The corrosive influence of meritocratic hubris
HARVARD University’s Prof Michael Sandel recently visited India. What sets him apart from others is his ability to rescue philosophy from mere conceptual abstraction and relate deep thoughts — say, the debates on ‘justice’ — to contemporary social, political and existential issues. He also inspires his students and even ‘non-academic’ citizens to think and re-examine the world they live in. The lectures he delivered and the interviews he gave in India aroused interest among the cultural and intellectual elite. However, the real challenge lies in enquiring whether his thoughts can help us do something meaningful about the social and political reality prevailing in contemporary India.
Think of the insights we can derive from his marvellous book The Tyranny of Merit. To begin with, let us accept the fact that in a country like ours, known for heightened caste and class inequalities, there is no fair race or competition in the game of ‘meritocracy’. Those who are already privileged — say, the students whose upper-caste or affluent parents can send them to elite or exclusivist ‘international’ schools or spend a huge amount of money for sending them to branded coaching centres or paying the exorbitant ‘capitation fee’ for admission in medical/engineering/management colleges — are likely to prove their ‘merit’ more comfortably than the children of Dalit wage earners or lower middle-class factory workers. But then, Sandel argues that even a ‘fair meritocracy’ (say, everybody starting from the same position without caste or class inequalities) is a bad idea because it is ‘corrosive of civic responsibilities’. The reason is that those who win the race and see themselves as ‘meritorious’ are likely to think that they are self-made and self-sufficient, and hence, it becomes exceedingly difficult for them to learn gratitude and humility. Without these sentiments, as Sandel reminds us, “it is hard to care for the common good”. In fact, this ‘dark side’ of meritocracy erodes the dignity of work and makes many people — delivery workers, grocery store clerks, warehouse workers, lorry drivers, farmers and artisans who have not been to universities — feel that the elites look down on them. In fact, humility as a civic virtue is a necessary “antidote to the meritocratic hubris that has driven us apart”. In a society characterised by the oppressive duality of ‘mental’ vs ‘manual’ labour, are we ready to accept what the professor is pleading for: the need for redistribution of esteem as well as money?
Another disturbing thing that characterises our society is the heavily polarised political culture. The secular, liberal, left and progressive intelligentsia continue to speak of democracy, equality and scientific reasoning. Yet, it seems almost impossible to resist the dramatic rise of Narendra Modi as the most populist and powerful Prime Minister, or, for that matter, the politics that sustains him — the politics based on hyper-nationalist emotions and passions for restoring the ‘lost’ Hindu symbols and identities. Quite often, the poor and the downtrodden get carried away by the rhetoric of this populist politics. Why does this happen? Well, while reflecting on the rise of Trumpism in the US, Sandel regarded this sort of populist politics as a ‘rebellion’ against ‘technocratic liberalism’, which he feels is more congenial to the professional classes than to the blue-collar and middle-class voters. The question is whether, in contemporary India too, ‘nationalist’ politics based on religious symbols is appealing to the poor and the downtrodden more than what the liberal or left politics offers — say, the need for scientific reasoning, or the primacy of ‘secular’ needs like jobs, shelter and education. Possibly, one important reason for the failure of progressive politics is the inability of its ideologues or intellectual proponents to understand the reasons for the anger and grievances of the masses. Likewise, they fail to acknowledge the tendency of the ‘meritorious’ cultural elites to degrade the ‘non-educated’ masses. The question is whether the progressive politico-intellectual elites in India are willing to go in for rigorous introspection and ask themselves whether they have ever made an effort to understand the emotions, anger and cultural longing of those who, for instance, have almost been hypnotised by the chant of ‘Jai Shri Ram’.
As Sandel reminds us, it is important on the part of the progressive class to learn from the populist protest, “not by emulating its xenophobia and strident nationalism, but by taking seriously the grievances with which these sentiments are entangled, and these sentiments are about social esteem — not only about wages and jobs”. After all, democracy is a public culture of deliberation and dialogue, and hence, to quote Sandel, “the ability to listen is a necessary condition for both liberals and conservatives”. However, the question is whether, in this terribly toxic and polarised political milieu, we are ready to learn this lesson of democratic deliberation.
And finally, in his book What Money Can’t Buy, he has reminded us of the danger of living in a ‘market society’ that allows the expansion of market values into spheres of life where they should not belong. For instance, when ‘spiritual’ lessons are sold as marketable commodities, it indicates the poor moral health of our society. As the champions of neoliberalism or proponents of market fundamentalism are becoming immensely powerful in contemporary India, is it possible for us to walk with Sandel and assert that “there are certain moral and civil goods that markets do not honour and money can’t buy”?
