We often associate the word authority with the word power. These words do have much in common, but are clearly not the same.

One common characteristic they have, however, is relationship.

Authority, like any aspect of leadership, is often treated like something someone simply has. Perhaps by virtue of an office, a uniform, or title. We ask to speak to a manager precisely because we know that they have the authority to help us.

But authority is only ever a relational concept. One does not have authority in themselves, but within an institution or in relation to others.

In the same retail example, we ourselves have no authority to correct our own problem. We must enlist assistance. We can even grant a humble employee authority to help us receive the assistance we seek.

Almost counter to the relational character of authority, we have sought to undermine it.

One of our social projects throughout human history has been to limit opportunities for authority. Or, perhaps, restrict access to it. Doing so either to limit conflict through seemingly neutral systems or by consolidating power into fewer hands.

The decision to limit authority of people has been offered to us as an opportunity to trust the rules to organize us without people. As if the rule of law can maintain itself.

This has also driven the research in Artificial Intelligence even before our current chatbot era. Computer systems were used to develop predictive policing models: both optimistically (to reduce crime) and pessimistically (to avoid human decision-making).

These models in police departments, much like the AI-driven scheduling programs employers use, have caused incredible harm for communities. Not just because of what these models produce but because of how they produce an absence of authority. 

Granting systems human authority allows leaders to shrug and say “It’s not me; AI did it.”

What if we, instead, embraced our relationships and authority? Isn’t it actually easier to listen to each other? And deal with the consequences?