It’s a question that feels almost forbidden, yet it reveals something fundamental about value itself. If we didn’t exist to perceive or value God, would God hold any value at all? And if God didn’t exist to value us, would we still possess value?
From what we understand, the answer seems to be yes—we would still matter. But what we “know” is not formed in isolation. It has been shaped, consciously or unconsciously, by the idea of God—whether we believe, doubt, accept, or reject. Our awareness of something higher may influence how we construct meaning, morality, and reality itself. So why must belief or disbelief in God be framed as a moral judgment—“good” or “bad”—rather than simply a perspective?
This leads into a broader structure of thought: hierarchy.
Psychologist Jordan Peterson argues that hierarchy is not only inevitable but necessary. Social, political, and even religious systems naturally organise themselves into levels. According to him, the role of differing perspectives—often simplified as “left” and “right”—is to maintain balance: to recognise the value of structure while also ensuring those at the top remain accountable.
Hierarchy, in this sense, is not the problem. Exploitation is.
When those at the top of a hierarchy begin to exploit those at the bottom, the system fails. And yet, paradoxically, the system persists. Why? Because those at the top are often unified, while those at the bottom are divided.
This is where my own philosophy begins.
The key to a functional hierarchy is not simply restructuring the top—it’s unifying the bottom. But unity cannot be built on the same identities that divide us. Religion, race, gender, and ideology, while meaningful, often become fault lines. They separate people who otherwise share the same vulnerability within the system.
At the bottom of the hierarchy, people are not lacking power individually—they are lacking cohesion collectively.
Meanwhile, those at the top operate with shared interests: profit, control, and continuity of power. The result is a system where division below enables dominance above. We are conditioned to pursue the very ideals—status, wealth, power—that often serve those already in control.
Without collective awareness, the hierarchy cannot be held accountable. Without accountability, exploitation becomes the norm.
So what is the first step?
It is not rebellion, nor blind opposition. It is understanding.
We must first ask ourselves: who are we beyond our labels? Strip away identity markers—race, gender, religion—and what remains? What are we proud of in our character, our ethics, our behaviour toward others?
Too often, we position ourselves as students waiting for instruction, rather than recognising that our lived experience is itself a source of knowledge. When we begin to reflect inwardly rather than look exclusively outward, we start to see what connects us rather than what separates us.
From that recognition, something new becomes possible: genuine dialogue. Not between opposing sides locked in conflict, but between individuals discovering shared ground.
True unity has never fully been realised—not across all people, not beyond division. But that does not make it impossible. It makes it unexplored.
And importantly, unity must begin with those who are divided, not those who are already comfortable. Those who benefit from the system have little incentive to change it. Those who are most affected by it have the greatest reason to come together.
We must accept that hierarchy will always exist. The alternative is not equality in structure, but instability—anarchy on one side, dictatorship on the other. Neither leads to a sustainable or just society.
The real question, then, is not whether hierarchy should exist, but how it should function.
A healthy hierarchy is one in which those at the top are accountable to those at the bottom. But accountability requires unity—and unity requires recognition.
Right now, those at the top see themselves as “us,” while those at the bottom see each other as “different.”
That must change.
If we can begin to see ourselves in one another—not as identical, but as interconnected—we create the possibility of collective strength. And with that strength comes the ability to hold power accountable, to reshape systems, and to redefine value itself.
Because in the end, the survival of any system depends not on those who lead it, but on those who sustain it.
For humanity’s sake, we must become “us.”
Only then can we decide what—and who—is truly valuable.
