JUST PUBLISHED: Why control freaks never build great companies

In corporate life, control is both a virtue and a vice. The ability to direct outcomes, align teams and impose order is visible proof of ‘leadership’. Yet the modern cult of control — reinforced by dashboards, KPIs and constant oversight — has reached pathological levels. It has produced managers who supervise every action but inspire none, and cultures where fear of failure has replaced the freedom to think.

According to recent research, almost four-in-five employees have experienced micromanagement. Nearly half say it made them unhappy at work, while over a third report being unable to cope with their workload.

Or, in other words, the tighter management’s grip, the less confidence people feel in exercising their own judgement.

A century before the age of metrics, the author Rudyard Kipling wrote If, a poem that every manager would do well to read. “If you can make one heap of all your winnings, and risk it on one turn of pitch and toss… and never breathe a word about your loss…” captures a temperament that remains the rarest of leadership qualities: composure.

Kipling’s line itself echoes an older source — the Bhagavad Gita, whose counsel to “treat alike happiness and distress, loss or gain, victory or defeat” defines the same ideal. Both describe what today’s psychologists call equanimity, or the ability to act decisively without the illusion of total control.

That illusion drives many leadership failures. The executive who believes that every variable can be managed begins to substitute activity for impact. Meetings multiply, delegation shrinks, and subordinates lose initiative. Over time, the organisation mirrors the mind of its leader: anxious, reactive, and brittle. True control — the only kind that lasts — is self-control.

The Sanskrit root of mantra literally means “protection of the mind.” In leadership terms, that is what reflection does: it insulates against distortion. A calm mind is a performance asset in that it helps leaders to pause, to separate emotion from decision, and to recognise limits. This in turn allows us to preserve proportion — the first casualty of stress.

Modern neuroscience reinforces what the ancients observed long ago. High cortisol levels impair risk assessment, memory, and empathy — the very traits most needed in a crisis. Leaders who cannot regulate themselves cannot stabilise others. Composure, then, is not indulgence but shrewd strategy in that it enables sound judgement under uncertainty, and protects organisations from the volatility of ego.

Micromanagement, by contrast, is ego made operational. It reflects the need to control others because one cannot control oneself. It creates dependency where autonomy should exist, and replaces accountability with compliance. The results are predictable: decision fatigue at the top, disengagement below, and a widening gap between effort and outcome.

What distinguishes enduring leaders is their grasp of proportion. They know the difference between influence and interference. They set direction, not instruction; they monitor, but do not meddle. They understand, to borrow again from Sanskrit thought, that leadership is upadrashta — the overseer — and anumanta — the permitter. They enable others to act without abdicating responsibility.

This philosophy has practical implications for every boardroom. It means designing systems that assume trust rather than control: fewer approvals, shorter feedback loops, and open access to information. It means recognising that innovation flourishes not through oversight but through psychological safety. And it means accepting that uncertainty is the natural state of any enterprise attempting something new.

The corporate obsession with mastery — of markets, data, people — blinds us to a more durable truth that influence is finite and impermanence inevitable. The leader who accepts this recovers the only control that is ever real: mastery over themselves.

That is the genius of Rudyard Kipling’s If, and of the wisdom that preceded it. Success, whether in business or in life, depends less on power than on poise. The serenity to accept what cannot be mastered may yet prove the most strategic skill in a world that mistakes busyness for control.