do any number of other things, but those other options are not (currently) under discussion.
By this I only mean to refer to the sort of communication Vaniver endorses in his post and comments; I make no claim of knowing precisely what sort of formulations NVC would actually prescribe in such cases.
And it seems to me that many ‘rationalist’ communities constitute just such environments.
Your analysis seems fine, and it also seems worth noting that while Circling might teach you broadly applicable lessons, they’re time-boxed containers where everyone involved has chosen to be there. That is...
It seems to me like some large part of the usefulness of Circling comes from “owning experience” compounding and forming incentives and signalling things. That’s separate from the claim that you should own your experience everywhere.
I think that, at least with relationships, people’s feelings are often the primary facts of the matter. Like, obviously when you’re interacting with your barista, what you ordered and what drink they prepared are the primary facts of relevance, and how the two of you feel about it is secondary. But if Alice and Bob are choosing to build a relationship together, how they think and feel about their interactions is much more important than basic facts about those interactions.
Actually, a different take: “owning experience” is about teaching people the map-territory distinction in emotionally charged situations. Like, it will feel as tho “the territory is that you betrayed me,” and the principle forces a swap to “my map is that I’m alone.” This lets you look at how the map is constructed, which is potentially more fruitful ground for exploration than whether or not it passes or fails a particular experimental test this time.
And the change in type is important; if you just let people say the words “my map” instead of “the territory” they will change their language but not their thinking, and this will impede their ability to go deeper.