A professor of Tao.
with a view to get rid of such superiority. He put aside all that gave him pleasure and avoided gaining reputation. And in three years his praise was in everybody's mouth.
Tzŭ Chi of Nan-poh
See ch. iv.
was sitting leaning on a table. He looked up to heaven and sighed, at which juncture Yen Ch'êng Tzŭ entered and said, "How, Sir, can such an important person as yourself be in body like dry wood, in mind like dead ashes?"
Instead of exerting yourself for the benefit of mankind. The speaker, says one commentator, was "a disciple."
"I used to live in a cave on the hills," replied Tzŭ Chi. "At that time, T'ien Ho,
The famous founder of the later House of Ch'i.
because he once saw me, was thrice congratulated by the people of Ch'i. Now I must have given some indication by which he recognised me.
As a Sage.
I must have sold for him to buy. For had I not manifested myself, how would he have recognised me? Had I not sold, how could he have bought?
"Alas! I grieve over man's self-destruction.
As reputation comes, reality goes.
And then I grieve over one who…
Chuang Tzu tells a story that cuts both ways: a man becomes famous for his virtue precisely because he stopped chasing it. The irony stings. His very effort to hide himself, to avoid reputation, somehow broadcast him. He sold something without meaning to. The story asks: when do our attempts at self-improvement or service become another form of merchandise, another transaction disguised as surrender?
(123) ... that they rise up and become the wakeful guardians of the quick and dead. R. P. 46 d.
Heraclitus stands guard here—watchful, unsleeping, alert to contradiction. Where Chuang Tzu smiles at the paradox of hidden virtue becoming visible, Heraclitus insists we stay awake to what moves beneath such reversals. The guardian does not rest in pleasant irony but remains tense between opposites, watching what the living and dead actually require.
All the world says that, while my Tao is great, it yet appears to be inferior (to other systems of teaching). Now it is just its greatness that makes it seem to be inferior. If it were like any other (system), for long would its smallness have been known! But I have three precious things which I prize and hold fast. The first is gentleness; the second is economy; and the third is shrinking from taking precedence of others. With that gentleness I can be bold; with that economy I can be liberal; shrinking from…
Chapter 67 names the three precious things—gentleness, economy, shrinking from precedence—and shows how softness becomes strength. This directly mirrors Chuang Tzu's reversal: greatness appears as inferiority; apparent weakness holds real power.
All three voices reject the ego's marketplace. Chuang Tzu exposes how reputation sneaks in through the back door of virtue. Tao Te Ching teaches the three treasures as a deliberate practice of apparent smallness that paradoxically succeeds. Heraclitus refuses to let us rest in that paradox—he demands we stay wakeful, knowing that opposition and hidden order govern everything, including our own blind spots. They agree: stop selling. They differ: Chuang Tzu laughs; the Tao teaches method; Heraclitus keeps us from sleeping through either.
In one small moment today, can I act without needing anyone to notice or name it as good?