I am among you as one who serves
JESUS OF GALILEE
THE CAUSATIVE NATURE of leading people from the front is, as far as I know, universal. As social beings we are, to a greater or lesser degree, ductile: prone to being led. But that propensity is greatly strengthened if there is respect and liking, though not necessarily love, for the person who is in the role of leader. In other words, the personality or character of a leader, as expressed in their attitudes and behaviour, does have an important part to play in the willingness of others to follow.
Xenophon gives us character sketches of two of the six generals in office when he joined the Ten Thousand in Babylon. He clearly demonstrates how personal qualities influence the effectiveness of both leadership and command.
Proxenus the Boeotian had invited Xenophon to join him on the Persian expedition, and so they were probably friends. Proxenus was a very ambitious young man and had spent much money on being educated by a celebrated teacher called Gorgias of Leontini. ‘After he had been with him for a time’, wrote Xenophon, ‘he came to the conclusion that he was now capable of commanding an army and, if he became friends with the great, of doing them no less good than they did him; so he joined in this adventure planned by Cyrus, imagining that he would gain from it a great name, and great power, and plenty of money’. Proxenus, however, liked to be liked, which led him – as with many a later leader – into the mistakes of appearing soft and of courting popularity for its own sake:
He was a good commander for people of a gentlemanly type, but he was not capable of impressing his soldiers with a feeling of respect or fear for him. Indeed, he showed more diffidence in front of his soldiers than his subordinates showed in front of him, and it was obvious that he was more afraid of being unpopular with his troops than his troops were afraid of disobeying his orders. He imagined that to be a good general, and to gain the name for being one, it was enough to give praise to those who did well and to withhold it from those who did badly. The result was that decent people in his entourage liked him, but unprincipled people undermined his position, since they thought he was easily managed. At the time of his death he was about thirty years old.
By contrast, Clearchus, the veteran (at fifty years old) Spartan general who saved the day after the Battle of Cunaxa, could never be accused of wanting to be liked. Indeed, he seemed to go too far in the opposite direction. As Xenophon noted, Clearchus never won the hearts of men, and had no followers who were there because of friendship or positive feelings towards him. Xenophon continues:
He had an outstanding ability for planning means by which an army could get supplies, and seeing that they appeared; and he was also well able to impress on those who were with him that Clearchus was a man to be obeyed. He achieved this result by his toughness. He had a forbidding appearance and a harsh voice. His punishments were severe ones and were sometimes inflicted in anger, so that there were times when he was sorry himself for what he had done. With him, punishment was a matter of principle, for he thought that an army without discipline was good for nothing; indeed, it is reported that he said that a soldier ought to be more frightened of his own commander than of the enemy if he was going to turn out one who could keep a good guard, or abstain from doing harm to his own side, or go into battle without second thoughts.
So it happened that in difficult positions the soldiers would give him complete confidence and wished for no one better. … On the other hand, when the danger was over and there was a chance of going away to take service under someone else, many of them deserted him, since he was invariably tough and savage, so that the relations between his soldiers and him were like those of boys to a schoolmaster.
Doubtless Xenophon resolved in his mind to find the golden mean: the middle course of leadership and command between the extremes of Proxenus and Clearchus.
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What also stands out clearly from Xenophon’s writings is that leaders who shared the dangers, hardships and labours of their men are more likely to win their hearts and minds.
Again, we are here in the realm of universal truth: neither ancient nor modern, neither Western nor Eastern. Take this brief account by Hsun Tzu, the Master Hsun, one of the great Confucian philosophers. Writing in about 200 BCE, he gives us this vivid account of what it means for a military leader to share hardships and dangers:
In ancient times good generals were always in the vanguard themselves. They didn’t set up canopies in the heat and didn’t wear leather in the cold; thus they experienced the same heat and cold as their soldiers.
They did not ride over rough terrain, always dismounting when climbing hills; thus they experienced the same toil as their soldiers.
They would eat only after food had been cooked for the troops, and they would drink only after water had been drawn for the troops; thus they experienced the same hunger and thirst as their soldiers.
In battle they would stand within range of enemy fire; thus they experienced the same dangers as their soldiers.
So in their military operations, good generals always use accumulated gratitude to attack accumulated bitterness. And accumulated love to attack accumulated hatred. Why would they not win?
Those who are near will not hide their ability, and those who are distant will not grumble at their toil. … That is what is called being a leader and teacher of men.
Similarly, the Roman legions valued a general who did not absent himself from their tasks, trials and tribulations. The Greek biographer and philosopher Plutarch, writing in the early second century CE, comments that such a commander won the affection of the soldiers by showing that they could live as hard as they did and endure just as much.
Indeed it seems generally to be the case that our labours are eased when someone goes out of his way to share them with us; it has the effect of making the labour not seem forced. And what a Roman soldier likes most is to see his general eating his ration of bread with the rest, or sleeping on an ordinary bed, or joining in the work of digging a trench or raising a palisade. The commanders whom they admire are not so much those who distribute honours and riches as those who take a share in their hardships and dangers; they have more affection for those who are willing to join in their work than for those who indulge them in allowing them to be idle.
Apart from his open-handed generosity with the rewards of victory – a trait which British tribal war leaders would recognize – Julius Caesar certainly led by example. There was no danger that he was not willing to face, nor no form of ha rd work from which he excused himself. Like Alexander, his great exemplar, Caesar had a passion for distinction which enabled him to overcome the disadvantages of a slightly built physique, and a proneness to migraine and epileptic fits. ‘Yet so far from making his poor health an excuse for living an easy life’, continued Plutarch, ‘he used warfare as a tonic for his health. By long hard journeys, simple diet, sleeping night after night in the open, and rough living he fought off his illness and made his body strong enough to stand up to anything’.
Under Caesar’s eye the Roman legions became ‘an unconquered and unconquerable army’. For Caesar’s very presence seemed to transform ordinary professional legionaries into men of extraordinary valour. ‘Soldiers who in other campaigns had not shown themselves to be any better than average’, wrote Plutarch, ‘became irresistible and invincible and ready to confront any danger.’
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From all these military instances, we can see that a leader who leads by example, who shares in the task in a ‘hands on’ way, while also directing others and encouraging them by word as well as example, is going to have a positive influence on his soldiers. But does this combination work on civilians? Xenophon leaves us in no doubt.
For when Xenophon was not campaigning, he exercised leadership among the farm labourers on his estate (a gift from the Spartans) and added to his prolific writings. He returned to the theme of leadership in his most influential book, the Cyropaedia. In later centuries it became the textbook on leadership for many of the great leaders of Rome. As the strange-sounding title suggests, the Cyropaedia is a philosophical dialogue about the education of Cyrus the Great, who in fact does little more than lend his name to an ideal king ruling an ideal state.
In it, Xenophon advocated that a leader should demonstrate that in summer he can endure the heat, and in winter the cold; and he should show that in difficult times he can endure the hardships as well as, if not better than, his men. Moreover, a leader should rejoice with them if any good befell them and sympathize with them if any ills overtook them, showing himself eager to help in times of stress. ‘It is in these respects that you should somehow go hand-in-hand with them,’ wrote Xenophon. ‘All this contributes to the leader being loved by his men.’ Xenophon added the interesting observation that it was actually easier for the leader to endure heat and cold, hunger and thirst, want and hardship, than his followers. ‘The general’s position, and the very consciousness that nothing he does escapes notice, lightens the burden for him.’
The same principle, Xenophon held, would apply in all areas of human work, simply because men and their needs are the same. In another of the books he wrote on his estates at Scillus, the Oeconomicus, the book of estate management, he put across this distinctive view with characteristic style and compelling vigour. It reflected his own experience running these estates under the shadow of Mount Olympus. Much of the book is concerned with technical farming matters and the organization of the estates. But Xenophon urged upon his readers the importance of leadership on large farm estates. ‘Nobody can be a good farmer,’ he said
unless he makes his labourers both eager and obedient; and the captain who leads men against an enemy must contrive to secure the same results by rewarding those who act as brave men should act and punishing the disobedient. And it is no less necessary for a farmer to encourage his labourers often, than for a general to encourage his men. And slaves need the stimulus of good hopes no less, nay, even more than free men, to make them steadfast.
This general leadership ability, as relevant to agriculture as to politics or war, was often absent, he noted, in those who held positions of authority. Xenophon instanced the Greek warships of his day, which, it must be remembered, were rowed by free men and not by slaves.
On a man-of-war, when the ship is on the high seas and the rowers must toil all day to reach port, some rowing-masters can say and do the right thing to sharpen the men’s spirits and make them work with a will. Other boatswains are so unintelligent that it takes them more than twice the time to finish the same voyage. Here they land bathed in sweat, with mutual congratulations, rowing-master and seamen. There they arrive with dry skin; they hate their master and he hates them.
Xenophon’s mind ranged back to the generals he had known, who also differed widely from one another in this respect.
For some make their men unwilling to work and to take risks, disinclined and unwilling to obey, except under compulsion, and actually proud of defying their commander: yes, and they cause them to have no sense of dishonour when something disgraceful occurs. Contrast the genius, the brave and skilful leader: let him take over the command of these same troops, or of others if you like. What effect has he on them? They are ashamed to do a disgraceful act, think it better to obey, and take a pride in obedience, working cheerfully, every man and all together, when it is necessary to work. Just as a love of work may spring up in the mind of a private soldier here and there, so a whole army under the influence of a good leader is inspired by love of work and ambition to distinguish itself under the commander’s eye. Let this be the feeling of the rank and file for their commander, then he is the best leader – it is not a matter of being best with bow and javelin, nor riding the best horse and being foremost in danger, nor being the perfect mounted warrior, but of being able to make his soldiers feel that they must follow him through fire and in any adventure.
‘So, too, in private industries’, Xenophon continued, ‘the man in authority – bailiff or manager – who can make the workers keen, industrious and persevering – he is the man who gives a lift to the business and swells the profits.’
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For Xenophon, this kind of leadership is quite simply ‘the greatest thing in every operation that makes any demand on the labour of men’. If leaders are made in the sense that they can acquire the authority of knowledge, are they born as far as the capacity to inspire is concerned? It is tempting to conclude so. The ability to give people the intellectual and moral strength to venture or persevere in the presence of danger, fear or difficulty is not the common endowment of all men and women. Xenophon, however, did believe that it could be acquired through education, though not ‘at sight or at a single hearing’. He was not specific about the content or methods of such an education for leadership, but Socratic discussion must have been one strand in it.
As Xenophon implied, some degree of leadership potential has to be there in the first place. Many people possess it without being aware of the fact. Given the need or opportunity to lead, some encouragement and perhaps a leader ship course or programme, most people can develop this potential. Those with a greater amount of natural potential can correspondingly become greater leaders within their spheres, providing that they are willing to work hard at becoming leaders.
Learning about leadership happens when sparks of relevance jump in between experience or practice on the one hand, and principles or theory on the other hand. One without the other tends to be sterile. It is a common fallacy that leadership is learnt only through experience. Experience only teaches the teachable, and it is a school which charges large fees. Sometimes people graduate from it when they are too old to apply the lessons. Leadership is far better learnt by experience and reflection or thought, which, in turn, informs or guides future action. Other people, as examples or models, teachers or mentors, have an important part to play in this process. Socrates, for example, most probably acted as Xenophon’s own mentor.
The belief that theories or principles, imbibed from books or courses, can by themselves teach a person to lead is equally a half-truth. All the academic study of leadership does is to teach one about leadership, not how to lead. It is certainly useful for people to clarify their concepts of leadership, either as a prelude or as an interlude in the practical work of leading others. But leadership is learnt primarily through doing it, and nothing can replace that necessary cycle of experiment, trial and error, success and failure, followed by reflection and reading. Following this path of self-development, a person may become so effective as a leader that it becomes, as it were, a second nature. Others may say ‘He or she was born to it’, but little will they know the work it took. It takes a long time to become a born leader!
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