It is winter. Outside the cave, everything is covered in snow. The little ones take refuge with their mother, under fur blankets, deep inside the shelter. After wrapping yourself in thick clothing, you grab your axe and spear and, without looking back, you go out to face nature. You brush the messy hair from your forehead and look out as far as your eyes can see at the hostile horizon. There is food; there is the possibility of surviving another day, perhaps a few more moons. But there are also wolves, as hungry as you are, brown bears—powerful and dangerous—and bottomless precipices that you will have to navigate without slipping and falling into the deep chasm. The furious wind can freeze you as soon as you stop.
Your prey, those enormous mammoths, despite their size, move with agility; they are cunning and dangerous. Last time, four of the party were wounded; three died in great pain and frozen. You survived, but you have trouble moving your legs, and the persistent wound on your arm almost prevents you from lifting your axe. Even so, you must survive at all costs. You take one last sad look at the cave from a distance, because you sense that you will not return...
...
Let's leave our primitive man in his daily struggle for the moment. The question is how we were able to survive and get here, to the privileged place that we humans occupy above the rest of nature. The answer is that all the potential of our minds was directed toward anticipating danger, anticipating difficulties, avoiding them, overcoming them, or inventing tools to help us win the daily battle. In that endless war for survival, we developed a “negative” instinct: an enormous capacity to anticipate disaster, detect threats, and analyze all the factors against us in advance.
And so we have arrived at this point, dragging with us a fearful, aggressive, and pessimistic mind, with a deep fear of failure and a great lack of confidence. That mind was very useful to us, but today it has become a heavy burden: we are the most advanced beings on the planet, and yet we are incapable of being satisfied, of being happy, of trusting, and of seeing the positive side of things.
Never before have so many self-help books been sold that supposedly make us more “positive”; books on self-affirmation, self-confidence, assertiveness; in short, on overcoming that uncomfortable feeling that whispers to us that we are not good enough, that we are not smart enough, that we will fail, that we are not prepared, and that even if we try hard, nothing will improve.
It is important to recognize this trap that is installed within us. It is a “design” flaw; or perhaps an obsolete design that no longer meets our needs. For a hairy, primitive man, being positive and confident, living fully, sharing and loving others would have meant his immediate destruction. The problem is that, even though we can afford these things today, the “hairy man” is still alive within us. Let's accept this reality.
That is why, in human groups that form for a task, a business, or any project, the dilemma arises of listening to the “hairy man” or the “loving hippie.” What kind of leadership do we need?
“Loving and libertarian hippie” leadership proposes “do what you want,” be creative, let your imagination run wild (especially if accompanied by a joyful herbs). This approach can lead us to form a beautiful hippie camp, anarchic and functional only as long as the butterflies fly, cannabis abounds, and the rest of society continues to provide them with what they do not produce. In short, it ignores the reality of the savage tyrant within us.
At the opposite pole is Neanderthal leadership. The tremendous insecurity, ignorance, and mistrust of the “inner hairy one” makes us behave like Neanderthals: no replies or contributions are allowed; orders are followed to the letter; any suggestion is interpreted as a personal attack or a lack of respect. It's “I command, you obey.”
But between these two extremes, there is a more natural form of leadership: one based on self-confidence, on having overcome the fears and insecurities of the hairy monkey and also the cheerful—and sometimes cynical—naivety of the hippy. We need truly human and participatory leadership. Human because the leader understands himself and, therefore, understands others; and participatory not in the sense of “democratic,” because what is often called democratic leadership tends to become an aggressive henhouse. Participatory means respecting everyone, even the newest and most ignorant member of the group, and showing that respect by listening to and valuing every useful contribution.
The Egyptian sage Ptahotep said:
Do not boast of your knowledge,
nor take pride in being wise.
Take advice from the ignorant
as well as from the wise,
for the limits of art have not been reached,
nor is there a craftsman who has attained perfection.
And after listening with respect, without feeling offended by different opinions, the leader decides—because he must decide—but everyone will feel involved, especially if he has had the delicacy to explain the why and wherefore of each action. At the right moment, you have to include others in the overall plan and share the excitement of building something together.
Then everyone will feel part of the project: some will sweep the stairs, others will answer the phone, others will map out the project in the office, others will train the rest, but EVERYONE—from the first to the last—will feel part of the same effort. And they will have the joy of meeting each day knowing that WE WORK TOGETHER. And then perhaps there will not only be employees, managers, advisors, and little bosses, but also, and above all, harmony and even love among everyone.
