Rising Together to the Ranks of Lords: Innate Equality and the Pre-Qin Vision of Self-Cultivation, Compared with Western Freedom and Equality
Starting from a brief episode in the Analects, in which the noble Wenzi of Wei promotes his own household steward, Zhuan, to stand alongside him among the lords, this essay reads that small event against the great declarations of freedom and equality since the Renaissance: the West places its ideal at the starting line, while the pre-Qin thinkers built the ideal into lived reality.
IX. Why the Pre-Qin Answer Is an Answer: The Discipline of Practice Against the Theory of Declaration
9.1 The Form of the Answer: Not a Proposition but a Discipline of Practice, Not a Right but a Responsibility
Thought in the mode of declaration excels at drawing a clear line on the page: here is human dignity, there are inviolable rights; here is liberty, there is arbitrary power. It gives the wronged the courage to say "no." Pre-Qin thought begins from a different question: what must you do in your own position$7 It does not rush to place a person within some already-completed state of attainment — it asks how a person, within relationships and affairs, can make himself into someone who can be entrusted with responsibility.
The Analects, in "Wei Ling Gong," says: "The noble person seeks it in himself; the small person seeks it in others." This is not a call to remain silent before external injustice — it reminds a person to examine his own labor before demanding anything of others. It is perfectly legitimate for a member to demand respect from a leader; but whether he has completed the preparation required of him, and whether he bears his share of responsibility when an error occurs, matter just as much. A leader who demands loyalty from a team must first ask whether he himself employs them with ritual propriety, and whether he supplies information and resources in sufficient measure. Seeking it in oneself does not abolish rights — it keeps a right from being merely a hand held outward, and turns it instead into a capacity capable of sustaining shared life.
What the pre-Qin thinkers called "the labor of practice" is likewise not solitary self-tempering. Learning needs teachers and friends; affairs need institutions; a name needs public judgment. As a person cultivates himself, he is at the same time tested in his dealings with others. An organization that proclaims equality yet never lets newcomers touch real tasks will have its declaration exposed by its own daily conduct. That the labor of practice comes closer to being an answer than a mere proposition lies precisely in its having to withstand verification in concrete action.
Replacing "rights" with "responsibility" is likewise not a retreat into the old world where people were simply at the mercy of others. Rights are an indispensable baseline; responsibility answers the question of how things are to be accomplished together within that baseline. Without the right to be free from arbitrary harm and to receive fair process, a person cannot learn and take on responsibility with any peace of mind; without the responsibility to keep faith, to serve, to remonstrate, and to yield precedence to the worthy, rights can only be consumed in mutual accusation. What the pre-Qin thinkers offer is not a list containing only obligations, but an order: first keep a person from being treated with contempt, then equip him with ability; first grant a person the dignity of entering a relationship, then require that he do well within it.
The Analects, in "Li Ren," says: "Seeing a worthy person, think of equaling him; seeing an unworthy one, turn inward and examine yourself." Seeing a worthy person, one is not to rush to pull him down, but to think how to catch up to him; seeing an unworthy person, one is not merely to lay the fault on him, but to look back and examine whether one carries the same hidden flaw. Such an attitude turns rivalry into learning and criticism into correction, making every member of a group both the one who judges and the one who is judged.
9.2 "The Practice of Benevolence Depends on Oneself": A Person in Any Position Has Something to Do Right Now
When Yan Yuan asked about benevolence, the Master answered: "To master oneself and return to ritual propriety is benevolence. If for a single day one can master oneself and return to ritual propriety, the whole world will return to benevolence. The practice of benevolence depends on oneself — how could it depend on others$8" (Analects, "Yan Yuan") This passage is often misread as demanding that a person suppress himself; in fact it hands the initiative for benevolence back to the one who acts: can you restrain a momentary desire, can you treat the person before you according to fitting ritual propriety — you need not wait for others to become good first, nor wait for institutions to arrange everything properly beforehand. Benevolence is not a permission granted from afar — it is a matter set in motion, right now, by oneself.
For a person in a high position, this means that every act of assigning a task, evaluating performance, or handling dissent decides whether another person is treated as a human being or as a tool. A leader may claim credit for himself, or he may publicly name the member who actually completed the work; he may push risk onto subordinates through vague commands, or he may state goals, authority, and boundaries clearly. Ritual propriety does not demand that a leader relinquish the power of decision — it demands that, in exercising that power, he acknowledge the other person's standing as a subject. If a superior can do this, the very air of the organization changes.
For a person in a low position, "the practice of benevolence depends on oneself" means not resting one's dignity on the chance goodwill of others. Even without applause for the moment, one can still make one's materials accurate, keep one's promises, and report honestly when a risk is discovered; even when a superior misjudges, one can first remonstrate in a fitting manner, and, if necessary, keep open the option of withdrawal. A low position is no excuse to stop growing, and having suffered injustice does not automatically prove that all fault lies with others. It is by starting with one small thing one can do right now that a person gradually earns the credibility to change his circumstances.
The Master also said: "If I desire benevolence, then benevolence is already here." (Analects, "Shu Er") This does not mean that the moment a wish stirs, the world instantly becomes benevolent — it means that the first step of benevolence need not wait for outside permission. Once a person is willing to learn how to listen, how to share the load, and how to yield precedence to the worthy, the labor of practice has already begun. Being willing is not the same as having accomplished it, just as "every person can become a Yao or a Shun" (Mencius, "Gaozi II") does not mean that everyone already is a Yao or a Shun; but if even willingness has to wait for perfect conditions, no ascent and no repair will ever occur. The pre-Qin thinkers placed the entrance to the ideal within everyone's reach, while requiring that this willingness be proven through sustained action.
Such an arrangement also avoids pinning all hope on a single sage-like leader. No leader can complete self-cultivation on behalf of the whole membership, and no institution can keep faith on everyone's behalf when no one is watching. It is only when every person does his small part to make relationships better — many small acts of self-restraint and mutual completion — that a reliable order takes shape.
9.3 Supporting Mechanisms: Schools, the Recommendation of the Worthy, Posthumous Naming, and Ritual
A discipline of practice built only on exhortation can still collapse into empty talk; what makes the pre-Qin thinkers valuable is that they envisioned, at the same time, the places where such practice could occur and the mechanisms through which it could be seen. Master Meng says: "Attend carefully to instruction in the schools, and extend it with the meaning of filial piety and brotherly respect." (Mencius, "King Hui of Liang I") The schools were places where people were taught — and what was taught was not only texts, but also how to support one another. Education gave those in low positions the language and skill to rise, and taught those in high positions not to treat their position as a self-sufficient credential.
Education also had to be linked to actual affairs. What the Master meant by "from the one who brought so much as a bundle of dried meat upward, I have never withheld instruction" (Analects, "Shu Er") lowered the threshold of entry to whatever sincerity could reach; what Master Xun meant by "the noble person studies broadly and examines himself daily" (Xunzi, "Exhortation to Learning") required that learning turn into daily reflection and work. If only a certificate is issued without letting a person practice judgment and responsibility, the task of the schools remains unfinished. Education should carry a person from "I have the right to demand" to "I am able to do the work well," and from there, to being able to help others.
The recommendation of the worthy is a second mechanism. It links individual labor to public position, so that growth does not stop short at private self-satisfaction. What Zhonggong heard — "put the various officers first, forgive small faults, and raise up the worthy and able" (Analects, "Zi Lu") — contains a clear order: first make responsibilities clear, then give room for those who make small mistakes to correct themselves, and only then promote the worthy and able to a place where their ability can take effect. If a single error immediately negates a person, the organization loses the patience needed to cultivate people; if leniency is granted without ever asking about actual effect, generosity turns into indulgence. Recommending the worthy requires standards, observation, and an arrangement of real consequences.
Posthumous naming, in turn, lets public judgment reach beyond the interests of the moment. The Yi Zhou Shu, in its "Explanation of Posthumous Titles," with phrases such as "to weave together Heaven and Earth is called wen" and "to be diligent in learning and fond of inquiry is called wen," shows that a person's reputation can be tested by the community on a long timescale. Today's organizations need not adopt ancient posthumous titles, yet they can establish public recognition, project retrospectives, and traceable records of contribution, making explicit what kind of conduct is being rewarded: whether one cultivates newcomers, whether one takes responsibility in a crisis, whether one shares credit with those who actually did the work, and whether one honestly corrects course after making a mistake. If only short-term numbers are rewarded, members will learn to fight over credit; only when bringing-to-completion and keeping faith are honored together does the labor of practice gain a direction.
The pre-Qin answer, then, is not a single line of "please, everyone, be a noble person" — it is a set of interlocking arrangements: schools that teach people; the recommendation of the worthy, which brings talent into public affairs; honor, which preserves respectable conduct for later generations; and ritual propriety, which keeps daily mutual treatment from depending entirely on mood. These mechanisms do not guarantee that everyone instantly becomes a sage, but they keep this road from depending on mere chance. They break the ideal into segments that can be practiced, observed, and corrected again and again.
9.4 A Lesson the Daoists Give to Those in High Position: "Accomplishing the Task, Yet Not Dwelling on It," and "Taking the Hearts of the Common People as One's Own Heart"
Where the Confucian discipline of practice emphasizes fulfilling one's duty within relationships, the Daoists constantly remind those in high places not to be dazzled by their own height. The Laozi says: "Acting, yet not relying on it; accomplishing the task, yet not dwelling on it." It also says: "It is precisely because one does not dwell on it that it never departs." (Laozi, Chapter 2) When a task is accomplished without the credit being claimed as private property, the accomplishment can actually last. If, when a project succeeds, the person in charge highlights only his own brilliance, the members will learn to hide information and compete for visibility; if he can instead make clear each person's contribution and hand new opportunities to whoever is most suited, then success truly turns into a capacity belonging to the organization.
Chapter 49 of the Laozi says: "The sage has no fixed heart of his own; he takes the hearts of the hundred clans as his own heart." A superior cannot manage purely according to his own preferences — he must take the circumstances and needs of the common people as the material for his judgment. The "no fixed heart" here does not mean having no principle, but not clinging to one's own private inclination; "taking the hearts of the people as one's own heart" does not mean pandering to every immediate wish, but being willing to let real life correct one's own imagination. If whoever makes the rules never listens to the experience of those who carry them out, the more refined the rules, the wider the harm they may cause; being willing to carry the voices from below back into decision-making is the true use of a high position.
The Daoists also say: "The highest good is like water. Water benefits the ten thousand things well, without contending; it dwells in places that people despise, and so it comes close to the Way." (Laozi, Chapter 8) Water nourishes all things, yet does not claim the role of nourisher; it flows toward low places, without feeling diminished for doing so. If a superior draws resources, opportunity, and honor all toward himself, the organization will run dry; if he is willing to flow toward wherever the need is greatest, letting others grow, his own position becomes all the more secure. The value of a high place must, in the end, be proven by whether it can let the low places be nourished.
Here Confucianism and Daoism meet: the Confucians demand that "the ruler employ the minister with ritual propriety" (Analects, "Ba Yi"); the Daoists remind us to "accomplish the task, yet not dwell on it." The Confucians demand that one cultivate oneself so as to give the people peace; the Daoists demand that one take the hearts of the people as one's own heart. Neither encourages a superior to possess everything in the name of some grand ideal. A leader must have the capacity to decide, yet must not turn that decisiveness into self-worship; he must command authority, yet must not block the flow of real information. A high position can then become a place where talent and trust are distributed outward.
9.5 The Ideal Is Not a Modest One: "To Cultivate Oneself So as to Give the People Peace — Even a Yao or a Shun Would Find This Difficult"
To describe the pre-Qin thinkers as merely content to settle for the status quo is the greatest misreading of them. The Master proposed, explicitly, an extraordinarily high demand: "To cultivate oneself so as to give the hundred clans peace — even a Yao or a Shun would find this difficult!" (Analects, "Xian Wen") Cultivating oneself so that the common people find peace is something even Yao and Shun would fear they could not accomplish. The word rendered here as "find difficult" does not mean illness — it means a deep anxiety, a fear of falling short. The height of this ideal all but binds personal self-cultivation together with the peace of the entire world; it is far from some cautious goal of merely maintaining order within a small organization.
The Master also said: "What would you say of one who bestowed benefits widely on the people and was able to bring relief to the multitude — could this be called benevolence$9" (Analects, "Yong Ye") To bestow benefit widely on the people and be able to relieve the multitude is, without question, the greatest of virtues. Zigong thought this must lie beyond the scope of mere benevolence, yet the Master regarded it as the very work of a sage. The Confucians are not content with merely "I do no harm to others" — they hope that a person can gain the capacity to bring more people to a settled, secure life. Master Meng's saying, "every person can become a Yao or a Shun" (Mencius, "Gaozi II"), opens this lofty goal to every single person; Master Xun's saying, "the person on the road can become a Yu" (Xunzi, "Human Nature Is Bad"), supplies that lofty goal with the road of repeated learning and institutional training.
That so lofty an ideal did not turn into disaster is precisely because the pre-Qin thinkers kept adding a ladder beneath it. The Master said: "Learning what is below, one reaches up to what is above." (Analects, "Xian Wen") One begins with what can be learned — ritual, speech, affairs, and daily life — and only from there reaches up toward higher principles; the Great Learning says: "From the Son of Heaven down to the common people, all alike take self-cultivation as the root." Whatever position one occupies, one begins from this same layer of self-cultivation, and cannot skip over oneself to govern the world directly. The ladder breaks "giving the people peace" into first rectifying the heart, making one's intentions sincere, and cultivating oneself, and only then handling the relationships of family and state; every rung is neither identical to the final goal, nor does it fail to prepare the conditions for the next step.
This ladder also allows for the acknowledgment of failure. That a person today can only do one piece of work well does not mean he will never be fit to bear greater responsibility; that an organization can, for now, only improve the circumstances of some of its members does not require it to pretend that a great harmony has already been realized throughout the world. What matters is whether one can look back from the result to the labor behind it, and identify what virtue, understanding, and strength still need to be made up in the next step. The ideal is not a stone used to shame reality — it is a ruler that measures reality and points toward the direction of training.
The pre-Qin thinkers are therefore neither cynical nor fanatical. They do not treat difference of position as darkness, nor do they treat the difficulty of reality as an excuse; equally, they do not treat the existing order as a final destination, nor do they lower their demands on people merely because the road is long. A person can learn in the position of a steward while hoping to rise together with his master; a person can hold power as a ruler and still be required to give the people peace; a person can bear trivial tasks in a low place while orienting himself toward the height of the sage. The ideal lies on the horizon, yet the feet stand on the ground; what is called an "answer" is precisely what joins these two places together, one rung of labor at a time.