A gentler skepticism of Hierarchy

We often think of hierarchy as either something we must accept or something we must fight. But the truth is less dramatic. Hierarchies are not carved into the nature of things. They don’t fall from the sky or rise up from the earth. They are made by people, for reasons that often seem sensible at the time: to bring order, to divide work, to avoid chaos. Of course, they may sometimes be created by of certain people for certain tasks resulting inclusions and exclusions.

To think clearly in a world like ours is to grow comfortable with the idea that many things we treat as permanent are, in fact, temporary. Hierarchies included. They are not natural laws but human decisions, built on customs, symbols, habits, and shared expectations. Some peoples need to construct them for their struggles. And if we built them, we can question them too—not always to destroy, but to understand, to improve, and sometimes to let go. They may be "tools", but not "truths".

Being skeptical of hierarchy doesn’t mean we must rebel against every system. It means we develop a calm and honest curiosity. We ask: What is this structure doing? Who is it helping? Who is being left out?

Sometimes, hierarchies help. They offer clarity and organization in complex situations. But they can also become rigid. Titles can replace understanding. Traditions can be mistaken for truth. And when that happens, a gentle kind of questioning becomes necessary. We might ask: What story is this hierarchy telling us? Who gets to speak and be heard? Who is invisible in this arrangement?

A thoughtful skeptic doesn’t blindly say all hierarchies are good or bad. Nor do they rush to replace one system with another, equally fixed. Instead, they stay close to the messiness of human life. They understand that power is always shifting, always partial, and always needs to be examined with care. This kind of questioning is not a political slogan or a moral rulebook. It is a habit of attention. A way of noticing when authority starts to feel untouchable, when confidence turns into arrogance, or when leadership forgets to serve.

In this way, skepticism is not chaos. It is a form of care. A way of protecting the complexity of human experience from being flattened into one single version of the truth. It reminds us that good leadership listens. That rules are only as good as the dignity they preserve. Still, we do not need to despair. Power doesn’t have to mean control when properly used. Structures don’t have to be prisons all the times. With reflection and effort, we can shape more open and honest systems—ones that are clear rather than confusing, flexible rather than frozen.

To question hierarchies is to demand accountable flexibility. To question hierarchies is to improve structures that serve evolving needs in designing systems where power is earned through ongoing consent, not inherited as natural law. To question a hierarchy is to show that we care. It is to want something better for everyone, not just those at the top. And it creates space for what might be the most generous kind of relationship: political friendship. Political friendship is built on mutual respect, shared purpose, and room for disagreement. We live in society for our survival, safety and growth. Thus, we must care.

The healthiest societies are not those without leadership, but those where leadership is transparent, accountable, and responsive to real human needs. In these places, power isn’t inherited—it’s earned, again and again, through trust, attentiveness, and fairness. When the old ways stop working and new ones are still forming, it’s tempting to reach for certainty with a quick fix. But perhaps the better path is to listen a little more and ask the quieter but braver questions.

Question everything. Critique hierarchy with care. Build bridges.