international relations and high politcs.

But it really

refers to a set of skills that matter in many areas of daily life, especially at the office

and on the landing, outside the slammed doors of loved ones' bedrooms. Diplomacy is the

art of advancing an idea or cause without unnecessarily inflaming passions or unleashing

a catastrophe. It involves an understanding of the many facets of human nature that can

undermine agreement and stoke conflict, and a commitment to unpicking these with foresight

and grace. The diplomat remembers, first and foremost, that some of the vehemence with

which we can insist on having our way draws energy from an overall sense of not being

respected or heard within a relationship. We will fight with particular tenacity and

apparent meanness over a so-called small point when we have a sense that the other person

has failed to honour our wider need for appreciation and esteem. Behind our fierce way of arguing

may lie a frustrated plea for affection. Diplomats know the intensity with which humans crave

respect and so though they may not always be able to agree with us, they take the trouble

to show that they have bothered to see how things look through our eyes. They recognise

that it is almost as important to people to feel heard, as to win their case. We'll

put up with a lot once someone has demonstrated that they at least know how we feel. Diplomats

therefore put extraordinary effort into securing the health of the overall relationship so

that smaller points can be conceded along the way without attracting feelings of untenable

humiliation. They know how much beneath pitched fights over money or entitlements, schedules

or procedures, a demand for esteem can stir. They are careful to trade generously in emotional

currency, so as not always to have to pay excessively in other, more practical denominations.

Frequently, what is at stake within a negotiation with someone is a request that they change

in some way: that they learn to be more punctual, or take more trouble on a task, that they

be less defensive or more open-minded. The diplomat knows how futile it is to state these

wishes too directly. They know the vast difference between having a correct diagnosis of how

someone needs to grow and a relevant way to help them do so. They know too that what holds

people back from evolution is fear – and therefore grasp that what we may most need

to offer those whom we want to acknowledge difficult things is, above anything else,

love and reassurance. It helps greatly to know that those recommending change are not

speaking from a position of impregnable perfection but are themselves wrestling with comparable

demons in other areas. For a diagnosis not to sound like mere criticism, it helps for

it to be delivered by someone with no compunctions to owning up to their own shortcomings. There

can be few more successful pedagogic moves than to confess genially from the outset,

'And I am, of course, entirely mad as well…'' In negotiations, the diplomat is not addicted

to indiscriminate or heroic truth telling. They appreciate the legitimate place that

minor lies can occupy in the service of greater truths. They know that if certain local facts

are emphasised, then the most important principles in a relationship may be forever undermined.

So they will enthusiastically say that the financial report or the homemade cake were

really very pleasing and will do so not to deceive but to affirm the truth of their overall

attachment, which might be be lost were a completely accurate account of their feelings

to be laid out. Diplomats know that a small lie may have to be the guardian of a big truth.

They appreciate their own resistance to the unvarnished facts – and privately hope that

others may on occasion, over certain matters, also take the trouble to lie to them, and

that they will never know. Another trait of the diplomat is to be serene in the face of

obviously bad behaviour: a sudden loss of temper, a wild accusation, a very mean remark.

They don't take it personally – even when they may be the target of rage. They reach

instinctively for reasonable explanations and have clearly in their minds the better

moments of a currently frantic but essentially loveable person. They know themselves well

enough to understand that abandonments of perspective are both hugely normal and usually

indicative of nothing much beyond exhaustion or passing despair. They do not aggravate

a febrile situation through self-righteousness, which is a symptom of not knowing oneself

too well – and of having a very selective memory. The person who bangs a fist on the

table or announces extravagant opinions may simply be rather worried, frightened or just

very enthusiastic: conditions that should rightly invite sympathy rather than disgust.

At the same time, the diplomat understands that there are moments to sidestep direct

engagement. They do not try to teach a lesson whenever it might first or most apply: they

wait till it has the best chance of being heard. At points, they disarm difficult people

by reacting in unexpected ways. In the face of a tirade, instead of going on the defensive,

the diplomatic person might suggest some lunch. When a harshly unfair criticism is launched

at them, they might nod in partial agreement and declare that they've often said such

things to themselves. They give a lot of ground away and avoid getting cornered in arguments

that distract from the deeper issues. They remember the presence of a better version

of what might be a somewhat unfortunate individual currently on display. The diplomat's tone

of reasonableness is built, fundamentally, on a base of deep pessimism. They know what

the human animal is, they understand how many problems are going to beset even a very good

marriage, business, friendship or society. Their good humoured way of greeting problems

is a symptom of having swallowed a healthy measure of sadness from the outset. They have

given up on the ideal, not out of weakness but out of a mature readiness to see compromise

as a necessary requirement for getting by in a radically imperfect world. The diplomat

may be polite, but they are not for that matter averse to delivering bits of bad news with

uncommon frankness. Too often, we seek to preserve our image in the eyes of others by

tiptoeing around the harsh decisions – and thereby make things far worse than they need

to be. We should say that we're leaving them, that they're fired, that their pet

project isn't going ahead, but we mutter instead that we're a little preoccupied

at the moment, that we're delighted by their performance and that the project is being

actively discussed by the senior team. We mistake leaving some room for hope with kindness.

But true kindness does not mean seeming kind, it means helping the people we are going to

disappoint to adjust as best they can to reality. By administering a sharp, clean blow, the

diplomatic person kills off the torture of hope, accepting the frustration that's likely

to come their way: the diplomat is kind enough to let themselves be the target of hate. The

diplomats succeed ultimately because they are a realist; they know we are inherently flawed, unreasonable,

anxious, comedically absurd creatures who scatter blame unfairly, misdiagnose their

pains and react appallingly to criticism – especially when it is accurate – and yet they are hopeful

too of the possibilities of progress when our disturbances have been properly factored

in and cushioned with adequate reassurance, accurate interpretation and respect. Diplomacy

seeks to teach us how many good things can still be accomplished when we make some necessary

accommodations with the crooked, sometimes touching and hugely unreliable material of human nature.

If you're interested in coming to San Francisco to meet us at the end of March

please click on the link on your screen now to find out more. We hope to see you there.