At fourteen, just months shy of obtaining my driver’s license, a rumor swept through my school about a wealthy peer, Stewart Miller. He was said to have found a fully equipped Jeep Wrangler waiting for him on Christmas morning, a testament to his place on Santa's “Nice” list.

In our social circle, cherry-red Wranglers were the pinnacle of desirability. The envy towards Stewart had reached new heights. Yet, the most captivating detail of the story wasn't the gift itself.

As the tale goes, Stewart stepped out of his lavish beachfront home and, when his mother revealed his surprise, he burst into tears. However, these weren’t tears of happiness; he was reportedly furious, having expected a Porsche instead.

I didn’t question the veracity of this rumor at the time; it was too enjoyable to revel in the idea that the boy with every advantage—wealth, charm, athletic prowess—was merely a spoiled child. Yet, reflecting back, I recognize how easily rumors can be fabricated. The only witnesses to this moment were likely Stewart’s parents or sister, and given my own sibling dynamics, I find it plausible that the story might be true.

What intrigues me now is not Stewart’s emotions, but rather the absence of thoughts about those around him. He showed no consideration for classmates who would have cherished that car or for parents who devoted time and care to this gift. He certainly did not contemplate the millions worldwide struggling for basic needs, like clean water or healthcare.

In that moment of extraordinary fortune, where was his empathy? This lack of compassion among the wealthy is a recurring theme. We’ve all witnessed it: executives engrossed in loud phone calls in quiet spaces, affluent individuals treating service staff with disdain, or billionaires engaging in extravagant purchases while the world grapples with economic hardship.

We often judge them, thinking, “If I had that wealth, I would be generous.” But would we? If faced with immense financial power, would we act altruistically? I find myself questioning this notion.

To grasp the behaviors of ultra-high-net-worth individuals, we must explore a psychological concept known as “cognitive dissonance.” This term describes the discomfort we feel when our beliefs clash with our actions.

We all encounter cognitive dissonance. We might laugh at someone who trips, conflicting with our belief in kindness, and then feel guilty. Overindulging in treats creates shame when it clashes with our health beliefs. Similarly, wasting time on social media can lead to feelings of regret. This dissonance acts as a self-preservation mechanism against hypocrisy.

However, it’s easy to resolve cognitive dissonance by changing one of the conflicting elements. It’s often simpler to alter beliefs than behaviors. We might convince ourselves that it’s acceptable to laugh because the person seems fine, or that indulging is justified as a rare treat.

This rationalization process is crucial to understanding the wealthy. Consider the widely accepted beliefs: “The world should be fair” and “Everyone should be equal.” Most would affirm these principles, having been taught them from an early age.

Imagine being served a lavish meal while your companions receive meager portions. You’d likely feel guilt and resentment from their expressions. At this moment, you face a choice: share your meal or rationalize why you deserve it.

If you opt to rationalize, you might convince yourself that the servers had a reason for your superior dish. Perhaps, you think, you’ve earned your status and should accept your good fortune.

Now, amplify this rationalization process by millions, and you start to understand the mindset of the ultra-wealthy. They must reconcile their beliefs about fairness and equality while hoarding vast resources. To sustain this internal conflict, they often resort to profound rationalizations.

If they believe the world should be fair, but they possess vast wealth, they might conclude that their riches are a sign of superior merit. Wealth becomes a cosmic reward for being more capable or deserving. When faced with the notion of equality, they rationalize that anyone could achieve their status if they made the right choices, attributing poverty to personal failure.

This leads to a chilling psychology: if wealthy individuals deserve their fortunes due to their actions, then poor individuals must equally deserve their circumstances. Thus, they view poverty as a self-imposed state, devoid of compassion for those less fortunate.

When Stewart Miller lamented his Christmas gift, he epitomized this mindset, focusing solely on his own desires. In his perspective, he had always been entitled to more. If others yearned for the Jeep he dismissed, it was simply because they did not merit it.

This exploration isn’t a condemnation of the wealthy; rather, it highlights the insidious nature of wealth. They become ensnared by their own resources, which can distort their capacity for empathy. How many of us would be similarly affected by a sudden windfall?

Ultimately, the ultra-wealthy may lack empathy for the struggles of others, but we can still maintain our compassion for them.