Does Meritocracy Deliver on Its Promise?
Does Anyone Truly Earn Their Place?
I’ve been off the grid these past couple of months, courtesy of a stubborn back injury. But now that I’ve shaken off the worst of it, I’ve got a fresh line-up of articles ready to go. Inspired by recent events and Johann Kurtz’s ongoing meritocracy series, the first in this set plunges into the messy realm of modern meritocracy.
We’ll discover how a mocking concept grew into an exalted creed. We’ll examine the mania for tick-box metrics and the cult of “experts.” We’ll reveal how—contrary to its promises—meritocracy undermines schooling, weakens local bonds, and chokes genuine upward mobility. And, more than anything, we’ll show how meritocracy’s promise may be its greatest myth.
1. The Murky Origins of a Seemingly Obvious Good:
Meritocracy: Few words promise so much while concealing so many tensions. We hear it celebrated as the final triumph of fairness. We watch it wielded in immigration debates, corporate recruitment strategies, and Ivy League admissions. We assume it guarantees that “the best shall rise.” But reality proves more complicated—and far more unsettling.
Writers at the Neo-Ciceronian Times have expertly dismantled the myth that modern meritocracy was ever a tidy story of opportunity. Recently Johann Kurtz, in his “Becoming Noble” substack, exposed how obsessions with narrow metrics choke out deeper virtues. Andy Merrifield, in his book: The Amateur: The Pleasures of Doing What You Love, championed the uncredentialled practitioner over the rigid “expert.” They all converge on one truth: the system we call “meritocratic” might be suffocating our souls.
“Our era of technicians makes abundant use of the nominalised adjective “professional”: it seems to believe that therein lies some kind of guarantee.”
—Guy Debord
Believe it or not “meritocracy” is a pretty recent invention. It never appeared in medieval charters or ancient treatises on virtue. And so, like a detective stumbling on a fresh crime scene, we immediately spot something amiss.
Chronologically speaking, Alan Fox coined the term in 1956’s Socialist Commentary. Two years later, British sociologist Michael Young popularised it in The Rise of the Meritocracy—a satire meant to mock “cleverness plus effort” as an all-sufficient path to power.
Yet, within decades, that mockery became our reality. Politicians embraced “meritocracy” like it was the holiest principle of justice. Policy wonks championed test scores, formal credentials, and competition as the final nail in aristocracy’s coffin. And with Trump’s recent ascent into power, the notion of “colour-blind meritocracy” is edging back into fashion.
Johann Kurtz, in his article: meritocracy is not a good thing, reveals the contradictions. He notes that merit, in practice, shrinks to a handful of metrics—standardised tests, advanced degrees, bureaucratic titles. It looks slick on paper, but something dies in the process. Old notions of virtue, honour, and intergenerational duty fade away. Kurtz goes onto explain that aristocracies, for all their faults, upheld certain obligations to land and local tradition. Our new “merit elites” owe only a résumé, drifting through the global market without attaching to any single region.
Andy Merrifield insists that societies thrive when amateurs—driven by curiosity and affection—bring in fresh ideas. But the “professional expert” mentality engendered by meritocracy kills that spark. Taking this perspective, only the certified few get taken seriously. Hence real innovation, real wonder, and real local knowledge can wither.
We must ask: if meritocracy is truly so sound, why do critics like Young, Kurtz, and Merrifield flag such threats?
2. The Cult of Credentialed Authority:
One of meritocracy’s biggest flaws must be the cult of “experts” it spawns. They occupy every TV panel on nutrition, economics, climate change, and foreign policy. Governments pack their bureaucracies with them. We’re told to trust them because they’ve buried themselves in some tiny domain. But critics warn that specialised knowledge alone doesn’t guarantee wisdom or moral sense.
Many experts are “informational mercenaries.” On hot-button issues—immigration, the environment, public health—the ruling class will recruit these specialists with data that conveniently supports a pre-decided stance. Chasing pensions and promotions, these “experts” shift with the political weather. In light of recent events, public faith in them has plummeted. As one writer puts it, “a niche speciality can blind you to the cultural context and bigger-picture dynamics that drive real issues.”
National spelling bees illustrate the point. Kids who memorise thousands of obscure words aren’t necessarily in love with language; they’re often robotic “grinders.” Going even further, a housing-policy wonk can recite codes all day yet remain blind to the moral, ethical or social nuances involved in reshaping local communities.
The sprawling “meritocratic” machine that envelops the West assumes the top “expert” should always govern or advise. But major decisions often hinge on intangible values or complex, second-order effects. A rising wave of distrust—some label it neo-reactionary—calls to scale back these disingenuous “meritorious experts.” These voices want a more grounded leadership, tied to local ties and moral sense. Whatever one’s viewpoint, it all signals a deep scepticism about modern expertise.
3. Standardised Tasks, Standardised People:
Follow meritocracy’s logic far enough, and you end up in a technocracy. The state favours those who shine at standardised tasks or advanced credentials. Over time, these people, shaped by identical exams and career ladders, share a uniform, decidedly conformist, weltanschauung.
It’s also true they descend into a self-replicating clique of insular busybodies. These people rely on the same aggregator sites, recite the same think-tank briefs, and uphold the same orthodoxies. They form a de-facto aristocracy, minus the local or inherited duties that once anchored the older elites.
“Horus is the best of us. In Horus all things are found in balance. And yet every facet is raised to excellence. Sanguineous is similar. His virtues eclipse the rest of us. For which of us could match his grace, his compassion, or his understanding of the human condition. And yet our brother is unbalanced, profoundly so. He represents the very best and the very worst of what it is to be one of us. He is the noblest of us. But also the most fearful. A glorious creature, enslaved by insecurities.”
— Aaron Dembski-Bowden | Betrayer
Christopher Lasch, in The Revolt of the Elites, observed that these modern managers “lack the virtuous characteristics of aristocratic classes, which rests on the inheritance of an ancient lineage and on the obligation to defend its honour.” Likewise, they boast of being “self-made,” often ignoring how parental support or exclusive networks paved their way.
Kurtz adds that while this “merit” loosely translates to “economic productivity,” it also brings “a collapse in fertility, the destruction of tradition, the erosion of nationhood, and countless lives consumed by toil, the eradication of childhood.” Anyone who chooses large families or faith-based commitments risks lagging behind. And this raises an important point. “Merit” simply becomes “corporate productivity,” while moral and communal obligations get side-lined. I point this out for the simple reason that it is far too common today to see these things through the lens of GDP growth and corporate profits.
4. Students or Study Drones?
Schools exhibit meritocracy’s darker side best. We see it in the dash for “Baby Ivy” preschools, where acceptance rates can drop to 5%. We see it in the swarm of private tutors for entrance exams, even for eight-year-olds. We see it in the teenage mental health crises at top prep schools. Indeed a 2023 survey found anxiety disorders among that set soared 60% above the national average.
The Neo-Ciceronian Times chronicled how this mania warps childhood from exploration into a mad chase for credentials. At Palo Alto High—repeatedly cited—clusters of suicides mirror the intense pressure. Kids hear: “Score high or lose everything.” They comply, sacrificing friendships, pastimes, even rest. Some arrive at elite colleges only to discover they can’t relax even there. They pivot to building hyper-competitive résumés for the next rung: consulting jobs, medical school, or venture capital.
Johann Kurtz builds on this theme in the second article in his series: Meritocratic education ruins children. He reports how a certain subset of those who thrive academically—primarily from East Asia—nonetheless “drain any real atmosphere of intellectual curiosity” because their focus is so narrow. They hit perfect marks but remain insular, cliquish, and silent in seminars.
“No fate is sealed—change it while you still can. He is the best and worst of my sons. The strongest—and yet the most broken. I have learnt a great deal from what they have done to him.”
—Aaron Dembski-Bowden | Betrayer
I recall my own stint at a British Grammar school in the late 2000s. Everyone was there because they were clever, sure. But that homogeneity and shared purpose gave the place a comfortable ease. A couple of weeks ago, I wandered back through that same English market town. Like a detective returning to a faded crime scene, I scanned the faces flowing out of those familiar gates. This time, I saw a sea of Asian students, not the tight-knit crowd I remembered.
5. Exhaustion as a Way of Life:
What about the lucky ones who conquer this system? The truth is they often turn into frenetic overachievers. Parents spend thousands on tutors. Their teenage schedules resemble the flight manifest at a seedy border airstrip, jam-packed with no breathing room. By senior year, these young men can be near-zombies, reading Shakespeare or Geoffrey Chaucer purely to ace an AP exam.
Following secondary education, they march on to elite universities, then high-flying finance or tech roles, eventually shaping policy. They look like winners on paper. As a rule, many buckle. Studies reveal that “high-achieving” schools produce escalated rates of substance abuse and stress disorders.
Corporate life hammers on with 60+ hour weeks and an unflinching loyalty, crushing friendships, marriages, and hobbies along the way. Communities also pay the price. Top talent migrates wherever the next “merit credential” beckons. Local clubs and multi-generational bonds wither. A global marketplace normalises rootlessness, dissolving social cohesion.
6. Merit-Based but Morally Void:
Meritocracy touts itself as the engine of social mobility. “The best rise,” we’re told, “while the unfit drop away.” In reality, many top scorers hail from wealthy families who poured resources into test prep, exclusive programmes, and nepotistic connections. Children from humbler backgrounds often can’t match that head start.
Michael Young’s satire predicted this: a society gorged on IQ and test results spawns an elite who believe they “earned it all,” while ignoring hidden privilege. Those left out grow resentful. Some call it “the tyranny of the talented,” where standardised frameworks crown a few oblivious to moral or communal nuance.
Kurtz notes that older aristocratic frameworks—despite their flaws—contained noblesse oblige: that is, a longstanding obligation to land and community. Modern “merit-based” technocrats abandon such responsibilities. They see themselves as self-made. Andy Merrifield writes they lack “human ties beyond a spreadsheet.” The grim truth is that, without a rooted elite to anchor it, much of our cultural and social fabric starts to fray.
And wherever we look, we see plummeting birth rates among ambitious professionals. They spend their twenties and thirties chasing advanced degrees or promotions, inevitably delaying children—often forever. In many advanced nations, fertility rates now fall below replacement: the US near 1.78, Germany near 1.66, Italy around 1.57. And no, it’s not just finances; it’s the idea that worth equals continuous output. Parenting interrupts that formula—so many choose not to have kids. And yet, the personal heartbreak can be immense. The social cost is a looming demographic crisis. The end result? We’re finding out.
7. A Wider Lens on Excellence:
Thus far, one could misread this critique as a wholesale rejection of skill. That is not the point. Human societies always need competence and knowledge. We do not wish for incompetent surgeons or clueless engineers. The real question: how do we weigh that skill against intangible values?
Historically, many societies practised a broad concept of “merit,” where skill was just one part. Bravery, loyalty, religious devotion, and local stewardship all played roles. If a chieftain or king found a knight to be valiant, wise, and just, that knight might be elevated, irrespective of pure genealogical rank. This is sometimes termed a “natural aristocracy”: rising not by checklists alone, but by well-rounded character.
Equally, a monarchy or aristocracy that admitted fresh talent from below—without letting every rung become a hyper-competitive scramble—prevented stagnation. The key is a balanced approach. As soon as we declare standardised tests the apex measure of virtue, we exclude crucial traits like moral integrity or cultural continuity.
Some defenders of modern meritocracy might say, “But moral integrity is subjective.” Perhaps so. Yet ignoring it leads to the corruption of elites—because a system that rewards only “results” fosters unscrupulous behaviour. Cheating, corner-cutting, and manipulative research—all rife among HB1s—are encouraged when moral character is omitted from the definition of success.
Critical thinkers and even individuals with a smidgen of common sense will tell you that local ties matter. Sometimes, the best teacher is the lifelong villager who loves the place. Sometimes, a family business thrives with a faithful heir, not “objectively better” MBAs who lack any real stake in the community. By fixating on “best in the entire country,” we risk losing that intangible synergy between knowledge and place.
8. Does Abandoning Merit Breed Chaos?
Detractors may warn that without strict meritocracy, nepotism or incompetence reign. They may point to historically stagnant elites, who sometimes ruled badly and cared little for the common people. That is not untrue. But if today’s system also breeds an entrenched class under the veneer of neutrality, are we any better off? Our new nepotism is just disguised in test prep, strategic resumes, and well-funded extracurricular experiences.
I’ll let you into a little secret: People want skilled professionals, but they also want respect for local knowledge, cultural nuance and community cohesiveness. Small businesses might favour friends and neighbours. Entrepreneurs might choose a relative or local lad over an international migrant. Government bureaucracies might require certain levels of skill, but also weigh intangible factors like moral record and strength of character. This is neither reactionary feudalism nor an anti-education stance—it's simply an acceptance that the pursuit of “universal best” often causes more harm than good when it excludes everything else.
9. A Different Measure of Success:
It’s clear from the pattern of change that meritocracy, originally a mocking concept, has turned into modern dogma. It bends childhood into a cutthroat scramble, empowers narrow “experts,” frays families, and spawns an elite unmoored from tradition. And while we celebrate “equal opportunity,” wealthy families and corporate drones keep rigging the game.
All of this suggests that a system built solely on globalised test scores, diplomas, and productivity is neither fair nor wise. Yes, it neatly identifies who “passed,” but neatness alone doesn’t ensure a well-functioning society. We say “the best should rule,” but define “the best” so narrowly that moral or communal worth scarcely registers.
“Experts”, he muttered, smiling scornfully, “the only thing they’re experts in is fuck all.” Snatching up his top hat, he shook his head bitterly and went out.”
—Anton Chekhov
If genuine human flourishing is our goal, we must broaden how we define “merit.” Andy Merrifield noted that “it is illegitimate to reward a person based on criteria other than a specific and artificial definition of merit... yet this excludes a whole range of human richness.” Competence remains vital, but so are intangible values—tradition, moral commitments, family identity, spiritual ties.
Reimagining merit doesn’t necessarily mean ignoring expertise. We still want skilled doctors, engineers, and educators. But we also want local knowledge, cultural wisdom, and shared values. A civilisation that balances these elements, instead of letting one dimension dominate, stands a far better chance of thriving over the long term.
Perhaps in that future, children will once again find time to read for pleasure, families will flourish with stable support, and “merit” will refer not to some cold credential, but to a more profound measure of who we truly are.
There's no trade-off between 'expertise' and 'loyalty to one's folk' because they are truly unrelated to one another. 'Expertise vs loyalty' is a false dichotomy created by the 'meritocrats' that reveals their true agenda: the denial of the value of loyalty to one's folk.
We cannot have 'dignity for all' without some deep agreement to be loyal to one another. In the end, I think, what frustrates and angers the 'less meritorious' within a 'meritricious' system is being treated as unworthy of any dignity at all.
Expertise without loyalty is simply genocide waiting to happen. And, given the birthrates across the 'meritocratic West', 'merit' is obviously working toward those ends.
Maybe the solution is to forbid experts from living among each other. That way their neighbors are the people they serve, not the people they're most like.
Excellent article. I always somehow leaned to value demonstrated effort more than achieved results, for some reason.