Limitarism challenges precisely this idea.
This political philosophy holds that, beyond a certain level, individual wealth is no longer merely a source of comfort or the reward for hard work. It becomes a form of private power capable of undermining democracy, equal opportunities, social cohesion and the environment.
In other words, limitarism does not merely ask how much one needs to own to live decently. It poses a far more unsettling question: how much can one legitimately possess when part of the population still lacks the bare necessities?
The concept was notably developed by Ingrid Robeyns, a philosopher and economist at the University of Utrecht. In her book *Limitarianism: The Case Against Extreme Wealth*, published in 2024, she argues that a democratic society should prevent the accumulation of excessive wealth.
Robeyns proposes, as a guideline rather than a universal mathematical truth, a political ceiling of around ten million euros in a European country with a robust social security system. She also refers to a much lower moral limit, close to one million euros per person. These figures are open to debate and must take into account the cost of living, age, family circumstances and the existence of a pension system.
The principle is more important than the figure: once a certain level of material security and freedom has been attained, further accumulation no longer meets any reasonable need.
Owning a comfortable home, travelling, supporting one’s children, having no fear of illness or old age, and having the time needed to pursue one’s plans obviously requires resources. Limitarism does not claim that everyone should live on the same income or own exactly the same things.
It recognises differences in pay. A person who works harder, invents a product, takes risks or shoulders a particular responsibility may earn more than another. It therefore accepts the existence of wealthy people.
But it rejects the idea that wealth can grow indefinitely.
This is what distinguishes it from communism, with which its opponents often attempt to equate it. Limitarism abolishes neither private property, nor enterprise, nor inheritance, nor the market. It does not demand that everyone own the same car and the same flat. It merely asserts that a democracy can tolerate inequalities without accepting all the concentrations of power that they ultimately produce.
The primary justification for limitarism is relatively simple. Extra money does not have the same value for everyone.
One hundred euros may enable a poor person to eat properly, keep warm or buy a pair of glasses. For a billionaire, an extra hundred million euros makes virtually no difference to the quality of their life. It may increase the number of properties, yachts or companies they can acquire, but it does not increase their health, time or happiness.
Limitarism therefore considers that excess wealth carries an opportunity cost. Money tied up in a person’s wealth does not fund hospitals, schools, research, the green transition, housing or the fight against poverty.
This does not mean that the very wealthy keep billions in banknotes in a vault. Their wealth generally consists of shares, businesses, property and other assets. This capital can fund economic activity.
But it also gives its owners considerable influence over corporate decisions, the organisation of work, investments and, at times, the lives of millions of people. Wealth is never merely a figure on a bank statement. It represents the capacity to act.
This is where the democratic argument comes in.
An ordinary citizen can vote, demonstrate, sign a petition or write to their MP. A billionaire can own media outlets, fund election campaigns, pay lobbyists, support think tanks tasked with producing ideas favourable to their interests, threaten to move their capital, or directly secure the attention of those in power.
On paper, both citizens each have one vote. In reality, they obviously do not carry the same weight.
Above a certain threshold, wealth becomes a form of additional voting power. It allows one to influence laws, taxation, the media and collective priorities without having been elected to any office.
The issue is not even whether all billionaires use their fortunes maliciously. Some fund charities, medical research or worthwhile projects. The danger lies in the fact that they can do so according to their personal preferences.
The philanthropy of a generous billionaire can improve thousands of lives. Nevertheless, it remains a private decision regarding the use of vast resources. In a democracy, should we be dependent on the goodwill of an extraordinarily wealthy individual to determine which diseases will be researched, which schools will be supported and which causes deserve to exist?
A likeable billionaire remains an unelected power.
The third argument in favour of limiterism concerns merit. Great fortunes are often presented as the natural consequence of talent and hard work. There is some truth in this explanation, but it becomes absurd when taken to extremes.
An entrepreneur may work harder than their employees and have taken significant risks. But does that mean he works ten thousand or a hundred thousand times harder than they do? Would his success have been possible without roads, without the education system, without the justice system, without a stable currency, without researchers trained by universities, without employees, without suppliers and without customers solvent enough to buy his products?
No one becomes a billionaire on their own.
Behind every immense fortune lies a collective infrastructure, a historical context, technologies discovered by others, workers and a large element of chance. Added to this is inheritance, which allows one to start the race several lifetimes ahead.
Limitarism does not deny individual merit. It simply refuses to treat it as a magic explanation that entitles a person to indefinitely reap the rewards of a system to which the whole of society has contributed.
The ecological emergency provides another argument. The wealthiest people generally consume more, fly more often, own several homes and invest in high-emission activities. Their ecological footprint therefore stems not only from their visible lifestyle, but also from the use of their capital.
It would be difficult to ask millions of people to cut back on their heating, food or travel whilst treating private jets, giant yachts and climate-damaging investments as off-limits.
Moderation becomes politically untenable when it is demanded only of those who already consume the least.
The World Inequality Report published in 2026 highlights the scale of the imbalance: the richest 0.001 per cent of the planet’s population – fewer than sixty thousand people – collectively own several times the wealth of the poorest half of humanity.
At this level, we are no longer talking about comfort, or even luxury. We are talking about a historic concentration of resources and power.
How can ‘limitarism’ be implemented?
The most drastic solution would be to introduce a 100 per cent tax on wealth exceeding a set threshold. Above this threshold, any additional wealth would be transferred to the community.
Such a measure would have the advantage of clarity, but it would immediately pose immense difficulties. How would one assess, year on year, an unlisted company, a work of art or an exceptional property? What should be done about a founder whose company suddenly increases significantly in value, but who does not have the necessary cash to pay the tax? How can we prevent the concealment of assets, legal manoeuvres or emigration to another country?
A wealth cap cannot, therefore, function as a simple tax axe wielded in the midst of an otherwise unchanged economy.
Serious wealth limitation requires a package of measures: a genuinely progressive tax system on income and capital, capital gains tax, a cap on tax loopholes, the fight against tax havens, transparency regarding the true owners of companies, a better-designed inheritance tax, international cooperation and control over the influence of money on politics.
It could also encourage shared ownership of businesses, profit-sharing schemes for employees, public-interest foundations or the gradual transfer of shares to the community. Its aim is not necessarily to confiscate the fortunes of billionaires overnight, but to build a system that stops creating them.
Objections to ‘limitarism’ are nevertheless serious.
The first concerns the arbitrary nature of the limit. Why ten million rather than five, twenty or fifty? A large family does not have the same needs as a single person. One million euros does not mean the same thing in Paris, in a medium-sized town or in a country without social security.
A rigid limit would also risk discouraging certain entrepreneurs. Why continue to develop a business if any additional value created must be relinquished? The prospect of a huge reward can stimulate innovation, investment and risk-taking.
Advocates of limitism argue that most scientists, doctors, artists and entrepreneurs do not work solely in the hope of becoming billionaires. Recognition, freedom, passion, the power to create and a very comfortable standard of living are already powerful motivations.
There is a considerable margin between preventing any success whatsoever and allowing the accumulation of one hundred billion euros.
Nor can the risk of capital flight be dismissed out of hand. Several wealth taxes have resulted in limited revenue, costly avoidance strategies and the departure of taxpayers. The OECD itself acknowledges the difficulties in valuation, the administrative costs and the risks of circumvention.
This does not prove that any form of wealth taxation is impossible. Switzerland has had such a system in place for a long time, and advances in the international exchange of information are making certain forms of concealment more difficult. However, a strictly national policy, riddled with exemptions and easily circumvented, risks hitting mainly visible and immovable assets whilst sparing the best-advised fortunes.
A limited tax system can only work with a competent administration and cross-border coordination.
Another criticism concerns the state. Giving more money to the public authorities does not guarantee that it will be used properly. A government may be inefficient, clientelist or corrupt. Additional revenue may be squandered on unnecessary expenditure without improving the lives of the poorest.
This objection is legitimate, but it does not resolve the problem of private concentration of wealth. The fact that a state might misuse money does not prove that a billionaire has greater legitimacy to decide what is in the public interest. It merely serves as a reminder that redistribution must be accompanied by transparency, democratic oversight and a genuine evaluation of public policies.
Limitarism is therefore not a simple solution. It raises considerable economic, legal and philosophical problems. Its merit lies elsewhere: it forces us to confront an anomaly that our societies have come to regard as natural.
We accept limits on speed, pollution, monopolies, working hours and the funding of election campaigns. We restrict individual freedom when its exercise threatens the rights of others or the functioning of the community.
Why should wealth be the only human power that faces no limits?
The real question is not whether the rich are morally good or bad. Nor is it a matter of determining whether Bernard Arnault, Elon Musk or Jeff Bezos personally ‘deserve’ their fortunes.
It is a question of whether a democracy can survive in the long term when a few individuals possess resources comparable to the budgets of certain states.
One might consider the cap proposed by Ingrid Robeyns unrealistic. One might prefer a progressive tax system to an absolute limit. One might fear that the remedy is ill-conceived or economically counterproductive.
But we can no longer pretend that extreme wealth accumulation is merely a private matter.
When a fortune enables one to influence an election, shape the news, determine the future of a region, or generate in a matter of hours what others produce over several years, it becomes a political issue.
Limitarism does not declare war on success. It asks at what point economic success ceases to expand the freedom of the wealthy and begins to curtail that of others.
And this question, far more so than the choice of a cap, finally deserves to be asked.
