Eric Ries on Why Good Companies Go Bad, and How Governance Can Keep Them Great

Open on YouTube ↗
Overview

Fifteen years after The Lean Startup, Eric Ries has written a book about a different problem. In his conversation with Lenny Rachitsky, he describes the relationship between the two books this way: The Lean Startup was about helping founders build a successful company, and Incorruptible: Why Good Companies Go Bad and How Great Companies Stay Great is about helping them protect what they've built. His central claim is that the thing destroying successful companies is usually not competition. It is a structural force he calls "financial gravity," which turns a company's success into a liability. He argues this force can be resisted, and that some companies, among them Novo Nordisk, Costco, Cloudflare, Patagonia and Anthropic, show how.

33 min read

Lean Startup, fifteen years on

Lenny opens by noting that the book has gone through repeated cycles of being declared correct, then obsolete, then correct again. He suggests that the way leading AI companies build today is essentially Lean Startup. His example was his recent guest Cat Wu, head of product for Claude Code, whose team ships "research previews," which amount to MVPs, then watches whether people care and iterates.

Ries says every new wave brings an article claiming Lean Startup is no longer needed. He recalls people saying Quibi proved it, and his response was that we should wait until a company succeeds before deciding what it proves. He stresses that the method is "not a religion." Terms like "minimum viable product" were never meant for customers, and many companies use the ideas internally without naming them. What he finds most vindicated is the claim that you cannot predict the future. In his reading, the AI labs clearly did not expect specific products such as ChatGPT, Claude Code or Cowork to become as popular as they did. These were small experiments, not declared big bets. Treating everything as a hypothesis, he says, gives you the benefits of the scientific method.

6:28

The force no one controls but everyone obeys

Ries describes the problem of the new book as "the force that no one controls but everyone obeys," which drags organizations toward mediocrity until their founders lose control of them. Sometimes that means the founder is fired. Sometimes, like Frankenstein and his monster, the organization becomes bureaucratic, malign, or "frankly evil," and no one can stop it.

His illustration is a dinner out of town at a restaurant a friend had loved years earlier. After one bite, the friend pulled out his phone and confirmed what Ries says he had already tasted: the restaurant had been bought by private equity. Ries has told the story many times, and listeners keep naming different restaurants they think he means. He asks what it means that "you can taste the ownership structure of a company in the food." Lenny offered Vital Farms eggs as a possible example: there had been online complaints about declining quality and toxins, and Lenny said the company turned out to be owned by BlackRock. Lenny added that he wasn't sure the toxin claims were real and hadn't looked into them closely. Ries also recounts an interview in which someone began describing a natural foods brand named after its founder. Ries predicted the rest before hearing it: the board pushed her out in pursuit of growth and margins, quality dropped, customers and employees got angry, and market share began to shrink.

Ries says the pattern is so common that we don't have a name for it, but our grandparents would have called it corruption. He doesn't mean bribery or embezzlement. He means something closer to structural decay. He uses a bridge analogy. If a bridge collapses and an engineer says it was "because of gravity," that is technically true and useless. What you want to know is why this bridge fell and others didn't. Close inspection shows corroded bolts, and next time you use stainless steel. Blaming greed, age or size is the organizational equivalent of blaming gravity. The book is organized as a "double mystery." Why has this happened for hundreds of years if markets supposedly select for value creation? And if it is inevitable, why are there exceptions?

12:14

Four out of five founders are gone within three years of going public

Ries says that if founders don't get governance right, "no other decision you make about your company will matter for the long term because you're not going to be the one making it." He cites Harvard Law School research: among venture-backed companies with the standard best-practice setup, only 20% of founders are still CEO three years after going public. Everyone tells founders they are the exception, but statistically they are much more likely to be in the 80%.

His example is a "very hot company" that came to him a year or two before its IPO asking how to structure it for the long term. After reading their governance documents, he told the founder the good news was that they had all the best practices, which meant they were "so screwed." The founder promised to act. A few months later he called back to say his bankers, lawyers, CFO, general counsel, VCs and growth VCs had all said Ries was "such a downer," and that if Ries really believed in him he'd see the founder was the exception. The company had a very successful IPO. Five months later a competitor was acquired, the whole category panicked, the stock collapsed, and the founder was ousted. Ries acknowledges the founder surely made mistakes. But he asks whether the founder had really earned so little grace, given that the same people now calling the business model fatally flawed had invested five months earlier.

15:04

"It is always too early until it's too late"

Lenny raises the obvious objection: founders need product-market fit first and can worry about this later. Ries calls timing one of the most important ideas in the book. The key question is not which protections a company needs but when to adopt them. He compares it to the proverb that the best time to plant a tree was decades ago and the next best time is now.

He describes a sequence he says he has watched "hundreds of times." At incorporation, the founder asks the lawyer about "mission protective provisions" and gets patted on the head: get product-market fit, success is your leverage. At the seed or Series A stage, VCs say they share the founder's goals but it's not the right time. At the growth round, supposedly contrarian investors warn that being different could make fundraising harder. In IPO prep, bankers and lawyers say it can be bundled with the IPO later. Then, as the S-1 is about to be filed, the founder asks what happened to the provisions for customer participation in the IPO, broadly shared prosperity and employee benefits. The CFO says, "Oh, you were serious about that?" Now it is too late. Ries's conclusion is that success doesn't protect you, because "success is what makes you a target." He returns to the five-month CEO. Everyone who worked on that IPO profited from the company's transactions on the way up and on the way down and moved on to the next deal. The customers and employees did not.

19:50

The blueprint: ethos plus integrity, and a hundred years of Novo Nordisk

Ries calls part one of the book "the shape of the abyss" and admits the case studies, including Whole Foods and Vectura, are grim. His formula for the exceptions is "ethos plus integrity." Ethos means internal alignment, character and choices. Integrity means the structure that keeps an organization aligned with human flourishing.

His origin story comes from 1920s Denmark. Marie Krogh, one of the country's early credentialed doctors and an advocate for women's medical education, was diagnosed with diabetes, then a death sentence, around the time her husband August Krogh won the Nobel Prize. She joined him on his North American lecture tour. At a dinner, a scientist told her that Canadian researchers had isolated insulin. The couple detoured to Canada and, as scientists, immediately grasped the implications. The Canadians were open to commercialization. But everyone involved worried about what Ries calls "the temptation to harvest what others plant." He asks Lenny to imagine being the sole maker of insulin, with investors whispering that a patient who depends on him doesn't have to be charged a fair price. Decades before Martin Shkreli made that a business strategy, Ries says, the Kroghs and the Canadians feared it would happen to their company.

So they set up the Nordisk Insulin Laboratorium as a for-profit company with outside investors, owned and governed by a nonprofit foundation. The literature calls this two-tiered structure an "industrial foundation." That company became Novo Nordisk. Ries argues the structure has protected its ethos of scientific integrity for over a hundred years, while many "best practices" pushed on founders today are "younger than the trees in your local park." When someone pushes such a practice, he says, ask whether they are really smarter than a Nobel laureate. He claims that the foundation's trustees once had to use their legal power to stop an attempt to sell out the for-profit company, and that this intervention ultimately created more than $500 billion in shareholder value. He emphasizes he isn't adding a zero for effect. He also notes that Zeiss, the German optics company, had this structure in 1885. He cites academic research finding that companies with this structure are six times more likely to reach year 50 than conventional peers and have superior returns on invested capital. His conclusion is that this isn't a "nice to have" layered on top of real business but "one of the most powerful engines of value creation in the world." The Kroghs, he adds, were once a tiny startup too.

27:08

Vectura and the real Philip Morris

To show what's at stake, Ries describes an exercise he runs with leaders: name the most evil company in the world, one you wouldn't work for at any price. Answers include Halliburton, Monsanto, private equity funds, and increasingly tech companies. His father was a pulmonologist, so Ries grew up considering Philip Morris the answer. He then asks people whether they would sell their own company to Philip Morris for $1 more per share than it's worth, even if it would be used to sell cigarettes to children. People react with outrage. He then tells them their own charter already obligates them to say yes. When they call their lawyers, the lawyers confirm it and explain that the standard documents were a favor to make fundraising easier.

When people say he's exaggerating, he points to Vectura. It was a UK spinout from the University of Bath that made inhaled therapeutics for conditions such as asthma and COPD, and it was listed on the London Stock Exchange. Ries says he learned about it by asking Claude whether any company had ever actually been bought by Philip Morris. Philip Morris said it wanted to diversify beyond nicotine and bid 165p per share. An American private equity firm bid 155p. The third option was staying independent, since the company was doing fine. The British public was outraged, and the British Thoracic Society begged the board to refuse. After what Ries believes were two meetings, the board said its hands were tied by its fiduciary duty to accept the highest bid. So he was exaggerating, he says: the margin wasn't a dollar a share but closer to 15 cents. By his account, Philip Morris paid £1.1 billion, took a roughly $900 million write-down within three years, and sold the company off in pieces. He notes that Delaware charters are public record, so anyone can check whether a company is exposed this way.

34:16

"Harder is easier" and the Cloudflare story

The first principle Ries offers, which he says anyone with any influence can adopt, is "harder is easier." People tell him business is already too hard to take on extra obligations. He asks whether business is hard partly because no one trusts you. He says there is good evidence that trusted companies spend less on internal communication, are better aligned, have lower customer acquisition costs, and get more forgiveness for mistakes and more willingness to try new products. If you commit to quality, design, ethics or safety up front, you get unexpected rewards, but "you can't do it for the reward or it doesn't work." In his view, trustworthiness is the most underrated asset in business, and the actions that create it always rank last under ROI thinking because doing the right thing has intangible rewards and tangible costs.

Cloudflare is his main case. Matthew Prince and his co-founders came out of Harvard Business School allergic to mission-statement talk and had none for years. Ries stresses that "the mission statement is not the mission." Mission is an emergent property of the organization and has to be built in, as Deming taught about quality in the 1940s. He says Cloudflare had a mission anyway. When pro-democracy protesters under attack from state-sponsored hackers were turned away by big tech companies, including Google, the small startup protected their free-tier websites. Later, at lunch, an engineer said he liked working there because "we're trying to make a better internet." Prince initially denied that was a mission statement, but employees kept using the phrase until the founders adopted it. Their top formal value became "be principled."

The test came when a junior engineer pointed out that SSL encryption, the main reason customers upgraded from free to paid, cost real money in certificates and compute. If a better internet meant an encrypted internet, why charge for it? Ries says a normal middle manager would send the engineer back to the strategy. Prince said, "Let's figure it out." Ries treats this "figure it out" response as a key leadership move, because each such dilemma is a chance to teach what you stand for. Prince insisted the solution be sustainable, since bankrupting the company wouldn't achieve the mission. The team hand-rolled software in assembly and negotiated deals with certificate authorities to cut costs. Ries notes they could have quit at any point, or pocketed the savings as margin. When they launched free encryption, premium conversion rates fell, and they had to report that to the board. They stuck with it. Ries says top-of-funnel grew by an order of magnitude, that people still credit Cloudflare for the encrypted internet, and that the trust earned is why it is a $70 billion company today.

42:36

Groupon's email death spiral

As a contrast, Ries recounts what Groupon founder Andrew Mason told him. Groupon's whole premise was one deal email a day, and it went public on that model. Afterward, executives kept asking for a second email to make the quarter, using language that "sounds kind of lean startupy": run an experiment, look at the data, consider the ROI. Mason ran the test, two emails made more money, and he couldn't say no. Months later someone proposed three, and eventually they were sending eight. Ries says many CEOs have told him nearly identical stories about email frequency, which he calls "the tip of the spear" where companies have no way to defend the right choice. In his telling, it destroyed the company while making short-term money. Holding to "harder is easier," he says, is the first line of defense.

45:43

Defining purpose and making it bind

Asked whether the first step is writing mission and values statements, Ries says the statement alone isn't valuable. He deliberately avoided consulting vocabulary like "stakeholder" and "culture" in the book, preferring old words like "ethos" and "fiduciary." The question every leader and product must answer is "What is its purpose? Who would you rather die than betray?" He cites Steve Jobs fighting over the layout of wires inside a computer customers weren't supposed to open, and Yvon Chouinard of Patagonia, whom he calls a "quality zealot" who believed every product had a quality level it deserved. Ries argues that belief, which most people think is insane, is why Patagonia succeeded. He mentions a Wall Street investor who mocked Unilever for debating "the purpose of Hellmann's mayonnaise." Ries says the answer is obvious: it's food, and it matters whether its product manager thinks the purpose is quality or extraction when a consultant proposes saving three cents by making it carcinogenic. As a real case, he says product managers at Johnson & Johnson put asbestos in baby powder and covered it up, because while their stated mission was patient health, their actual mission had become growth and quarterly targets.

The practical steps are to write the purpose down, in a single sentence if possible. Examples include Cloudflare's "make a better internet" and Devoted Health's instruction to treat every customer the way you'd treat your own parents. Then order your priorities, as Sol Price did at Costco (customers first, employees second, shareholders last) or as Peter Drucker argued (employees first). Ries doesn't prescribe the order. Next comes what he calls "mission drive." Most companies claiming to be mission-driven are "mission hopeful," a "candy coating on top of an extractive engine." To be truly mission-driven, you have to show that you cannot profit except by achieving the mission. That requires an audit: can anyone's bonus or OKR be hit by betraying a principle? He names safety, performance, quality, design and innovation as the "five horsemen," the things cut first because betraying trust isn't immediately noticed. Formally, he describes it as identifying your fiduciary commitments, setting metrics for each, and building an accountability system that makes those commitments as important as making money. He points to automated testing, and now AI, as auditing tools, but says companies have to choose to use them that way.

He illustrates with Google's "don't be evil." He studied roughly 50 farewell blog posts by long-time Google employees, which have a wistful quality. He notes the phrase moved from the website to the employee handbook and then disappeared, and he says Google has been sued twice for breaking the pledge and settled both times. He asked a 13-year ex-Googler the probability Google files its next quarterly report on time. The answer was "100.0." Asked the probability Google never accidentally kills someone and covers it up, the ex-Googler hedged at 90 to 95%, already imagining a self-driving car accident. The difference, Ries argues, is that quarterly reporting has an expensive apparatus guaranteeing it, while "don't be evil was just a slogan." If someone claims to be serious about something, ask to see the apparatus.

55:03

Integrity and the myth of shareholder primacy

Ries uses "integrity" in two senses: the personal ability to keep promises, and structural integrity. In organizations, he says, the two merge, because a weak organization can't keep promises when the person who made them won't be there. Vectura's founders couldn't have promised never to sell cigarettes to children. Structural integrity means resisting temptation from inside, betrayal at the board level, and pressure from outside. He cites Costco's "governance fortress" and a critic's complaint that Costco "takes money that rightfully belongs to shareholders and instead invest[s] it in improving the customer experience." Costco's board, he says, sees itself as a bulwark against financial gravity rather than an amplifier of it.

He urges founders to read their own charter, noting that HBO's Silicon Valley joked about founders not knowing how their own companies work. The typical clause, incorporation "to pursue any lawful act or activity," sounds open-ended but, under shareholder primacy, in practice means maximizing shareholder returns. Ries argues this doctrine is only about 40 years old, dating from the 1980s, though a generation now treats it as natural law. Before that, he says, it was obvious to everyone back to Adam Smith that corporations existed for a specific beneficial purpose. In the 19th century you had to declare that purpose to a state legislature, boards could fight hostile buyers "to the death," and changing a railroad's purpose to "maximize shareholder value" could have gotten your charter voided.

1:00:15

The public benefit corporation: the easiest step

Ries says a "band of corporate governance rebels" has spent 15 to 20 years building alternatives. The simplest is the public benefit corporation (PBC), which he distinguishes from the "B" certification logo people see at farmers markets. He describes it as a two-page Delaware filing that states the company's purpose instead of "any lawful act." He says all the major AI labs are PBCs, most famously Anthropic. It doesn't make you the good guys, but it solves a specific problem: if you're sued for breaching fiduciary duty to investors, you can point to the purpose investors agreed to. He calls it one of several interlocking parts of Anthropic's armor and "the very minimum."

Non-founders can simply ask. He once advised someone who warned him up front they were "not courageous." His suggestion was that at the end of a job interview, ask whether the company is mission-driven, listen to the answer, and then ask whether that mission is in the charter. The interviewer probably won't know. But hiring teams keep answer documents for candidate questions, so the question travels up the chain. It might even give a CEO who has been considering the idea a reason to raise it with the board. Ries notes that, in accounts of the AI companies' struggles, keeping employees happy is a surprisingly large motivator for leadership.

Asked about downsides, Ries says this is the one step with "truly no trade-offs." An investor might be suspicious, but the only situation where it matters is when an investor wants to force a sale the founder doesn't want. A founder can ask that investor directly whether that's the position they hold. The main cost of every technique in the book, he says, is people wasting your time trying to talk you out of it. The book includes sections on talking to investors and lawyers, built from objections he collected over years. To lawyers who say to "keep your options open," he responds by asking whether he also needs to keep open the option of turning customers into Soylent Green.

1:06:25

Why Anthropic wins, and what mission alignment feels like

Lenny points to Anthropic, which he calls the fastest-growing company ever, as evidence that a PBC doesn't limit growth. Ries notes people still worry about fundraising, and that "Anthropic's been able to raise some money." He says people explain Anthropic's success with surface traits such as lower inference costs, faster product velocity and better focus. If you keep asking why, he argues, you get to better infrastructure, then internal breakthroughs, then the best talent, then people wanting to work for "the good guys," and finally an ethos paired with integrity. Lenny adds that Cat Wu attributed Claude Code's shipping speed largely to strong mission alignment, which makes it easy to decide what to do.

Ries calls working in a mission-aligned company "the organizational equivalent of being in the flow state." He describes "torchbearers," the people who simply do the right thing: the designer who won't ship slop, the engineer who won't sacrifice quality. He says Steve Jobs held skip-level meetings specifically to find them. In a traditional company, torchbearers are constantly asked for the ROI of doing right. In a mission-aligned one, two "antibodies" protect them. First, no one bothers making the spreadsheet. He quotes Clay Christensen's line that it's easier to do the right thing 100% of the time than 98% of the time. Second is the "culture bank." Actions that defend values at a cost are deposits, and greedy actions are withdrawals. His example is H-E-B in Texas, where during an ice storm that knocked out point-of-sale systems, a manager let customers take groceries home for free. Ries says that wasn't individual courage but training. He learned the "Todd Park rule" from Devoted Health's founder, who learned it from Howard Schultz: only make deposits, never make withdrawals. Accidental withdrawals will happen, but never intentional ones. People always tell him it's impossible. He connects this to Mary Parker Follett's idea of the "invisible leader," the shared purpose people follow when no manager is present.

1:12:41

Anthropic's origin and the mission guardian

Ries says OpenAI is a hard case to learn from, being full of mega-personalities like Elon Musk and Sam Altman. He played a bit part in Anthropic's story and gives the credit to Dario and Daniela Amodei and the team. When they left OpenAI, "two or three OpenAI crises ago," Dario was a first-time founder. The backers were effective altruism "true believers," no top venture fund wanted in, and ChatGPT and the generative AI boom hadn't yet happened. An investor suggested they talk to Ries, known as "an eccentric collector" of alternative governance ideas. He told them the same horror stories. They made the company a PBC from the start and wrote into their charter the right to enact further reforms, which they had to defend for about two years before implementing the Long-Term Benefit Trust at their Series C. Today, Ries explains, Anthropic's for-profit board includes directors appointed by and accountable to outside trustees who are AI safety experts without equity.

When Anthropic declines to release a model it considers too dangerous, Ries asks listeners to consider the cost, since having the top model everyone must pay for would be worth far more than publicity. On Anthropic's dispute with the Pentagon, he calls it primarily a story of government overreach and an impossible "Kobayashi Maru" situation. Even so, he says, Anthropic turned down a $200 million contract and bore the wrath of the world's largest military. He attributes part of that courage to a structure in which investors can't oust Dario at a moment's notice, and he considers it better than founder control, since Dario lacks the dual-class shares of Mark Zuckerberg or Larry Page and Sergey Brin.

The general concept is the "mission guardian," someone or something whose job is keeping the company mission-locked. For Anthropic it's the LTBT. OpenAI had its nonprofit before converting to a PBC structure. At Google and Facebook it's the founder. Ries recalls speaking at a Vatican conference on AI governance on a panel with Anthropic, OpenAI, Google, Cohere and Palantir, and realizing that none of them had standard governance. Letting shareholders run such valuable technology would mean "whoever can borrow the most money" controls it, which he calls "nuts."

1:18:24

Spiritual holding companies and the founder control trap

The first decision is whether the guardian is a person or an entity. Ries considers founder control an acceptable temporary bridge for early companies but says many founders with it end up miserable, visibly breaking down on social media, "like Atlas" unable to shrug. Encoding protection into a single structure, as Costco does, works, but each attack chips something away with no way to regrow it. According to the evidence as he reads it, it's better to have a renewable steward. Options include employee ownership trusts (the John Lewis Partnership), cooperatives (Mondragon in Spain, with around 80,000 employees), employee voting trusts (Alibaba, where employees elect board members), ESOPs, and the no-investor "evergreen" approach he associates with Tugboat. He considers the simplest to be a nonprofit foundation, as at Novo Nordisk (whose foundation he calls the world's largest charitable foundation), or a perpetual purpose trust, as used by Anthropic's LTBT and Patagonia. A purpose trust has no economic role, and it adds a "purpose protector" who can sue the trustees for deviating, creating checks and balances. His umbrella term for all these is the "spiritual holding company": like Berkshire Hathaway, but holding "the spirit, the animating essence of the whole." He says the evidence shows these structures are more durable, invest more in quality and R&D, and do better for shareholders.

For anyone who finds this a drag, he tells of attending a party for a friend ousted by investors, with about a thousand people present, including former employees. A young founder thought it sounded like the kind of company he wanted to build. Ries corrected him: "This is not a party. This is a wake." The company was fine and the new CEO was a friend. The problem was that a company that can be "decapitated at any time" can no longer be trusted, because an activist owning 0.5% could oust the new CEO too. Ries says we teach "a leadership philosophy that is anti-trustworthy" and then wonder why institutional trust is collapsing. That founder, he adds, had made billions for his investors, "but it wasn't enough."

Ries notes that people found Lean Startup even weirder at first. He writes rarely and only about things tested across hundreds of companies he has worked with, and says he has "nothing to sell you."

1:25:27

Three things to do this week

For early-stage founders, especially those who haven't raised or have only raised on SAFEs, Ries says this is a precious moment of complete freedom. First, file as a PBC and write a mission you'll feel good about. Test it by spending an hour with your co-founder "adversarial prompting": can you make money while violating it, and would you be sad if you did? If so, write that into it. Second, adopt a "director's oath" in the charter as a condition of board service. He notes the topic came up amid a dispute between Anthropic and Figma, and that companies now ask whether an AI person on their board is dangerous, to which he replies that not having one is more dangerous. He asks why nurses are held to a higher standard than directors. Third, assuming founders already have founders' preferred shares (he suggests asking an LLM why they could someday be worth "an extra billion dollars"), use them as the vehicle for mission-protective provisions such as extra votes or board control. He mentions he helped start a law firm, Virgil, that doesn't bill hourly, though it mainly does AI-assisted back-office work.

Then, anticipating the accusation of wanting to be "emperor for life," he proposes moving beyond the choice between investor-controlled and founder-controlled companies to "mission-controlled" ones. Early on, you don't need to create the nonprofit. You can write into the charter, as Anthropic did, that for example 10% of equity and 1% of future revenue are pledged to a future foundation with a board seat, then "fire and forget" and set it up later.

Who aligns the aligners?

When Lenny compares this to AI alignment, Ries says it's no coincidence. The simple version is "who aligns the aligners." He calls human alignment the number one unsolved problem in AI, with little progress compared to technical alignment. Citing Conway's law, he says the org chart shows up in the architecture diagram because values flow from makers to what they make. If you can't agree on the human values, "you're already cooked." The deeper point is that organizations are "the oldest form of artificial intelligence on the planet," emergent intelligences governed by the same principle he says underlies transformers. He describes the "piano movers puzzle" experiment. One ant can't move an I-beam-shaped object through two gaps, but a colony can, and it appears to reason: trying, pausing, reorienting. Researchers found that adding ants sped up the solution while adding humans made it worse, "unless the humans are very carefully aligned." Organizations develop emergent traits their founders don't want, and "no amount of founder mode" fixes what's in their DNA.

1:34:02

Mary Parker Follett and the invisible leader

Ries closes with Mary Parker Follett, a contemporary of Frederick Winslow Taylor, whose 1911 Principles of Scientific Management started a management craze. Follett wrote of "power with, not power over," of superior and subordinate jointly obeying "the law of the situation," and of leadership as the ability to create more leaders. Ries says her ideas read as if they were written in 2026. She was largely erased from 20th-century study, rediscovered in the 1990s, and called "the prophet of management" by Peter Drucker. Her concept of the invisible leader held that Mr. Rowntree was not the leader of the Rowntree chocolate factory. The common purpose he instilled was. Ries draws his final lesson from this: the most consequential decisions are made when no manager is present, in thousands of small product calls about corners, skeuomorphism, or whether a click should double-check before erasing someone's hard drive. Only the invisible leader is in the room. Without cultivating that common purpose, he says, a leader has no control over what happens, and "your promises are worthless." His parting homework is to read Mary Parker Follett.