A meditation on leadership, woven from the threads of ancient wisdom
There is an old story, told differently across the mountains and rivers of a thousand kingdoms, yet always arriving at the same still water:
A young prince once asked his teacher, “How shall I know a good ruler when I see one?”
The sage smiled and said nothing. Instead, he took the prince to three places.
I. The River That Does Not Strive
First, they stood beside a great river.
“Watch,” said the teacher. “The river does not command the water to flow. It does not force the fish to swim. It simply becomes low—lower than all things—and so all things come to it.”
This is what Laozi knew when he wrote in the Tao Te Ching:
The highest good is like water. Water benefits all things and does not compete. It dwells in the lowly places that others disdain. This is why it is so near to the Tao.
And again:
When the Master governs, the people are hardly aware that he exists. When his work is done, the people say, “Amazing: we did it, all by ourselves!”
The good leader, said the sage, is like this river. Not a dam that hoards, not a flood that destroys, but a presence so natural that the people flourish and believe they flourished by their own hands.
II. The Tree That Shelters Without Asking
Next, they came to a great banyan tree, its roots descending from branches like a hundred patient arms reaching toward the earth.
“This tree,” said the teacher, “does not ask the birds to sing in its branches. It does not demand that travelers rest in its shade. It simply grows deep and wide, and all beings find refuge within it.”
This is the meaning of ren—benevolence—that Kongzi (Confucius) placed at the heart of the noble person:
The junzi seeks to perfect the admirable qualities of others and does not seek to perfect their bad qualities. The petty person does the opposite.
And in the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna speaks to Arjuna of the one who leads through dharma:
Whatever action a great one performs, common people follow. Whatever standards he sets by exemplary acts, all the world pursues.
The good leader does not rule by proclamation alone. Like the tree, they become the shelter they wish others to find. Their virtue is not a speech but a shade that falls upon all who draw near.
III. The Mirror That Holds No Image
Finally, they came to a still pond.
“Look into this water,” said the teacher. “It shows you your face, yet it keeps nothing for itself. It does not say, ‘I am beautiful because I hold your reflection.’ It simply receives, reflects, and releases.”
Rumi sang of this emptiness that true leaders must carry:
Be empty of worrying. Think of who created thought! Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?
And the Mahabharata tells us:
The king who is without anger, who treats friends and foes alike, who is ever-compassionate—his kingdom flourishes like a garden in spring.
The good leader holds no image of themselves. They have no face to protect, no reputation to hoard. Like the mirror-pond, they become still enough that others see clearly—and in that clarity, find their own way.
The Answer
The prince sat in silence for a long time.
At last he said, “Then a good leader is one who desires to lead?”
“No,” said the teacher. “A good leader is one who has ceased desiring, yet has not ceased to serve.”
Saadi of Shiraz, in his Gulistan, wrote:
A ruler who oppresses his people is like a man who saws off the branch on which he sits.
And inversely, the ruler who nourishes becomes the root itself—unseen, unglorified, yet essential.
The Synthesis
Across these traditions, we hear the same quiet music:
| Tradition | The Good Leader Is… |
|---|---|
| Taoism | Like water—yielding, nourishing, seeking the low place |
| Confucianism | A moral exemplar whose virtue transforms without compulsion |
| Hinduism | A servant of dharma who acts without attachment to fruit |
| Buddhism | A bodhisattva who delays their own peace for others |
| Sufism | An empty flute through which the Divine breath plays |
The good leader, then, is not the one who stands highest, but the one who has learned to disappear—so that others may rise.
And perhaps this is why, in the old stories, the greatest kings are often found disguised as gardeners, as wanderers, as beggars at the gate—
Not because they have fallen, but because they have arrived.
Bhyllabus l'énigme 
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