The Platinum Rule. I had never heard of it before a couple of weeks ago, but apparently, it’s a thing—an upgrade to the Golden Rule.
Variations of the Golden Rule surface in most world religions. Jesus’ take? “In everything, do to others what you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets” (Matthew 7:12). Jesus puts it another way when he says that the law and prophets hang on the command to love the Lord and to love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:37-40).
The Platinum Rule says: Wait a minute. There is something self-centered about the Golden Rule. What if the way we would want to be loved differs from the way the person we are trying to love wants to be loved? According to the Platinum Rule, our default should be to do unto others as they would have us do unto them.
A recent article in the Journal of Palliative Medicine highlights the difference:
How decisions are made and patients cared for are often guided by the Golden Rule, which would have us treat patients as we would want to be treated in similar circumstances. But when patients’ lived experiences and outlooks deviate substantively from our own, we stop being a reliable barometer of their needs, values, and goals. Inaccurate perceptions of their suffering and our personal biases may lead to distorted compassion, marked by an attitude of pity and therapeutic nihilism. In those instances, The Platinum Rule, which would have us consider doing unto patients as they would want done unto themselves, may be a more appropriate standard for achieving optimal person-centered care. This means knowing who patients are as persons, hence guiding treatment decisions and shaping a tone of care based on compassion and respect.
I’m sure you are imagining the many applications of the Platinum Rule in politics, helping professions, leadership models, and relationship dynamics. Before we go loving people the way we would want to be loved or doing unto others the way we would want to be done unto, we would do well to ask the beloved what they would find loving.
To be fair to Jesus, the context of his articulation of the Golden Rule has a platinum shine. “Which of you,” he asks in the lead up to the Golden Rule, “if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him” (Matthew 7:9-11)? Jesus gives power to the Asker. The Giver should give the good gift that the Asker asks for.
I love this.
But what if your son asks for a snake? Would you give him a fish? And what if your daughter asks for a stone, would you give her bread? Well, is she asking for a stone so she can throw it at her sibling? Or perhaps she is asking for a stone because she would like to build something with it! What is a good gift anyway? Who gets to decide?
I’m reminded of the video that made the rounds a decade ago: a woman talks to her partner about a pounding headache and constant pressure. Her partner points out that she has a literal nail in her forehead. “It’s not about the nail,” she says. “Are you sure?” he asks. “Because I’ll bet if we got that out of there–“ “Stop trying to fix it,” she interrupts. “You always do this! You always try to fix things, when what I really need is for you to just listen.” Which of you, if your partner asks for you to listen, will offer to fix it? Is it about the nail? Or isn’t it? What is a good gift? What is loving? Who gets to decide?
I suppose it is a bit of a dance. Perhaps you offer love in a certain way and you discover that the other does not receive your love as love and tells you so. From there, you might learn how to love them in the way they receive love. Or, you might humbly acknowledge that you are not shaped to love that person at this time. You might resist the urge to force your love on them, and – with compassion and respect – back away and trust that someone else will be able to love them more directly.
All this said, there are many times when it is worth taking a risk – taking an initiative – to love someone as we would want to be loved. To love someone in the way that comes most naturally to us; i.e., to love someone as ourselves.
A friend introduced me to the poet, Andrea Gibson, through this essay: A Stranger Asks if She Can Pray for Me.
Andrea tells the story of a woman who approaches them and their partner on a walking trail. At this time in their life Andrea is bald from chemotherapy, and the stranger asks if she can pray for Andrea: “Excuse me,” the woman says, “I’m getting the strong sense that I should pray for you. Would that be okay? I’ve offended people before…”
Many of the parts of Andrea want nothing to do with this prayer. Andrea did not ask for it. It is not how they want to be loved. But a part of Andrea is touched by the stranger’s openness. And here I quote the paragraphs that seared me like the light of a thousand diamonds:
“I’ll take the prayer,” I say. “Give me what you’ve got.” The woman’s exhale of relief could lift a flock of doves to the moon. “Dear Lord Jesus,” she begins, “please bring healing to your beautiful daughter…”
The prayer is a playground of microaggressions that on another day might have me climbing atop my soap box to tear down every steeple that ever pointed to the holiest parts of me and called them a sin. But I keep scanning my body and nothing is landing on me in a way that hurts. I could try to be offended, but it wouldn’t be honest.
What’s honest is right now it means something to me that this woman cares. Her kindness is a risk she’s taking on my behalf. And I love her for it. Even as I’m thinking, “Is it wrong to love this woman for this?” I’m loving her for it. Even as I’m contemplating the twenty page think-piece I could write about why no one should ever do this, I’m loving her for it.
I am not recommending approaching people the way this stranger did (please do not try this particular thing at home!). But there was a genuine encounter in that moment – of honesty and risk and surprising grace.
The truest things we do to and for and with each other in the name of love are not so much isolated events or incidents, lectures or prayers regulated by rules and religion, but encounters between one self and another self. These encounters are gold and platinum together – alloys of startling strength and beauty and love.
Out of all the rules we’ve learned and followed, is not the greatest thing we’ll ever learn just to love and be loved in return?
Header photo: Photo by Pixabay from Pexels
Yes. And it is a dance.
As usual, Heidi, you nailed it (pun intended)!
Do I have the right to tell someone else what is good for them? Or even what outcome to pray for on their behalf? And is my thought process pure or is it transactional? I am reminded of Hebrew traditions of Tov and Shalom, borh of which are more about flow and balance rather than authority and orthodoxy. Thanks for giving me a headache.
This is a hard one you challenge us with. We bring every bit of who we are into every transation we have; it is truly a Herculean task to “learn to love and to be loved in return”. To put aside self enough to do this with the close and the casual encounter, not to fix, not to do something that makes one look good, but to listen and love as is needed. Thank you for giving me something to think deeply about.