All Wealth is Immoral
I hate checking my bank account. It fills me with anxiety.
When I see $4,000, I don’t see security or comfort. I see everything that money could become in other hands.
I know what $4,000 can buy me: a new tv, a new laptop, a nice vacation. But more importantly, I know what $4,000 can do. It can provide 40,000 meals to people who are hungry. It can buy 665 bed nets that protect families from malaria. Apparently it’s enough money to save a life.
I can’t think about money without those other possibilities crowding in. They haunt me. Every dollar has a shadow, the version of itself that could have been food, medicine, or shelter.
Think about the last time you had people over for dinner. If someone shows up late, you still save them a plate. It would feel monstrous not to. The food is right there, and so is the need. The distance between them is nothing.
But distance doesn’t change the ethics. The person on the other side of the world is just as hungry. The capacity to help is just as real. The only difference is that I can’t see them, so it’s easier to avoid the discomfort.
In this way, holding wealth is no different than withholding it. Every day I keep money I don’t need is a day that money is being kept from someone who does. And this withholding isn’t a single decision, it’s a choice I renew every morning.
I couldn’t imagine holding a million dollars. I’m not sure I could live with the shadow of it.