From Planter to “The Father” of the United States: George Washington on Leadership and Power
George Washington should have never been the first president of the United States. He seemed to be predestined for the paramount role he was to take in the winning of American independence and navigating the tumultuous first eight years of the country’s history. It was, however, a miracle he stayed alive through it all.
Time after time his leadership styles propelled him into danger. Time after time, however, he evaded it. Maybe the countless brushes with death allowed him to face his final encounter at the age of sixty-seven with what he called “perfect resignation.”
(Washington’s last words were “‘Tis well.” Not surprising for someone who as a teenager studied the writings of the stoic philosopher Seneca the Younger: “He is the brave man . . . that can look death in the face without trouble or surprise.”)
Washington was a psychological mastermind. Much of the time he was most effective and inspirational to his troops with little use of words. His philosophy on power — how to amass and deploy it — favored restraint over boldness.
We all lead others in one way or another in our lives and careers. Washington’s life is fertile ground for harvesting leadership principles and counterintuitive approaches to power that we can use immediately in our lives.
“Sovereign faith in leadership by example”
Long before the Revolutionary War Washington tended to exemplify the behavior he wanted from those he led. As early as the French and Indian War his active leadership style betrayed the safety that other officers may have sought while their troops endured peril.
His performance on battlefields allowed many instances where he narrowly escaped the death-grip of warfare. Throughout his military career, though he had numerous horses shot out from under him, and numerous bullet-holes shot through his hats and uniforms, he “displayed unblinking courage and a miraculous immunity in battle” and almost always “managed to emerge unscathed.”
“With a sovereign faith in leadership by example, Washington believed that courage and cowardice originated from the top of any army,” writes Ron Chernow in the Pulitzer-Prize-winning biography Washington: A Life. “…the true secret,” he wrote during the revolution, is that “wherever a regiment is well officered, the men have behaved well,” and that misconduct or “cowardly behavior” stems from “the officers, who have set the example.” American posterity forever owes a debt of gratitude that the leadership role in its fight for independence fell to leader with a seemingly bottomless store of courage.
It was during the legendary crossing of the Delaware River and subsequent Battle of Trenton that Washington gave to posterity some of his finest moments of leadership. “With the future of the country riding on his shoulders, the Virginia planter displayed an indomitable tenacity,” writes Chernow.
“Quite simply, if the raid backfired, the war was likely over and he would be captured and killed. Washington, gathering up his courage, responded brilliantly to the challenge.” In times of uncertainty and chaos, humans will look to those around them for models of behavior. Washington, knowing this, gave his men a sterling model of bravery for them to replicate.
His preference to lead by example rather than fire up his troops with inspirational speeches (unlike Napoleon Bonaparte and his famous pre-battle harangues) wasn’t out of total self-determination but rather a pragmatic response to reality.
Stricken as a young man with pleurisy, a condition of the lungs, “Washington spoke with a weak, breathy voice that only exacerbated the problem.” A self-improvement maven, Washington worked hard to habituate a feedback-gathering, course-correcting mechanism within him, allowing him to conquer, or in this case circumvent, his shortcomings.
“Share in their hardships”
“As always, Washington was the tutelary presence, never asking his men to take risks he didn’t share,” writes Chernow. He traversed to the “dangerous” side of river himself to scout a landing spot for the enterprise. He orchestrated the 800-foot crossing of several thousand men, several hundred tons of equipment, and many horses over choppy waters while “snow and hail pelted men exposed in the boats…” Every soldier survived this treacherous feat.
Washington seemed to intuit the value of the Japanese business concept of genba. It translates to “the real place” and involves leaders being an active presence wherever the work is being done. Never content directing his troops from afar, he preferred to share in their hardships, understanding how his majestic figure energized them. In the process he garnered their respect and loyalty, crucial to the effectiveness of any leader.
The nine-mile march to Trenton was anguish for Washington and his men alike: “The slanting snow, sleet, and hail drove straight into the faces of men plunging forward in nearly total darkness.” Had the clouds gave way to moonlight, blood-smeared snow and sleet left behind from bootless soldiers would have been visible. Washington made sure to stay in his men’s eyesight.
The Continental Army approached Trenton, and Washington again demonstrated the behavior he needed from his men, plunging headlong into the fray. After dividing his men into three columns he “spearheaded the middle column himself . . . in an exposed position. As his men surged ahead, he reported to [John] Hancock, ‘they seemed to vie with the other in pressing forward.’” Washington’s eminent leadership qualities now come alive, as described by Chernow:
Colonel Rall [commanding officer of the enemy] mobilized a group of men in an apple orchard. Responding to this move, Washington adroitly positioned his men on high ground nearby. As John Greenwood recalled, “General Washington, on horseback and alone, came up to our major and said, ‘March on, my brave fellows, after me!’ and rode off.” Washington’s quick-witted action stopped the Hessian advance in its tracks. . . Since he had crafted the strategy and led his men to glory, the stunning victory belonged to Washington lock, stock, and barrel.
In the absence of his powerful leadership, showing his men the way, never shirking from danger, the Battle of Trenton could have been a total defeat for the Americans. The fate of the United States and so many of its future citizens, cities, and institutions bearing the Washington name would undoubtedly have been different.
Compared with what Washington had to face during the revolution, thankfully the hardships we face in the workplace now are much less, well, hard. But the idea still applies. A colleague of mine, a Director of Operations, tells a story about how simply sharing in the struggles his employees face builds loyalty and improves morale.
For many companies in the enterprise technology industry, end-of-quarter involves employees in many departments working late hours and over the weekend, doing the end-to-end work necessary to execute as many orders as possible to bolster quarter-end financials. Low morale can be expected from teammates working until midnight during the week or spending a Saturday logged in.
My colleague, as a director, isn’t much tied into day-to-day operations. Nonetheless his conviction is that as long as any of his employees are working, he will be logged in and available for support.
In his post-quarter review the feedback from team members was consistent. Naturally, they dislike spending their evenings or weekends working. But knowing that their leader, like them, is sacrificing his time made it easier. Though it was 10 P.M. on a Friday, they saw their leader’s status as available. It conveyed the importance of their work, increased their commitment, and simply gave them comfort.
“The gift of silence”
John Adams once wrote of the “ten talents” he believed were conducive to Washington’s ascent at the brink of the revolution. The first four related to physical features (it’s no wonder how his presence fueled his soldiers). Chernow explains how “two others concerned Washington’s extraordinary self-possession: ‘He possessed the gift of silence,’ and . . . that Washington exerted more power by withholding opinions than by expressing them.”
This gift of silence helped mold the government of the United States. Being President of the Constitutional Convention “spared him the need to voice opinions or make speeches, enabling him to bridge divisions . . . Occasionally he cast a vote . . . Most of the time he stood forth as a neutral arbiter and honest broker.” The novelty of his opinions, when he chose to give them, is what lent to their power.
Washington broke his customary silence toward the end of the Convention, taking “a decidedly democratic stand on the question of how many people each congressman should represent,” writes Chernow, “opting for thirty thousand instead of forty thousand to ensure ‘security for the rights and interests of the people.’” The Convention, often rife with divisions and disagreements, adopted this change unanimously.
Though he understood how reticence, rather than outspokenness, made his opinions powerful, his greatest impact on the American Constitution required no words. Many of the delegates feared that a strong presidency would evolve into monarchy, the form of government they had fought for nearly a decade to eradicate. Even Benjamin Franklin wanted a small executive council over a presidency. Chernow theorizes about Washington’s influence:
That the delegates overcame their dread of executive power and produced an energetic presidency can be traced directly to Washington’s imperturbable presence. Pierce Butler doubted that the presidential powers would have been so great “had not many members cast their eyes toward General Washington as president and shaped their ideas of the powers to a president by their opinion of his virtue.” As convention president, Washington sat through extensive discussions of what was turning into his job description. There was a tacit assumption that, the office having been conceived with him in mind, Washington would serve as the first president. With his image before their eyes, the delegates were inevitably governed by their hopes instead of their fears.
Though a reserved one, Washington was no oblivious spectator during the forging of the presidency. In fact he wanted “energetic presidency” and a strong federal government — beliefs bred by the hardships of the war. He unfortunately was too familiar with the blundering of a weak congress in properly provisioning his army during the revolution. The American presidency would likely have a different nature had Washington been vocal in championing a strong executive — the very job it was implicitly understood he would get — to a delegation keenly against one person holding significant power.
Think of the convention as a business meeting or work session in today’s world. Washington would be the opposite of the person we’ve all seen before in these settings: the person who talks just to hear their own voice. Empower those around you to voice their ideas and while you act as a mediator.
Though Washington had a clear picture of his desired outcome of the convention, he subtly guided others, allowing them to believe the ideas were their own. Dedication to an idea from any person will be greater if they believe it’s their own.
“The subtle art of seeking power”
Washington held a counterintuitive philosophy about the machinations of power, a philosophy that made him a masterful political leader. Paramount was his caution in assuming positions imbued with power. As early as his mid-twenties Washington began, as Chernow puts it, “to intuit the subtle art of seeking power by refraining from too obvious a show of ambition.”
Chernow summarizes Washington’s strategy, revealed in a letter he wrote to his brother prior to his bid for the Virginia House of Burgesses in 1758:
Washington believed that ambitious men should hide their true selves, retreat into silence, and not tip people off to their ambition. To sound people out, you had to feign indifference and proceed only when convinced that they were sympathetic and like-minded. The objective was to learn the maximum about other people’s thoughts while revealing the minimum about your own.
Each time Washington gained positions with escalating levels of power, he sounded like a broken record. Still in his twenties, he was offered overall command of military forces in Virginia. For Washington, a deeply ambitious man who craved advancement and status, at that time it was a dream job.
Rather than accepting wholeheartedly, as one might expect, he hesitated and “bargained aggressively for a better deal,” writes Chernow. As Washington put it, “No person who regards his character will undertake a command without the means of preserving it.”
I subconsciously used this method earlier in my career when I hid from my boss my ambition to be promoted, only consciously realizing it years later after studying Washington. In chatting about which team member was likely to be promoted, I brought up strengths and areas for improvement of potential candidates, casually mentioning later my own without explicitly pushing for the promotion.
I can only guess at the effect this had on my boss’s decision. But the fact I was promoted indicates it left a positive impression: that I had humility, self-awareness, and an eye for talent and how to improve others. All of which are important for those in leadership positions.
“Humble servant”
When John Adams nominated George Washington as commander-in-chief of the Continental Army, Washington “handled the moment with such tact” that “only made his circumspect manner more appealing.” He sprang from his seat at the Continental Congress and like a modest mouse scurried out of the room. “The hallmark of Washington’s career was that he didn’t seek power but let it come to him. ‘I did not solicit the command,’ he later said, ‘but accepted it after much entreaty.’”
Spotting the shrewdness underlying Washington’s coy actions, Chernow believes that “Things seldom happened accidentally to George Washington, but he managed them with such consummate skill that they often seemed to happen accidentally. . . he had a fine sense of power — how to gain it, how to keep it, how to wield it.” He was elected unanimously.
Chernow puts it nicely: “His hesitation at this moment of meteoric ascent also banished any appearance of an unseemly rush to power. Developing a mature instinct for power, Washington began to appreciate the value of diffidence, cultivating the astute politician’s capacity to be the master of events while seeming to be their humble servant.”
In a room packed with brilliant statesmen like fellow Virginians James Madison and Thomas Jefferson, a man self-conscious of his own speech-making abilities perhaps was trying to avoid having to do just that. Whether shy or avoiding a speech, he was the one pulling the puppet-strings. Are there situations in your life or career where humbling yourself may be the right move?
“Power held in reserve”
During the war Washington gave command of the strategically important Fort Washington on the Hudson River to General Nathanael Greene, who bungled its defense. David McCullough called the surrender of the fort “the most devastating blow of all, an utter catastrophe.” The Americans lost three thousand men and many muskets and cannon.
Greene likely thought he would be discharged from the army, saying “This is a most terrible event; its consequences are justly to be dreaded.” Washington could have used Greene as a scapegoat but instead assumed explicitly some of the blame for the fiasco. He wasn’t about to let Greene’s career be scuttled because of a defeat for which he shared the blame.
“A master politician in the making, he had a knack for spotting and rewarding faithful subordinates who repaid his trust with absolute devotion,” writes Chernow. “He seemed to know implicitly that no loyalty surpassed that of a man forgiven for his faults who vowed never to make them again.” Greene went on to become one of Washington’s most able generals, later appointed commander of the entire Southern Department of the army.
Later in the war, three senior army officers schemed to supplant Washington’s position through (what was supposed to be) covert mudslinging against the commander-in-chief. Thanks to a storytelling aid to one of the conspirators, hard evidence of their scheming found its way back to Washington.
Knowing “that power held in reserve — power deployed firmly but reluctantly — was always the most effective form,” he “reverted to his favorite technique . . . sending an incriminating document to its author without comment. He would betray as little as possible of what he knew so as to let the guilty party incriminate himself.” It was an illuminating example of Washington’s magnanimous use of silence and restraint, which led to what Chernow calls a “total” triumph:
The episode showed that, whatever Washington’s demerits as a military man, he was a consummate political infighter. With command of his tongue and temper, he had the supreme temperament for leadership compared to his scheming rivals. It was perhaps less his military skills than his character that eclipsed all competitors. Washington was dignified, circumspect, and upright, whereas his enemies seemed petty and skulking. However thin-skinned he was, he never doubted the need for legitimate criticism and contested only the devious methods of opponents… For the rest of the war, he didn’t allow these things to cloud his judgment, never told tales indiscreetly, and confined his opinions of intramural feuding to a small circle of trusted intimates. . .
Washington’s handling of the incident, known as the Conway Cabal, demonstrates his philosophies on leadership and power, deeply rooted in human psychology, with perfect symmetry.
The story goes that after hearing of Washington’s only postwar ambition of returning to Mount Vernon, an eminent figure on the world stage declared: “If he does that, he will be the greatest man in the world.” Unlike others in similar stations in history (such as Napoleon) Washington did relinquish military power.
After two successful terms as president (both times elected unanimously), during which his “catalog of accomplishments was simply breathtaking,” he relinquished power again, this time political. Upon learning of Washington’s resignation, the same eminent figure believed he had transcended from the greatest in the world to “the greatest character of the age.”
This eminent figure was the very person who for over eight years had persecuted war against Washington and resisted American independence, and yet still “had belatedly learned to appreciate his erstwhile enemy” — King George III.
This article was originally published at thoughtmedley.com.
If you enjoyed this piece, couple it with how fellow American president Theodore Roosevelt focused on action.
After implementing Washington’s leadership techniques, learn the #1 question to ask your boss to catapult you ahead of peers at work.
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