But, alas, this misunderstands both the arithmetic and the economics, but mainly the economics. Firstly, Elon Musk does not have a trillion dollars stuffed under his mattress. If he did, the mattress would be visible from space. His wealth consists almost entirely of ownership of productive assets: shares in companies, intellectual property, physical capital, and claims on future profits, and other things you cannot eat, wear, or use to pay for your New Statesman subscription. Redistributing Musk’s wealth does not mean redistributing his personal consumption. It means redistributing ownership of productive assets, which doesn’t magically create new goods.
Redistribution can change who benefits from future production, sure – but it cannot increase the total amount of goods and services available; it merely reallocates purchasing power and ownership. Selling existing assets and distributing the proceeds is a transfer, not an expansion of the money supply. In simple terms, it simply changes who owns the stuff that makes future stuff.
The upshot is, serious debates about wealth demand more than viral arithmetic; they require at least a passing acquaintance with how an economy actually works.
All this feeds into the more serious claim that if
we just confiscate the wealth of millionaires and redistribute, we’ll help
alleviate world poverty. The reality is, an economy is constrained not by how
cleverly we shuffle ownership claims, but by how much real output it can
actually produce. You can redistribute wealth, and you may have good reasons to
do so, but no transfer of shares or bank balances can radically lift people out
of poverty in the long run if farms aren’t growing food or factories aren’t
making goods. Redistribution can change who gets the returns from production,
but it cannot substitute for production itself. A society that cannot generate
enough to meet its needs will not cure hunger by rearranging balance sheets,
however dramatically.

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