The Warrior and the Monk

The greatest task of the warrior is to pursue the compassion of the monk. The greatest task of the monk is to pursue the courage of the warrior.

Early in my professional life, when I was first starting out as a leader, I had an experience that taught me one of the most important lessons of my career.

Given my background, including my military experience, I was pretty comfortable with conflict. I had no trouble setting high expectations, pushing hard for performance, or having difficult conversations. I understood the importance of accountability, and I wasn't particularly concerned if people were a little uncomfortable along the way.

I thought that was part of the job. And I wasn't entirely wrong.

One day, after a meeting, a mentor of mine pulled me aside and asked how I thought it had gone. I told him I thought it went pretty great. I'd set a strong tone, established high expectations, and made it clear what we needed to accomplish. Some people were obviously a little unsettled, but I thought that was appropriate. I believed that was what the meeting called for.

He agreed. I'd set high expectations, and I was certainly comfortable pushing for performance.Then he asked me a question. "Do you care about these people?"

I was taken aback.

At the time, I was making real sacrifices to do the work I was doing. I was driven by a pretty intense sense of service, and I cared deeply about the mission and the people involved. I told him, of course I cared about them. I wouldn't be doing the work if I didn't care about the people and what we were trying to accomplish.

He said he believed me. He believed I cared about them. Then he paused.

"I just don't believe they know that."

That landed like an ice pick in my heart.

I had never really thought about it that way. I assumed that because I cared about the people I worked with, and because my intentions were good, that care would be apparent. Surely they could see that the high expectations, the difficult conversations, and the occasional discomfort were all in service of something important.

But my mentor helped me understand that there was a difference between caring about people and communicating that care in a way that they could actually experience.

It was one of the greatest leadership lessons of my life.

Looking back, I can see that many of the qualities that made me effective as a young leader were also qualities that could get me into trouble.

I was comfortable with conflict. I was willing to push hard. I didn't shy away from difficult decisions, and I was prepared to hold people accountable for their performance. Those are important qualities in leadership. Organizations need people who can set a direction, establish standards, make hard decisions, and do the uncomfortable things that sometimes need to be done.

But strengths, when left unchecked, can become weaknesses.

A willingness to hold people accountable can become an unwillingness to understand them. High expectations can become impatience. Courage can become insensitivity. And a commitment to the mission can become so consuming that we lose sight of the people who are working alongside us to accomplish it.

The problem isn't that we have these strengths. The problem is when we assume that the strengths we already possess are sufficient.

If I wanted to become a better leader, I needed to learn how to communicate my care for others. I needed people to know that I wasn't simply passionate about what we were trying to achieve. I was passionate about achieving it with them.

That meant being more intentional about how I listened, how I encouraged people, how I acknowledged their contributions, and how I communicated my intentions when I had to push them beyond their comfort zones.

It meant understanding that the way people experience my leadership matters, not just the way I understand my own intentions.

I still work on this. I'm certain that anyone who has worked with me would describe me as a pretty demanding leader. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. I hope, though, that the people I've worked with over the past decade would also say that they knew I cared about them.

I'm sure I've failed at this from time to time. The tendencies that come naturally to us don't simply disappear because we've learned a lesson or two. They require ongoing attention and discipline.

And that's really the point.

There's an old Japanese teaching that captures this idea beautifully:

The task of the warrior is to pursue the compassion of the monk, and the task of the monk is to pursue the courage of the warrior.

I love this idea because it challenges both sides of the leadership equation.

The warrior understands courage. The warrior knows how to confront difficulty, make hard decisions, set boundaries, and persevere when things get uncomfortable. These are essential qualities, not only in leadership but in life. There are times when we need to be willing to stand firm, challenge others, and do what is right even when it comes at a personal cost.

But the warrior's task is to pursue the compassion of the monk.

The warrior needs to learn how to temper strength with tenderness, how to hold people accountable without diminishing their dignity, and how to pursue excellence without losing sight of the human beings who make it possible.

The warrior needs to learn that being right isn't the only thing that matters. How we treat people along the way matters, too.

And yet the lesson runs in the other direction as well.

The monk's task is to pursue the courage of the warrior.

Some people are naturally compassionate. They are empathetic, patient, and sensitive to the needs of others. They have a gift for listening, understanding different perspectives, and helping people feel seen and valued. I've learned tremendously from leaders like this, many of whom possess an instinctive ability to demonstrate compassion in ways that are both effective and deeply meaningful. But compassion alone isn't enough.

There are times when the compassionate leader needs to have the difficult conversation, establish a firm boundary, or make a decision that will disappoint someone. There are times when avoiding conflict in the name of preserving a relationship actually does a disservice to the person involved, the team, or the organization.

Sometimes the most compassionate thing we can do is tell someone the truth they need to hear. Sometimes caring about people means asking more of them, not less.

The monk needs the courage of the warrior just as the warrior needs the compassion of the monk. Each has something important to offer, and each has something important to learn.

Neither is complete on its own.

This is one reason I believe so strongly in the importance of building teams with complementary strengths.

Throughout my career, I've had the privilege of working with people who were naturally gifted in areas where I was not. Some were far better than I was at demonstrating compassion, listening carefully, and understanding the personal circumstances that shaped someone's performance. They could see things I sometimes missed, and they could help me recognize when my approach needed to change.

Working alongside people like that helped me develop. I learned from their example, and their willingness to challenge me made me better.

I may never have been as naturally gifted at some of those things as they were. That's okay. The goal isn't for every member of a team to possess exactly the same strengths or to approach every challenge in exactly the same way.

The goal is to build a team in which people learn from one another, compensate for one another's weaknesses, and challenge one another to grow.

A strong team doesn't merely bring together people who are good at different things. It creates an environment in which those differences become a source of collective strength.

Of course, this only works when people are willing to learn from one another. The courageous leader must be willing to hear that a little more compassion might be called for. The compassionate leader must be willing to hear that a little more courage might be necessary.

Both require humility.

And both require us to recognize that the way we naturally approach the world is not necessarily the only, or even the best, way to approach every situation.

There's an even deeper lesson here, particularly for those of us who are trying to live out our faith through our work.

For Christians, the call is not simply to be compassionate, nor is it simply to be courageous. We are called to be both merciful and just, both understanding and willing to hold ourselves and others accountable.

We sometimes treat these qualities as though they're in opposition to one another. We imagine that being compassionate requires us to lower our expectations, or that being demanding requires us to set aside our concern for others.

But I don't think that's right.

The real challenge is learning how to hold these qualities together. To be strong without being harsh. To be compassionate without being passive. To pursue excellence without sacrificing the dignity of the people alongside us.

And perhaps the most important distinction is where we direct our demands.

We can be tempted to spend a great deal of time thinking about what other people need to change. We know where they're falling short, where they need to improve, and where we wish they would do things differently.

It's considerably harder to turn that same demanding eye toward ourselves.

One of the most important disciplines in leadership, and in the Christian life, is to be extraordinarily demanding of ourselves while extending a generous measure of understanding to others.

That doesn't mean abandoning standards or pretending that shortcomings don't matter. It means recognizing that we, too, are works in progress. It means holding ourselves to the highest standards of integrity, courage, and service while remembering that other people are carrying burdens, facing challenges, and working through weaknesses that we may not fully understand.

It means extending to others some of the patience and grace that we hope will be extended to us. It means recognizing that our own growth is never finished.

I still think about that conversation with my mentor. I still think about the question he asked me, and the uncomfortable realization that followed.

Do you care about these people?

I knew the answer. What I needed to learn was how to make sure they knew it, too. That remains a work in progress. Perhaps it always will be. The warrior has work to do. So does the monk.

And perhaps becoming a better leader, a better colleague, and a better Christian requires us to spend a lifetime learning from both.

Check out my latest book: Leading Conflict: How To Fight at Work.

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