Many people I know want to dismiss Elon Musk as a fraud. A whole industry of pundits obliges them, because there is an ocean of people hungry for that narrative.
I don’t understand the intensity of the hatred.
Like Donald Trump, Musk says and does genuinely foolish things. He gives people who are already predisposed to hate him plenty of material to work with. But that is how the mind works. We decide something first, then we hunt for the best-sounding explanation. The mind doesn’t guide our choices so much as justify them.
We are also wired to dismiss people as an energy-saving device. When you hear about something stupid a celebrity said, it’s easy to write them off entirely so you have one fewer person to track. Add tall poppy syndrome to this, and the dismissal becomes almost pleasurable. Most people enjoy cutting down those who stand above them in status, and billionaires make satisfying targets.
David Pinsof writes: “As for the rest of bigotry, it probably comes from zero-sum competition over intergroup status. Such competition may be most acute among ethnic minorities’ closest rivals in the social hierarchy—i.e., low-status white people—which might explain why antiracism confers elite status. And it might also explain why antiracist elites resent “millionaires and billionaires”—i.e., their closest rivals in the hierarchy.”
[W]e prefer to think in stories. We see the world as revolving around a colorful cast of characters—often representing warring tribes—whom we either like or dislike. There’s a path to utopia, and we can get there if the likable heroes use their “free will” powers to save the day. There’s also a path to dystopia, and we’ll get there if the unlikable villains use their “free will” powers to ruin everything. The heroes must stop the villains, or the world will go to shit…
What matters is: some people suck, and other people are awesome. We don’t need to ask why.
Let’s give this rival worldview a name. Let’s call it likability determinism…
Patriarchy is caused by sexists who don’t care about women. Cancel culture is caused by woke sadists who love ruining people’s lives. Economic inequality is caused by greedy rich people hogging all the stuff. Poverty is caused by lazy and irresponsible freeloaders. War is caused by evil people who don’t recognize that war is bad. Homelessness is caused by heartless people who don’t care about the plight of others. We don’t need to think about the economic, social, and legal incentive structures that lead to cancel culture, homelessness, poverty, war, or wealth inequality. Booooring! We just need to point the finger at the baddies, and our work is done.
Likability determinism also helps us achieve our social goals—it’s a kind of bullshit. Any time something good or bad happens in the world, we use it as an opportunity to praise our allies or diss our rivals. By praising or dissing individuals and groups, we get to show off whose side we’re on and where our loyalties lie. And if we all agree on who the baddies are, then that brings us closer together—it makes us feel like we belong—which is a big incentive for us humans.
Words, words, words
How do we figure out who the baddies are? Usually, we pay attention to whether they’re saying the right things. Are they saying things that make us nod and applaud? Or are they saying things that make us cringe and facepalm? We infer people’s character traits by the words they use and in what order they use them. When everyone uses this shortcut to identify the baddies, the result is what Robin Hanson calls “righttalkism,” the view that all it takes to improve the world is to change how people talk. The logic is straightforward:
Bad things are caused by bad people.
Good things are caused by good people.
Bad people are bad because they talk the wrong way.
Good people are good because they talk the right way.
Therefore, if everybody talks the right way and nobody talks the wrong way, then everything will be good.
This is essentially what modern discourse is all about.
Praising allies and dissing rivals signals tribal loyalty. Agreeing on who the baddies are creates a sense of belonging. The analysis doesn’t need to be accurate. It just needs to be shared.
John M. Doris and the situationist tradition offer a more honest framework. Behavior varies dramatically by context. Instead of fixed character traits explaining everything, environments draw out different aspects of a person. Churchill was erratic and distrusted in peacetime. In existential war he was exactly what Britain needed. The context activated what worked. Saquon Barkley was a decent running back with the Giants and a brilliant one in his first season with the Eagles before settling back into average. Same person, different containers.
Musk fits this pattern. When the container is a whiteboard or a launchpad, what comes out looks like genius. When the container is a live interview or a social media platform, it looks like a spill. That isn’t contradiction. That’s situationism.
His core advantage isn’t temperament. It’s an unusually high tolerance for risk combined with genuine engineering focus. Most CEOs protect what they already have. Musk repeatedly bets everything on projects most executives would call suicidal. SpaceX nearly went bankrupt several times. Tesla almost collapsed in 2008 and again during the Model 3 production ramp. That kind of appetite for risk is rare among the already wealthy. It produces volatility, but also outcomes nobody else achieves.
The companies also survive his volatility because they carry real competence inside them. SpaceX in particular is staffed with engineers who can execute at a high level regardless of what the founder is doing on a given Tuesday. The founder provides what Carl Schmitt might call a state of exception, the moments when normal rules get suspended to force a breakthrough. The staff provides the silent logic that keeps the rockets from exploding. What looks like dysfunction from outside is often just a different distribution of risk.
His erratic public behavior also functions as a kind of signal. A founder who follows every conventional rule announces that he is replaceable by any other MBA. Unpredictability, attached to a grand and serious goal, tells the inner circle that the leader is not playing a standard social game. It forces everyone around him to choose a side. You are either a believer or an obstacle. That binary strengthens the coalition of believers. Critics read the same behavior as recklessness. Both groups are looking at the same trait.
Jeffrey Alexander’s work on purification rituals helps explain the “fraud” label. Every society draws a line between the sacred and the profane. For Musk’s supporters, he is a sacred figure leading humanity toward something larger. For his detractors, his behavior pollutes public discourse, and labeling him a fraud is a cleansing act. Both responses are more about the labeler than the labeled.
The people I notice most at ease with complexity tend to be the most secure in their own lives. They can hold contradictory evidence without needing to resolve it into a clean verdict. They can say Musk is brilliant in one domain, reckless in another, and ordinary in others without feeling that this admission costs them anything.
The people who need the cleanest verdict tend to need it most urgently. The belief that the successful are frauds restores a sense of moral order. It turns a lack of status into evidence of insight. That’s not analysis. That’s consolation.
Reality is messier. The traits that build frontier companies don’t look like the traits of a calm and balanced person, because they aren’t. Extreme ambition, high tolerance for chaos, obsessive focus, and willingness to gamble everything are not stable. They are just rare.
