Every day in organisations, someone makes a decision that matters. Most of these choices pass unnoticed. They change little, cost little, and if they fail, we repair the damage and move on. But every so often, a decision carries consequences that no single person can bear. It touches the whole vessel. It shapes trust, reputation, and survival. The weight of such a decision is communal, even if it is taken in private.

This is the space the Waterline Principle helps us see. Bill Gore introduced the image of a ship. A hole above the waterline is survivable. It may let water in, but the ship still floats. We patch it, we learn, and we keep sailing. A hole below the waterline is another matter. It risks sinking the vessel, taking with it the livelihoods, dreams, and commitments of everyone on board.

The principle is not a policy. It is not a hierarchy of approvals. It is a way of distinguishing between decisions that can be made independently and those that require collective deliberation. It is about freedom with care, risk with stewardship.

Too often, organisations stumble here. Leaders declare empowerment, but when people act boldly they are punished for mistakes. Teams are told to consult, but consultation is treated as permission-seeking. People hide risks because they fear being judged for naming them. The result is either recklessness or paralysis. In both cases, trust is eroded.

The genius of the waterline image is that it offers a third path. It creates space for initiative above the line and fosters partnership below it. It does not ask us to eliminate risk but to be honest about which risks are survivable alone and which must be carried together.

The deeper invitation is cultural. To practise the Waterline Principle is to decide what kind of community we want to be. Do we want one where people carry their burdens in silence, or one where it is safe to ask for counsel? Do we want to preserve the illusion of control, or to create the reality of shared accountability? Do we want decisions to be made in isolation, or to be held in common when the consequences demand it?

The waterline is not fixed. It shifts with markets, with contexts, with seasons of growth and decline. Which is why it cannot be enforced once and for all. It must be spoken of, revisited, discerned in community. Leaders cannot simply declare it. Their role is to host the conversation that keeps it alive.

The real challenge is not technical. It is relational. To live by the Waterline Principle is to ask whether we have the courage to act boldly above the line, and the humility to consult below it. It is to face whether we trust one another enough to carry together what no one can carry alone.

The three questions

Bill Gore offered three questions that lie at the heart of the Waterline Principle. They are not a checklist, nor are they a process. They are a way to bring clarity into decision making. They help us decide which choices we can carry alone and which ones belong to the collective.

1. What is the upside if events turn out well?

We often leap too quickly to worst-case scenarios. In many organisations, entire meetings are dedicated to avoiding risk while almost none are given to imagining possibility. This question interrupts that reflex. It invites hope back into the room. It gives us permission to speak of aspiration and reward, not only of loss. When leaders or teams neglect this question, they become protectors of the status quo. They patch holes but never set new sails.

How to use it: Start by naming the possible gains aloud. Go beyond financial metrics. Ask: What would this decision make possible for our relationships, our reputation, or our capacity to learn? If it succeeds, how would it strengthen the community around us? Even if you are deciding alone, imagine how you would explain the upside to others. If you cannot find a meaningful answer, perhaps the decision does not merit the risk.

2. What is the downside if events go badly?

Silence around downside is one of the most corrosive forces in organisational life. When risks are not spoken, they emerge later as surprises, often too late to contain. This question restores honesty. It reminds us that optimism without realism is recklessness. To name the possible losses is to respect the fact that every choice has consequences beyond the individual who makes it. It is an act of care for those who will be touched if things go wrong.

How to use it: Speak the risks plainly. Avoid the extremes of minimising or exaggerating. Ask: If this fails, who will be affected? What promises might we not keep? What resources could be wasted? This is not a fear exercise. It is about giving others the chance to prepare, to contribute, and to share the burden. If you are coaching yourself through this moment, ask whether you are willing to say the downside aloud in front of those who would bear it. If not, you are probably already below the line.

3. Can you live with the downside? Truly?

This is the decisive question. It cuts through bravado, ambition, and the urge to appear strong. It asks for humility. It shifts the focus from abstract risk analysis to lived consequence. The word “truly” matters. It is one thing to say you can tolerate the cost in theory. It is another to face whether you, your team, and your community can carry it without breaking trust or damaging what holds you together.

How to use it: Pause before answering. Ask yourself not only if you can live with the outcome, but whether others could. Is the cost survivable without eroding reputation, livelihood, or community? If the answer is yes, the decision may be carried alone. If the answer is no, then the decision belongs to the collective. In coaching conversations, this is often the moment where leaders rediscover that consultation is not weakness. To say “I cannot live with this downside by myself” is not failure. It is stewardship.

These three questions do not eliminate risk. They make it visible. They create a language for deciding when to act boldly on our own and when to invite others in. Alone, they sharpen judgment. Together, they turn decision making into a shared act of discernment.

When the principle is misused

Like all powerful ideas, the Waterline Principle can be distorted. Its misuse is rarely deliberate. It creeps in when fear, mistrust, or fatigue shape the culture. What begins as a way to balance freedom and stewardship becomes another instrument of control or avoidance.

Over-caution: In some organisations, everything is treated as below the line. People escalate decisions that could easily be carried alone. Meetings multiply. Initiative withers. The fear of blame is stronger than the desire to act.

This misuse grows in cultures where mistakes are punished, even when they are survivable. Above-the-line decisions are treated as dangerous experiments rather than opportunities for learning. The result is paralysis. People stop moving not because they lack ideas, but because they no longer believe it is safe to try.

Control disguised as consultation: In other places, leaders speak the language of stewardship but mean something else. They invite people to consult but use the moment to reassert their authority. “Below the line” becomes another way of saying “You need my permission.”

This misuse grows where leaders are unable to release control. Consultation loses its spirit of partnership and turns into a bottleneck. Trust erodes. People sense that what is being asked of them is compliance, not discernment.

Silence and isolation: A different misuse emerges when people suspect they are near the waterline but choose not to say so. They act alone, even when the risk could sink the ship. Often this silence comes not from arrogance, but from fear of appearing weak. To consult would be to admit uncertainty. In cultures that prize heroic leaders, silence feels safer than vulnerability.

The cost of this misuse is high. It is not only the failed decision that hurts. It is the unspoken truth that people felt they could not share the risk. The community learns to endure isolation rather than practise interdependence.

Neglect: Finally, there are organisations where the waterline is simply forgotten. Once it may have been named, but markets shift, strategies evolve, and risks change. The conversation is not kept alive. What once was safe now endangers the whole, yet decisions continue as if nothing has changed.

This misuse is not born of fear or mistrust, but of fatigue. Leaders are so occupied with today’s urgencies that they neglect the ongoing work of discernment. The result is drift. People act on outdated assumptions until the gap between perception and reality becomes too wide to bridge.

 

Each of these misuses tells us something about culture. Over-caution signals a fear of blame. Control reveals a hunger for certainty. Silence points to the absence of trust. Neglect reflects avoidance of honest dialogue. The Waterline Principle itself does not fail. What fails is our willingness to keep it alive in conversation.

Conclusion

The Waterline Principle is not about eliminating risk. It is about naming which risks can be carried alone and which must be carried together. It gives us language for the difference between survivable mistakes and those that threaten the whole. More than that, it reveals something about the culture we create.

An organisation’s health is visible in how it lives this principle. Where fear dominates, every decision is treated as below the line. Nothing moves. Where mistrust rules, consultation becomes control in disguise. Where silence prevails, people carry unbearable risks in isolation. And where neglect takes hold, the waterline is left unspoken until it is rediscovered in failure.

By contrast, communities that thrive make the waterline a shared practice. They cultivate the courage to act boldly above the line and the humility to consult below it. They revisit the conversation often, knowing the line shifts as risks and possibilities shift. They treat decision making not as a burden placed on the few, but as an act of stewardship held by the many.

The three questions that Bill Gore left us are deceptively simple. What is the upside? What is the downside? Can you live with the downside? They are questions for individuals, yes, but even more, they are questions for communities. They move us beyond authority and control into a culture of discernment and trust.

So the final questions rest with you and your community:

  • What decisions in your work clearly belong above the line?

  • Which ones carry a downside too heavy to bear alone?

  • How do you respond when someone invites you into their decision making? As a partner in stewardship, or as a gatekeeper of permission?

  • How will you keep the waterline alive as risks change and new possibilities emerge?

The waterline is not a boundary to enforce once and for all. It is a conversation worth revisiting. It is how freedom and stewardship live together. It is how leaders convene, and how communities survive.

To decide is always to declare what kind of culture you are shaping. One of control, silence, and fear. Or one of trust, dialogue, and shared accountability.

The Waterline Principle offers us that choice every day.

 

Do you have any tips or advice on effective decision making?

What has worked for you?

Do you have any recommended resources to explore?

Thanks for reading!

 

References

Emerald Group Publishing Limited (2015) ‘Gore builds great workplace without traditional hierarchies’, Human Resource Management International Digest, 23(7), pp. 9–11. doi:10.1108/HRMID-07-2015-0113.

Manz, C.C., Shipper, F. and Stewart, G.L. (2009) ‘Everyone a team leader: Shared influence at W. L. Gore & Associates’, Organizational Dynamics, 38(3), pp. 239–244. doi:10.1016/j.orgdyn.2009.04.008.

Sage Publications (no date) W. L. Gore & Associates, Inc.: Natural leadership. In: Understanding leadership. London: Sage. Available at: https://sk.sagepub.com/book/mono/understanding-leadership/chpt/wl-gore-associates-inc-natural-leadership (Accessed: 22 September 2025).