Modernisation is defined by a period that sees the rationalisation of every social process. Breaking from traditionalism, modernisation, following the Industrial Revolution, presented a sociological epoch that caused enlightenment and a desire among people to find reason for every social process rather than simply accepting religion or traditions as the sole justifications. That is why, among many other reasons, democracy finally triumphed, until recent regression, over divine rights of kings and such.
However, this overdependence on reason also creates a problem. It can be called, however oxymoronic it may sound, a traditionalistic problem of rationality. As many seemingly rationalistic systems have been entrenched into social processes, and because social processes—or the way society is organised, rather—are deeply embedded in systems that precede the existing society of the day, people, in parts at least, come to take some systems as immutable in almost a traditionalist way. “It is thus because it has always been thus.”
For example, the system of “meritocracy” is sometimes seen as just as it purportedly provides everyone a shot at the “good life.” That is the American Dream. But how much does the American state, or most states in the world, do to ensure that everyone has an “equal” shot? There are clear advantages and disadvantages to the game, and the playing field is hardly level. The task of the state, if any, then, is to create a field that is dynamic and creates a system that gives everyone some sort of equality of opportunity if it cannot realistically promise an equality of outcome.
However, rather than fighting for a more just system, a lot of modern citizens seem to believe the unequal outcomes we observe are just. They do so because the aforementioned meritocracy seems enough for them. Some people are naturally better and deserving, they may believe. They disregard social and economic inequalities and hardships that make some people worse off, and advantages that make other people better. For example, educational attainment strongly depends on the quality of education, and there is ample research that shows how unequal qualities of education are in richer communities versus the poorer communities.
Meritocracy, therefore, is a bourgeois value because its greatest purpose is to keep capitalism intact. It does so because the people who benefit or want to benefit (and thus believe it is possible to benefit) from the existing capitalistic system find comfort in it. Then there are some old-age traditionalist beliefs deeply steeped in racism, casteism, sexism and ableism that some people are simply not deserving of better things in life and some people are naturally deserving of getting ahead. This rationalisation is necessary for capitalism to function. Because if not, the whole system of profit maximisation would crumble and people would start imagining alternative futures. Because, truly, inequality is not necessary for growth, or welfare, or production or anything else. Inequality is only necessary for more inequality, and it only benefits capitalism.
I have recently expressed this more elaborate (if also tedious) argument in the form of a short assertion that what people may think is merit may be the function of their privilege. I believe that might be true for many people. But it is not meant to belittle or ridicule some people because capitalism’s nature is to distort reality to make people believe that the unjust system they live in is, in reality, as just as it can get. Tactful capitalists (not the utopian Rothbardian ones) argue that capitalism is not flawless, but it is the best possible thing. But what of my mind, with its vast and endless capacity, if not to use it for imagining not only improbable but also (seemingly) impossible futures?
Here, however, we may dwell longer on this paradox. Meritocracy is rationalised inequality, dressed up as fairness. It is the ideological armour of capitalism. Capitalism requires inequality, not as an accident, but as a structuring principle. It is not merely that some people “happen” to be poor, while others “happen” to be rich; the system itself generates this differentiation and then cloaks it in the language of merit. The poor are told they failed because they lacked merit, not because they were denied resources, networks, or opportunities from the very beginning. Just like the Hindu varnashrama cloaked its ridiculous caste system with the cloak of divine ordering based on one’s deeds in a previous lifetime.
The myth of meritocracy, then, functions like religion once did. Where once divine will was invoked to explain why a king ruled and a peasant served, today merit is invoked to explain why a CEO commands millions while a factory worker cannot pay rent. Both narratives—divine ordination then, merit now—are stories that prevent rebellion. Both function to naturalise inequality. The modern subject is less likely to revolt if they believe their condition is their fault, or, worse, the result of their “natural” incapacity.
This is why inequality today is harder to challenge politically than in many pre-modern eras. A serf under feudalism at least knew he was oppressed. The ideology did not tell him he was free in the same sense. He was bound, and he knew it. The modern worker, however, is told she is free, told she has choice, told she lives in a world of opportunity. When she fails to “rise,” she is encouraged to look inward, to improve herself, to hustle harder. The structure recedes into invisibility, as the ideology of merit directs the gaze inward, toward self-blame.
The political economy of meritocracy, therefore, lies in this peculiar capacity to legitimise inequality while pretending to abolish it. The school, the exam, the interview—these are not neutral sites of evaluation, but rituals of legitimation. They produce the winners and losers, but crucially, they make the winners and losers appear deserved. Meritocracy does not simply sort people, it makes the sorting appear natural, rational, just.
Philosophically, this points us to a deeper irony. Rationalisation, as Max Weber foresaw, can itself become banal. What begins as a project of breaking free from tradition ends in the construction of new, iron traditions of rationality. We have traded superstition for the superstition of objectivity. We have replaced priests with professors, astrologers with economists, kings with CEOs. Each claims to hold the key to truth. Each system legitimises inequality in the name of reason.
And yet, we must ask: what is this “merit” that we prize so much? Intelligence? Effort? Creativity? These are all shaped profoundly by social context. A child born into wealth can afford tutors, travel, cultural capital, and confidence. A child born into poverty often must survive before she can dream. If both sit an exam, the outcome does not measure merit; it measures privilege disguised as ability. If both apply for jobs, the one with connections, polished speech, a wardrobe of suits, and an internship at a family friend’s firm is labelled “more capable.” But is it merit, or inherited advantage camouflaged as merit? Sure there will always be some anomalies and some people will succeed despite all of their challenges and the ideology will promote these cases to justify itself. But we must look at the bonsai forest, not the one tree that, somehow, grew taller.
The answer matters because political economies are sustained by myths. The myth of progress sustains liberal democracy. The myth of divine order sustained monarchies. And the myth of merit sustains capitalism. Without it, the system would collapse under the weight of its own injustice. Imagine if people truly believed that inequality was arbitrary, or worse, rigged. They would revolt. The legitimacy of capitalism depends not on its fairness but on its ability to appear fair.
This is why the defenders of capitalism concede its flaws but insist there is no alternative. “Capitalism is imperfect,” they say, “but it is the least bad option.” This is a rhetorical trap, one that forecloses imagination. But as long as we accept meritocracy as common sense, the system wins. Imagination itself becomes stifled, radical futures rendered naïve.
And yet, history shows us that imagination is precisely what breaks systems. Slavery was once defended as natural. Patriarchy still is. Caste, racial hierarchy, colonialism—all were rationalised as immutable. And yet, resistance tore at their fabric, often first by imagining that the world could be otherwise. To insist that meritocracy is not merit but privilege is to open a crack in the wall. To insist that inequality is not necessary for growth is to expose the emperor’s nakedness.
Thus, we must be wary of meritocracy not merely as an economic mechanism, but as a cultural and moral force. It disciplines individuals into striving endlessly, blaming themselves, fearing failure. It corrodes solidarity, because if I believe I earned my position, I am less likely to share it. It breeds cruelty masked as fairness. The poor are told they had the same chances, and so their suffering is justified. The rich are told their wealth is deserved, and so their hoarding is virtuous.
But the truth, uncomfortable though it may be, is that inequality is not a law of nature. It is a human design. And what is designed can be redesigned. The question, then, is whether we dare imagine the redesign. Whether we dare believe that impossible futures—futures without inequality rationalised as merit—can be not only imagined but realised.
Until then, meritocracy will continue to be the rationalisation of inequality. It will continue to be the bourgeois dream that sustains capitalism, and capitalism will continue to whisper to us that this is the best we can do. But our minds are vast, our capacities endless. We can imagine otherwise.
Anupam Debashis Roy is a doctoral candidate in sociology at the University of Oxford and the Editor-in-Chief of Muktipotro.
