To forget the luck and good fortune that helped them on their way. It's the smug conviction

of those who land on top that they deserve their fate. And, by implication, that those

on the bottom deserve theirs too. A lively sense of the contingency of our lot

conduces to a certain humility. The idea that 'there but for the grace of God or the accident

of fortune, go I'. But a perfect meritocracy banishes all sense of gift or grace or luck;

it diminishes our capacity to see ourselves as sharing a common fate. And so, it leaves

little room for the solidarity that can arise when we reflect on the contingency of our

talents and fortunes. This is what makes merit a kind of tyranny.

Now, seen from below, the hubris of elites is galling. No one likes to be looked down

upon. But the meritocratic faith adds insult to injury. The notion that your fate is in

your hands - that you can 'make it if you try' - is a double-edged sword, inspiring

in one way, but invidious in another. It congratulates the winners but denigrates the losers - even

in their own eyes. For those who can't find work or make ends meet, it's hard to escape

the demoralizing thought that their failure is their own doing - that they simply lack

the talent and drive to succeed. This gives rise to a politics of humiliation. It combines

resentment of the winners with nagging self-doubt. It's a potent ingredient in the volatile brew

of anger and resentment that fuels populist protest.

To reinvigorate democratic politics, we need to find our way to a morally more robust public

discourse; one that takes seriously the corrosive effect of meritocratic striving on the social

bonds that constitute our common life. Disentangling the intolerant aspects of populist protest

from its legitimate grievances is no easy matter. But it is important to try. Understanding

these grievances -and creating a politics that can respond to them - is the most pressing

political challenge of our time.