Like the Lady, They Choose Disraeli

By Thomas J. Lee

There’s a wonderful story, quite possibly apocryphal, told of William Gladstone and Benjamin Disraeli, contemporaries and fierce political rivals in nineteenth century England during the reign of Queen Victoria.

Each gentleman served as prime minister multiple times. Gladstone, a liberal, served four terms; Disraeli, a conservative, served two. Their differences extended from the political to the cultural and even the personal. Gladstone was severe and reserved. Disraeli, a novelist, cut a colorful, dashing figure. Initially allies, they became opponents and then grew to detest each other. All that is historical fact.

Benjamin Disraeli (left) and William Gladstone.

The factually questionable story about them is an enlightening and cautionary tale, even for us in the twenty-first century. As you read it, think of the lessons you can extrapolate from it and apply to your own leadership.

It seems that, as young gentlemen, Gladstone and Disraeli were smitten by the same winsome lady. They both began courting her. She consented to dinner with each. Rising to the moment, Gladstone was at his oratorical finest. His formidable intellect and eloquence were impressive indeed. Trained in the law, he addressed her as a barrister would a jurist. He regaled her with his worldliness. He charmed her with his wit. He sought to impress her, and he succeeded beyond any doubt.

Disraeli, however, was not intimidated. When his turn came, he chose to take the opposite approach. He spoke neither at the lady nor even to her. Rather, he spoke with her, quietly and patiently. He inquired deeply. He listened completely, as though with the entirety of his soul. He drew her forth. Their conversation created a bond between them. His intent, all along, was not to impress her but to let himself be impressed by her. He, too, clearly succeeded, albeit at an altogether different task.

Finally, after due consideration, the lady made her choice. She explained her thinking to a confidant. While dining with Gladstone, she said, she felt she was in the presence of extraordinary intelligence, perhaps the greatest mind in all of England.

Dining with Disraeli was different, she went on. She again felt the presence of an extraordinary mind, just as she had with Gladstone. However, the mind was her own, not her suitor’s. And so it was, not surprisingly, that her affections went to Disraeli.

It really doesn’t matter if the story is apocryphal. The lesson it teaches is as valid today as ever, and it always will be.

What we have here is a vivid contrast between two approaches to leadership. One is centered on the self. It is all about asserting one’s will. It pushes people this way or that. The leader is headstrong and determined. This leadership invariably leans too hard on people, and no one likes it.

The other is centered on the connection between a leader and the led. It is all about gentle but persistent influence and inspiration. The leader is wise and supportive. This leadership fosters the self-confidence among people that fuels the realization of their aspirations. By nurturing a connection, the leader creates a following, and people want to join.

It goes without saying that the latter model is more successful—by far—than the former. The only question is why so many putative leaders choose the former rather than the latter.