🌲 On Leadership & Legacy: Shockley, Yi, & Brasidas

Lessons from people who failed at a critical thing they were trying to accomplish.

I have been harping, off and on, for years now about how Alexander may have been great but his failure to account for succession was a really big deal. He’s not alone in this: Genghis Khan is another big one who managed a bunch of conquest and then his empire broke up under his grandsons.

Stable governments require clear succession rules or the land devolves into civil war. Moctezuma I of the Aztec Empire managed to work out an effective system for stable inheritance, an impressive feat of negotiation in a land that used to be constantly destabilized by civil war. It’s even more impressive when you realize his daughter succeeded him as ruler, followed by his grandson.

Civil war is bad! More leaders should be like Moctezuma I. One of the main reasons I have any sympathy for Henry VIII whatsoever was that his father had founded the House of Tudor after thirty years of civil war due to a succession crisis commonly known as “the Wars of the Roses.” No wonder he was so desperate for a son to be his heir!

Heirs are important for more than just political leaders, too.

In the business world, many companies are not led by their original founder, and finding the right guy to take over is pretty important for little things like “strategic vision” and “making a profit” and “keeping good products from getting mired in stupidity”. But it’s not just about the next leader, it’s also about the next success.

Back in 2018, by Larry Downes and Paul Nunes wrote an article for the Harvard Business Review about the one-hit wonders of the business world. It stuck with me, particularly this line about how over-indexing on success stories can lead to folly.

Too often an ex post facto history is written that makes the enterprise’s successful but accidental first act appear to be the result of exceptional management decision making—a dangerous delusion. Success frequently breeds failure.

History is full of folks who were successful along one axis almost in spite of themselves.

I recently listened to a Founder’s Podcast episode about the rise of Silicon Valley with my son, and we learned about William Shockley. He won the Nobel Prize in physics, and founded Shockley Superconductors, which went on to have a wildly disproportionate impact on Silicon Valley; Shockley recruited a bunch of absolutely brilliant engineers to work with him there, and ultimately is viewed as the guy who “brought silicon to the valley,” as it were.

But as smart (and good at invention) as Shockley was, his interpersonal skills were frankly atrocious. In addition to driving away most of the brilliant engineers he’d recruited through what amounts of paranoia, egomania, and micromanagement, he ended up so estranged from his friends and family that his own kids found out about his death through the newspaper. He literally tried to commit suicide via Russian roulette with a handgun. There’s a famous story where he forced everybody under him to lie detector tests to see who was “betraying” the company (spoilers: this incited a bunch of guys to “turn traitor” and leave).

Was Shockley an important guy? Yes. A good role model for budding engineers? I would argue: No! The opposite! His is the story we should be shouting from the rooftops to get engineer-brained guys to understand the importance of interpersonal skills, tho.

As a society, I think we could do a better job of looking at historical examples of people (brilliant people, successful people, skilled people) who failed at a critical thing they were trying to accomplish, because those lessons are a bit easier to learn. The errors tend to stand out in clearer relief than the success stories, where it’s not always obvious exactly what the critical component for success was.

Incentives matter.

When you set up a system that rewards people more for their reputation for bravery and prowess, you risk leaders ignoring opportunities to achieve strategic goals without bloodshed and waste. It takes an exceptional person to keep their eye on the big picture.

Brasidas of Sparta was one of the most exceptional leaders of the 5th century BCE. His tactical adaptability and selfless strategic focus during the Peloponnesian War was a marked contrast to the many Spartan commanders famed for rigid discipline and thirst for honor.

The pop culture conception of Spartan generals tends more toward “bravery” than “brilliance,” but Brasidas actually learned from his mistakes. It wasn’t enough to keep him alive, but there’s a lot to learn from his example. Learning from other people’s mistakes is a useful skill too.

Thucydides portrays Brasidas as a dynamic leader who leveraged speed and surprise, striking deep into Athenian territory in northern Greece with a small force. His mission was to incite Athenian allies to revolt and undermine the Athenian empire’s network. For instance, at the city of Amphipolis, Brasidas used cunning and negotiation to persuade the city to surrender with minimal bloodshed rather than opting for a glorious siege or pitched battle​.

Not that he was afraid of battle or anything; at least once he engaged with the enemy despite orders to the contrary.

Brasidas knew how to read the room battlefield: adapt tactics, win allies’ hearts, and keep his eyes on the larger goal of Spartan victory. Brasidas was known for restraint, justice, and fair dealings with captured cities. Which is to say he avoided the temptation to rob them blind for his own coffers, and cared more about his country’s goals than lining his own pockets.

Unfortunately, he died in battle, and wasn’t around to see the uneasy peace he helped secure. Once he was gone, the Spartans largely abandoned the northern strategy he’d pioneered.

Truly adaptive leaders are often more celebrated by history than by their contemporaries.

Consider Admiral Yi Sun-sin of 16th century Korea, perhaps one of history’s greatest naval commanders — though I doubt many have heard of him. Yi, like Brasidas, faced a superior enemy (in Yi’s case, the Japanese navy during the Imjin War) and used brilliant tactics and adaptability to win. He famously entered battles vastly outnumbered yet won every engagement through innovation and careful planning, such as luring enemy ships into disadvantageous waters and inventing the world’s first iron-sided ship. Very Nelson-esque.

Also like Brasidas, Yi put mission over ego: he was once wounded by a musket ball, but refused to be treated until assured of the complete destruction of the enemy. After being demoted due to court intrigues, he served loyally under a former subordinate, and eventually returned to command to save his nation.

Like Brasidas, he died winning a critical battle.

The part I want to focus on was the “being demoted due to court intrigues,” though.

Because Yi was basically unbeatable at sea — so his enemy, Shogun Hideyoshi, beat him in the arena of politics, employing duplicity, outright lies, spies, and political deals with minority factions of Korean politics to get an incompetent, corrupt Admiral appointed in Yi’s place. With Yi defeated in the political realm, Korea was defenseless at sea.

The ships were so poorly maintained they couldn’t even properly set sail; there wasn’t enough water. Japanese war fleets went through the dissolute Korean navy like a fox through legless chickens.

Eventually the Koreans realized how bad things were and reinstated Yi as Admiral of the fleet, which turned things around, but an incredible number of lives and ships were lost while Yi was beached due to an insufficient command of the political arena. A certain kind of person might look upon this as vindication for Yi, but my take is that if he’d been as able to manipulate the political situation as well as he did the military one, his navy — and his country — would have suffered far fewer losses.

That said, Yi’s ultimate victory was impressive; his fleet drove the Japanese home under the sting of an ignomini­ous defeat. Yi was shot by another bullet, but this time it was fatal. The only people who saw were his eldest son, and his nephew. After Yi died, the nephew put on his armor and continued to beat the war drum to encourage the pursuit. I imagine Yi was relieved to have so loyal and committed a set of successors, although I wasn’t able to find out anything else about his family.

The important thing is: for two hundred years after the battle that claimed Yi’s life, no Japanese ships threatened Korea. Korea was safe — along with Yi’s 5 sons and 3 daughters.

As far as I’m concerned, that is much more impressive than any clever inventions on Shockley’s part or even Brasidas’ skilled negotiations.

Legacy matters.