The Thin Line Between Authenticity and Diplomacy

Picture an elderly man, a king of ancient times, sitting in a giant stadium in the best seats of the house, overlooking a competition between two sets of young men. On one side are his sons, and on the other side are his nephews, whom he raised as sons after his dear brother departed the world prematurely. This competition is important because it symbolizes the future path for the kingdom. 

The king is blind. He can’t see any of the skills being exhibited as the young men display their martial prowess. All he can do is hear. His wise advisor narrates to him what is happening. 

His nephews are putting his own sons to shame. The king wants to be neutral. He’s expected to be neutral. He is, after all, the king of the land. Justice lies in his hands. It would be petty to choose favorites, period, what to speak of with such pure, innocent young men who know him as their very father. 

The king’s heart sinks. His sons, in contrast to the virtuous nature of his nephews, are narcissistic and would do anything for their own aggrandizement. His sons want to destroy their cousins to eliminate the competition, literally. The king’s weakness is that he feels his sons reflect more on him than do his nephews. 

In his heart, the king knows that the kingdom depends on his ability to muster the courage of disciplining his tyrannical sons and setting a clear, firm, empathetic and altruistic culture. And even deeper in his heart, he knows the kingdom would be in the very best hands if his nephews were to eventually inherit the throne. What does the king do?

This is the scene that struck me profoundly while reading the great Indian epic, Mahabharata (translated literally to mean “The History of Greater India”). It is within this exceptional work that the Bhagavad-Gita is derived – a tiny fragment at the center of the epic, made into a book of its own for its intensely concentrated delivery of wisdom.

The king begins speaking poetically to his advisor about how absolutely wonderful his beloved nephews are. Does he feel that? No. He holds in his angst and doesn’t let it leak out even slightly.

How mature of him, no? He won’t let the negativity out. He protects his nephews and the kingdom from any ill feeling.

But then where does the negativity go?

Nowhere. It stays. It stews.

The king is seething with envy and anger, but he cannot admit it to himself, much less anyone else. Instead, he tries to suppress. Tries to pretend. That always backfires…

He uses diplomacy to make everything sound nice and pacify all parties. But it’s utterly inauthentic. He hasn’t examined his real feelings and has no intention of doing so. It’s easier to do what’s expected. 

We often follow the same pattern. Just say what needs to be said. We reason that it’s doing the right thing, anyway. We’re just speaking what’s right…

The moral dilemma is that sometimes diplomacy is necessary. If we always spoke our minds uncensored, we’d be in a lot of hot water! Even if we were mild in the way we shared our honest thoughts, without sufficient diplomacy, we’d simply not be fit to navigate this complex world. 

It’s naïve to think we need no filter. Child-like innocence is attractive, but practicality, and people’s feelings, as well as the necessity to get things done, demand that we do not show up like a child. That’s called immature.

So then what of authenticity? Isn’t this one of the most honorable values of all? Do we all just grow cynical and lose ourselves to practical necessity where we can never again trust in real sincerity?

I faced an incident in my life that came to mind spontaneously and helped inform me of the line we need to walk with authenticity and diplomacy.

I was celebrating a sacred day at a spiritual gathering outside of New York City. There was a man hosting the event, whom I just so happened to know too much about… I’d never seen or met him before. Just knew of him. What I knew of his actions disturbed me deeply, but it was not my place to judge, nor did I have any influence to leverage. I planned to, instead, steer clear.

Then I had to pass him by. 

I said nothing. 

He stopped me.

“Hari Prasada!” 

Oh my…

He embraced me. Tightly.

“What an honor to have you!” 

‘Thanks,’ I smiled back. ‘Honor to be here…’

“I hope you enjoyed the program. I know it’s not New York, but we try to reach New York standard. What do you think?”

‘Yeah! Very nice! Really appreciate your service. Thanks for welcoming me.’

“You know, you should really speak the next time we have a gathering! We need your wisdom and experiences. That would be fantastic.”

I bowed shyly.

‘You know, I don’t have much wisdom but some experiences. I’m just a struggling soul trying my best to walk the spiritual path. Really… But thank you.’

“Man, you have the real thing – humility. Says a lot about you.”

He embraced me. Tightly.

“Have a wonderful night! So great to have you.”

I wished him the same.

Was I diplomatic in my approach? Certainly.

Was I inauthentic?

That’s trickier. I didn’t reveal all that was in my heart. You rarely can find a soul with whom you can play all your cards. I was definitely not going to find that in this soul… There must be trust.

But was I really inauthentic by not revealing all that was in my heart? I meant all that I spoke. I tried to view him as a soul. Tried to reciprocate with his gestures. Tried not to be colored.

Would I work with him? No. Would I engage intimately? No. But would I be kind? Yes. I decided I would be. Actually, he decided that first. I simply reciprocated…

The measure of authenticity is two-fold, based upon intention and result. 

Is your intention to get something for yourself? Or are you trying to be of genuine service? Are you trying to hurt? Or trying to heal? Suppress? Or progress? 

Then judge the tree by its fruit. What momentum has been created as a result of your approach? Greater desire to get or to serve? To hurt or to heal? Suppress or progress?

It’s easy to say, “that’s an ugly shirt… I’m just being honest.” It’s likewise easy in the work world to point out how someone’s performance doesn’t cut it and consider that noble with the self-identity that “I’m straightforward,” “I’m direct,” “I don’t BS,” “I breed performers,” “I tell it like it is,” “I win.” And people will often admire me. But there are heavy human costs. And those build up to heavy costs in inspiration and typically in performance. 

What we want is to walk the line of being authentic while also diplomatic so that we don’t lose consideration for the other person, our relationship, and what will genuinely offer inspiration that every human being needs. The Bhagavad-Gita teaches that our communication should be “truthful, beneficial, and pleasing.” That is the bar. And that will make the biggest impact. 

People often rise to the occasion when we treat them as people. And if there’s an issue, and certainly with workplace performance, we can still speak about it directly and authentically. We just need to always keep the dignity of diplomacy rather than give mouthpiece to our wild, uncontrolled, unfiltered minds (and all the more so when we’re feeling heated), if we want the best effect for ourselves, the other, and our culture.

I learned an invaluable lesson from this unexpected and unwanted interaction, which really hit home much later during the discussion in one of our Bhagavad-Gita classes. This is why we must take our experiences with us and process them in the right environment, if we wish to really profit from them for personal growth.

When I left the gathering that night with this man I’d need diplomacy for, rather than feeling I had sold out, I felt infinitely lighter. Something substantial had been lifted. My heart felt for this person. And even as he fished for compliments, I could feel the external sheen concealing a fragile ego, which we all have and deal with in different ways. I could empathize without condoning or speaking anything I didn’t mean. My heart felt for him. And I was grateful for his stepping forward so I could come to this realization.

My only intention was to be cordial and gentlemanly to a fellow spiritualist in a complex situation that was very challenging for me. The result was a powerful release that I pray always stays with me, and for which, I am grateful.

By contrast, the old, blind king's poetry to his advisor in the martial arena about how wonderful his nephews are was an unconscious ruse with the intention of pacifying everyone so he could go on seething with envy and anger that would ultimately result in a world war. It was on that battlefield that the Bhagavad-Gita was spoken.

Were the king to have examined his intentions, he would have seen the illness within, and the result would have been vastly different. He would not be able to whitewash the envy of his nephews who were pure at heart and extremely talented, overshadowing his sons in lovability and skill. Kind words and saying the right things wouldn’t suffice. He’d have to get advice from his advisor and work through the pain in his heart. An entire war would have been prevented by this simple, humble, honest act of seeing the negativity at heart and asking for help to work through it.

We each have the choice to live examined lives or unexamined lives. The consequences of the latter are heavy. Let us begin by measuring the authenticity behind our necessary diplomacy. 

When was the last time you needed to be diplomatic? What was your intention, and what was the result?