Do I Know When to Step Aside?

Watching the spectacle of Biden’s tenure played out, one can’t help but ask, “Will I know when it is time? Will I know before everyone else, or will I be the last to know?” As I note in the last chapter of my book, Rooted Leadership, endings are inevitable for leaders. It’s not a matter of if, but when. And when that comes, what’s next?

After over three hours on a difficult and contentious Zoom call with leaders in the Netherlands last week, where I will soon be going back to my former church for three months, I couldn’t help but ask—“Am I up for this? Am I carefully judging what I can and cannot do well at this juncture in my life?” Am I at a junction? Is my self-assessment on the mark? Am I aware of what wise counsel is telling me?

Like any leader in his final days, I am guessing Biden fears a moment like Churchill’s. On the final night of Churchill’s time in power, he was haunted by the question, “What now?” His daughter gives an account of what it was like: “It was an agonizing spectacle to watch this giant among men—equipped with every faculty of mind and spirit wound to the tightest pitch—walking unhappily round and round unable to employ his great energy and boundless gifts—nursing in his heart a grief and disillusion I can only guess at.” Everyone eventually went to bed, both tired and dead inside.

It might, however, be more accurate to say that Biden’s refusal to step aside is about giving up power. It’s understandable. Leaders tend to become obsessed with power over time. In her book, Leaders Who Lust, Harvard professor Barbara Kellerman notes that the more power leaders acquire, the greater the appetite for more. The appetite is never quenched. And with it comes a growing narcissism. Everything begins to revolve around the self.  The greatest fear is losing power and all the perks that go with authority. It explains why men like Lyndon Johnson found retirement to be “a little death.” He lost his grip on what had enlivened him—power.

It’s not just politicians. I have found all too many pastors refuse to step down, even when their best days are behind and their growing incapacity is diminishing the effectiveness of the church. If it is in their authority to choose a successor, they will look for someone like themselves.

It’s imperative to know when to exit the stage. But few know how. In Maxwell’s 21 Irrefutable Laws, he notes that few prepare for their own departure let alone groom a successor to take over the organization. One thinks in Scripture of leaders like Joshua, who knew when to depart, but he had no succession plan. Such misjudgments inevitably lead to the book of Judges.

The bigger issue before us is discerning when. When is it time to leave? In a course I taught years ago, I would bring in the wisdom of Jeffrey Sonnenfeld and his book, The Hero’s Farewell: What Happens When CEO’s Retire? After interviewing fifty prominent leaders who had ended their careers, he discovered they fit into one of the following four categories—

-Monarchs. These are like aging athletes who won’t give up. They are too deeply attached. They believe they are not yet finished, and they think no one can replace them. In the end, they are usually forced out. This seems to be the fate of our President. It was the case of W.A. Criswell, pastor of First Baptist Church of Dallas, who refused to leave and took himself and others down with him.

Generals. These love their stature, choose a strong successor, leave reluctantly, and plot a comeback during organizational turmoil

Ambassadors. These are leaders whose identity is not attached to the position. They are content with their accomplishments, mentor strong successors, believe everyone can succeed without them, step aside

Governors. These are men and women who have little attachment to the office, serve a term, accept succession, do not necessarily mentor a future successor, break ties, and leave willingly to pursue new interests

Journalists, one after another, are seeking to make sense of our nation’s current predicament. In today’s The Atlantic, David Frum notes that politicians have difficulty accepting that for all the good they accomplish, they are dispensable. They fail to reckon with reality, that the graves are filled with indispensable men. It’s human and humbling to realize we not only pass, but in time (far more quickly than we would like) we are forgotten. While still at it, the clarity of our presence fades; the greater misfortune is when the clarity of our perception degrades, and we are unaware of how our hanging on reduces others.

Adam Grant, in a guest essay in the NY Times, gives an interesting take on why leaders will not leave—they have fallen into a trap called escalation of commitment. At any suggestion that they should hand over the reins, Grant writes, “Leaders have a propensity to double down, believing it is better to be a fighter than a quitter. Instead of using our brains to make rational decisions, we rationalize the decisions we have made.” Kodak could have been on the cutting edge of digital cameras, but they were too committed, too in love with film. If we are not careful, we escalate our commitments, becoming too attached to past decisions and too in love with self. Refusing to quit or shift is not always heroic—it can reflect a stubborn rigidity.

When we refuse to pass our leadership on, we crater our historical reputation and, as Peggy Noonan of the WSJ puts it, ruin any affection history would have had for us. The story played out is one most of us—all of us–will face. Will we demonstrate wisdom?