Are Billionaires Inherently Bad?
Or are we all bad, and some of us just happen to be wildly successful at it?
Recently, I found myself in a deep conversation with a billionaire. He was undeniably sharp and—albeit in a bullish, arrogant way—surprisingly charming. The usual question of whether billionaires are inherently “good” or “bad” evaporated almost instantly as we hit it off. In its place, a far more unsettling thought arose:
Am I a bad person?
Now, allow me a few unnecessary disclaimers and unsolicited justifications. I am well aware that I have no idea who I really am or what I might be capable of under certain circumstances. That said, I do dabble in judging others (as one does), and billionaires are a particularly juicy target. Because, let’s face it, if anyone warrants sceptical scrutiny, it’s the richest and most powerful people in the world.
Like many, I subscribe to the belief that the mere existence of billionaires is a glitch in the system—a sign we’ve collectively miscalculated how to organise society. Somewhere along the way, we forgot to patch the laws and algorithms regulating wealth, and someone just slipped through. But here’s the twist: we also assume there must be something inherently wicked about a person who dedicates their life to amassing that much power and influence.
Yet here’s an even more uncomfortable thought: what does being near all that excess do to us?
In the span of an hour, over a glass of outrageously expensive red wine (produced, of course, from one of his vineyard estates), I found myself fantasising about a life of private islands, ribbon-cutting ceremonies, Oprah interviews, and so much charity. My face would be on the news constantly—because I’d be the billionaire who cares. A saviour billionaire. The good one.
And yet, it was clear: the longer I sat in proximity to this world, the less I cared about anything beyond wanting to experience a slice of it for myself.
So there I was, slightly tipsy, standing in one of his multi-million-dollar hotels, when it hit me:
Are virtuous people just those who’ve had the privilege of never being tested by the darkness lurking in their souls?
It’s a sobering thought—or, in this case, one that pairs quite well with a vintage Cabernet.
Leave it to Nietzsche: Origins of "Good" and "Bad"
Unable to resolve my moral dilemma, I turned to my imaginary friend, Friedrich Nietzsche. While other kids had make-believe pets, I, an adult woman, still derive comfort from speaking to an embittered German philosopher who spent his final days incapacitated by syphilis. Before that unfortunate end, however, Nietzsche dismantled the simplistic binary of "good" and "bad," tracing its origins in history and language.
In The Genealogy of Morals, Nietzsche argued that moral judgments are deeply entangled with societal power dynamics. For most of history, the wealthy and powerful—literally the nobles—defined themselves as "good", and were seen in society just as such. Naturally, everyone else, the powerless and the poor, were labelled "bad."
Christianity disrupted this narrative. In what Nietzsche called a "slave revolt in morality," the downtrodden rebranded their weakness as virtue, elevating meekness, suffering, and humility into moral ideals.
He referred to this shift as the "pathology of slavehood." Today, we might call it “woke mentality.”
But while “wokeism” had its brief moment in the sun before being torn apart by the right, and Christianity shaped our understanding of virtue for centuries, we are now witnessing the rise of a new moral order—an aristocratic and plutocratic framework that feels eerily familiar. Once again, the rich are dictating what’s “good.”
And what do they proclaim? Greed is good. Success is good. The highest virtue is the ability to make—and hoard—immense wealth.
DIY God
In a capitalist society, this moral structure isn’t new. The drive to amass wealth has long been celebrated as a sign of virtue, but it was tempered, to some extent, by Judeo-Christian values with their emphasis on community and redistribution—whether through philanthropy or progressive taxation. However, as modern politics shifts, particularly on the populist right, we’re seeing the rise of a new kind of capitalist Christianity.
This “do-it-yourself Christianity” draws from Protestant roots: work hard, produce more, and take pride in your efforts, and God will love you. But this updated deity, the plutocratic "DIY God," has no patience for the poor. If you’re struggling, it’s your fault for not working hard enough. Within this framework, why on earth would someone like Jeff Bezos “give back”? To him, it would be madness.
But here’s the thing: I don’t believe this new Christian plutocracy is sustainable—not in its current form, nor in the shape it aspires to take. Society is already grappling with proposals for survival that challenge its very foundation: universal basic income, shared resources, co-living, and borrowing economies. As automation replaces human labour, the wealthy few may find themselves with no choice but to pay the rest of us—if not for our work, then at least for our survival. Unless, of course, humanity collectively decides to go extinct.
Margaret Thatcher famously quipped about socialism—“The problem with socialism is that you eventually run out of other people’s money”.
But as witty and provocative as it sounds, it’s not true. The real problem we’re facing now, as capitalism runs unchecked, is that it begins to cannibalise itself.
The problem with capitalism, I’d argue, is that eventually, you run out of people and countries to exploit. It’s not a sustainable system.
Everything Must Go
Regardless of how much we despise their theatrics—be it Jeff Bezos’ space cowboy outfit or Elon Musk jumping like a toddler on Trump’s stage—we’re often willing to forgive a billionaire if they act as outstanding members of society. Since they’re already "outstanding" by sheer wealth, we expect their contributions to philanthropy and giving back to the world to be just as exceptional.
Good Boys
So, here are the billionaires I personally absolve—if anyone's waiting for my precious absolution with bated breath:
Bill Gates: With a net worth of $105 billion, Gates co-founded the Giving Pledge and has donated over $50 billion through the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation. His contributions focus on global health, education, and poverty alleviation.
Warren Buffett: Worth $148.3 billion, Buffett has given away over $51 billion, primarily through the Gates Foundation and initiatives under the Giving Pledge. His consistent generosity makes him one of history's greatest philanthropists.
Bad Boys
Elon Musk: As the richest person in the world with a staggering $314.4 billion net worth, Musk only pledged $5.7 billion in Tesla stock to charities, the details of which allocations remain vague, to add insult to injury.
Jeff Bezos: With $214.7 billion to his name, Bezos committed a mere $10 billion to the Bezos Earth Fund to address climate change. Also, Amazon’s labour controversies further tarnish his image and confirm his status on the bad billionaire list.
Bernard Arnault: The head of LVMH, Arnault holds a net worth of $155 billion. He famously pledged €200 million to restore Notre-Dame Cathedral but it followed a public rivalry with fellow billionaire François Pinault, who had made his own high-profile donation. Petty one-upmanship among the ultra-wealthy? Straight to the naughty corner.
Where are the ladies?
Ever notice there aren’t any women topping the billionaire charts? Sure, there are plenty of wealthy women out there—shout out to Françoise Bettencourt Meyers and her L’Oréal empire—but none quite cracking the stratospheric heights of Bezos, Musk, or Gates.
As my own penchant for overpriced Cabernet and casual chats about world domination with morally ambiguous billionaires grows, who knows? Maybe one day I’ll make the list. Which one? We shall see.