Between Scylla and Charybdis
In the narrow Strait of Messina, you can find a whirlpool near one shore and rocky shoals near the other. In Greek mythology, these were personified as Scylla, a six-headed monster living among the rocks and Charybdis, a whirlpool capable of swallowing an entire ship.
If you enjoy mythology or saw the recent movie, you remember the conundrum facing Odysseus during his return home after the Trojan War. He knew the danger: steering too far from one would bring the ship too close to the other. There was little room to maneuver and no margin for error.
Odysseus chose to steer closer to the rocks of Scylla knowing he might lose some of his crew because the whirlpool Charybdis could destroy his ship. He did not tell his crew what he knew about the passage ahead, believing if they understood the extent of the danger, they might panic, stop rowing, or refuse to enter the strait at all.
Perhaps this was the correct decision, one that he, as captain, was duty bound to make. But imagine the situation on deck. The oarsmen trusted him to know what he was doing, but as they saw the foreboding rocks on one side and the violent whirlpool on the other, they began to doubt his judgment and fear for the ship’s safety. They were given orders they did not understand, and their ship had been put in mortal peril because their captain had decided on a dangerous strategy in which they had no voice.
That presents an interesting leadership question. When captains know important information affecting safety and survival, are they obligated to tell the people rowing the ship? A captain cannot put every navigational decision to a vote. Leadership requires making difficult and unpopular decisions. Sometimes secrecy is the right and only choice.
But secrecy carries a price tag. As important information is withheld, trust begins to erode. And the more trust is damaged, the less effective secrecy becomes as a leadership tool. Eventually the crew stops asking, “Where are we going?” and starts asking, “Why won’t you tell us where we’re going? And what are you hiding from us?” Eventually some will put down their oars and simply stop rowing.
The irony is that the safest passage lies somewhere between the two dangers, but finding it requires something more than a wise head at the helm and a steady hand on the tiller. It requires a supportive crew willing to row. Crews tend to row harder when they understand where the ship is going, why that course was chosen, what dangers lie ahead, and what sacrifices they may be asked to make along the way.
Odysseus made it through the strait. There is probably a lesson somewhere in this story. When you find yourself sailing between Scylla and Charybdis, keeping the ship afloat is important. But it is worth remembering that the people pulling the oars are a vital part of the ship’s success.
Spoiler alert: by the time Odysseus finally reached Ithaca, his ship was gone and every member of his crew was dead.
