Americans tend to view the rich the same way they view the poor. We informally split them into the deserving and the undeserving. We accept the deserving poor, because we deem them to be poor through no fault of their own. Similarly, the deserving rich enjoy our moral approval because they have somehow earned their wealth by enhancing society’s well-being. On the other hand, the undeserving are seen as responsible for their poverty, through laziness or dishonesty. Likewise, we dismiss the undeserving rich as having gotten their money accidentally, connived to get it or misused it.
This distinction is a useful way to make sense of Americans’ ongoing obsession with the rich. Of this fascination, there can be no doubt. Forbes regularly catalogs the wealthiest 400 Americans. A recent book on the rich–“The Millionaire Next Door”–has been on The New York Times best-seller list for more than half a year. And Newsweek recently ran a cover story on the “new rich,” featuring the likes of Nike’s Philip Knight (estimated worth: almost $6 billion) and Dell Computer’s Michael Dell ($4 billion).
Americans generally don’t despise the rich. In one survey, 62 percent of respondents said the country benefits “from a class of rich people.” But on narrower issues, resentment emerges. About 80 percent to 90 percent of the public thinks professional athletes, movie stars, lawyers and top executives are overpaid.
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These attitudes seem unchanged from a century ago. In 1889, the British statesman James Bryce wrote in his classic “The American Commonwealth”: “There is in the United States no such general opposition as in Europe of . . . richer and poorer classes.” Yet Bryce wrote in the midst of the populist movement that vilified business trusts and some of its tycoons, such as oil baron John D. Rockefeller.
The contradictions are less glaring than they seem. Getting rich is the end-point of economic opportunity. If the victors in the economic struggle were all suspect, then the ideals of hard work, risk-taking and self-improvement would be illegitimate.
But we draw the line when wealth seems unrelated to effort, risk or talent. For this reason, inherited wealth doesn’t always command respect. Family heirs must establish their own worthiness by using their legacy well. Executive pay is often suspect because lavish bonuses and stock options may reflect corporate back-scratching: company directors pampering the CEO. When failed executives receive huge payoffs, ordinary Americans are gaga. The latest example is John Walter, who left as AT&T’s president after nine months with a severance package valued at $26 million.
Similar doubts attach to the pay of athletes and movie stars. When Sandra Bullock earns $12.5 million for making “Speed II,” the rewards seem to exceed the talent. The same is true when the top professional quarterbacks make $6.5 million a year, much more than some of the past greats (Johnny Unitas, Y.A. Tittle) got in their prime. What makes today’s athletes and stars more bankable is TV and worldwide marketing.
We also object when wealth confers too much power. John D. Rockefeller was disliked not because he was rich but because, in getting rich, he destroyed many independent oil refiners and strove for monopoly. Bill Gates (estimated wealth, $36 billion) seems no different. Hardly anyone deplores the fact of his wealth. What unsettles people is that Microsoft may snuff out software rivals and control cyberspace.
Even the deserving rich may offend by flaunting their wealth. This violates another American ideal: Money doesn’t measure human worth. Not surprisingly, the superrich often strive to seem ordinary. Gates still comes across as the rumpled workaholic. In “The Millionaire Next Door,” authors Thomas Stanley and William Danko report that many of the wealthy “live below their means.” By their estimate, about 3.5 percent of households have a net worth of $1 million or more.
“More than 80 percent (of these millionaires) are ordinary people who have accumulated their wealth in one generation,” Stanley and Danko write. These people are fairly frugal and value economic independence more than conspicuous consumption. Half have never spent more than $29,000 on a new car.
This is not, of course, the whole story. Getting money and making a point of what you’ve got is one way Americans keep score. Scorekeeping is one cause of prominent feuds over huge sums: for example, the quest of Seinfeld’s supporting cast members for $1 million each per episode. It’s not just that people want more; they also want to make a statement they’re better than the next star or the next CEO.
That these contests can slip into greed or wretched excess should not surprise. The down-to-earth Gates is building a not-so-down-to-earth personal palace reckoned to be 35,000 square feet and to cost about $40 million. The contrasts will endure, because the rich, like the poor, will always be with us.