The art of the compliment

It is human nature to love compliments, yet the art of giving a compliment is in sad disrepair.

It seems simple: When somebody does a good job, you simply say, “good job!”

But too often compliments get mucked up with qualifiers and barbs that negate the value of the praise.

For example: “That last pie you made was good, but boy, this one was really scrumptious!”

Does such praise make the pie maker feel good? No. She’ll rack her brain for days trying to figure out what was wrong with the first pie. Better to give no compliment at all.

Some compliments condescend: “That little song you sang sure was cute.”

Does the inclusion of diminutives make the singer feel appreciated? Not when the song was too difficult to be “little.” Not when the music was meant to inspire, not be “cute.”

Some people who give compliments make it clear that they expect a gold medal in return.

“I just wanted to make sure that you knew somebody liked your little song,” they say. “I know that not many people say thanks.”

Oh, go away.

Other compliments are specifically designed the make the recipient fell less: “That song was so nice. Why don’t you sing more often? Maybe that’s what you should do for a living instead making coffee at Starbuck’s.”

When I wrote a weekly newspaper column for a few local papers, I was several times told some version of: “most of the time your columns are full of it, but that one really hit the nail on the head.”

Thanks, bud.

Although compliments cost nothing, people seem to think that giving them out without a caveat cheapens themselves.

In the Upper Midwest, at least, there is a big worry that people will get a big head if you say “good job” without adding a little barb to make sure you don’t get an inflated ego.

But everybody in the world is desperate for thoughtful, well-delivered compliments. I don’t care if somebody is at the top of their profession and is pulling in six or seven figures. People love authentic compliments.

Yet, it isn’t an easy matter to give an authentic compliment.

It is an art.

You have to know what you are talking about to give a decent compliment. If you tell a speaker you liked his speech, and she responds, “what did you like about it?” you had darn well better have something ready.

If you liked Helen’s pie, find a nice adjective to describe it that shows you meant what you said. The crust was perfect. The rhubarb just the right texture. The custard added a perfect touch.

My father, a former minister, taught me a rule I have never forgotten: avoid the superlative. “That was the best pie I have ever eaten” reeks of insincerity, and invites comparison with other notable pies. “Wow, that was damn good pie,” does the job.

Many people who pursue excellence at a craft don’t need compliments to continue. A job well done is reward in itself. Those true craftsmen are difficult to compliment, but it is worth the effort.

“How in the world did you carve that horse’s ear so delicately without the wood breaking?” Such a question invites the carver to explain a small part of his hobby. If you aren’t willing to listen, don’t give the compliment in the first place.

I don’t attend church, but I do attend funerals. Our local Lutheran minister Pastor Phil has mastered the art of giving a funeral sermon which, without lying, puts a positive spin on the life of even the most flagrant rouge. He bestows dignity to the occasion even when the deceased’s relatives insist upon “Your Cheatin Heart” as the processional.

Recently, Phil delivered a particularly difficult sermon for a man who had wreaked unspeakable traumas to his family. Phil aced it, as usual. After the processional to the cemetery and a few unctions, Phil stood about ten yards back, hands clasped, as the relatives said their bittersweet goodbyes nearer the casket.

I wanted to compliment Phil, but quietly and in a way he might find meaningful.

“You are a master at your craft,” I said as I brushed by.

“So you think I found the right profession?” Pastor Phil responded, to my back.

“Yes,” I said, as I walked away.

Phil knew me to be critical of religion, but the cemetery wasn’t right place to get into that.

I wanted to get across that Phil buried even the most depraved people with human dignity. Yet to wade into those bull rushes, I would have to imply that the person he just buried was a lout. Even in our private graveyard conversation, plainspoken honesty would have subtracted from the the dignity Phil imparted. In fact, Phil was still at work when I approached him, standing off aside in his robes, imparting dignity, observing the scene like the shepherd of a flock.

Most of the time, the artful compliment to a cook or a performer is best delivered with a single sentence, delivered while looking the person in the eye. Once the sentence is delivered, get the heck out of there. Quick, before you say anything more and embarrass yourself.

I enjoy giving deserved compliments, particularly to church musicians who, are generally taken for granted no matter how much weekly excellence they display.

Again, you must know what you’re talking about. I once played a piece as a prelude to a friend’s wedding. I blew it. Completely. Although I received a few hearty compliments afterwards, they didn’t mean a thing.

Compliments cost nothing, but that doesn’t mean giving them out is easy. You have to do your homework. You have to phrase the praise right. You have to demonstrate true interest in the skill you are complimenting.

But the art of the compliment is well worth the study, for there is no sweeter music to the human ear than genuine praise.