Muskophobia: Why Technological Optimism Frightens Educated Society

On January 22, 2026, something unexpected happened in Davos. Elon Musk, who had spent years calling the World Economic Forum "boring" and an "unelected world government," appeared on the main stage for the first time. He came with a prediction: "There will be more robots than people." The applause was so tepid that Larry Fink, CEO of BlackRock, had to stop the session and ask the audience to clap louder. "That was not enough. Start again," he told an audience of heads of state, CEOs of major corporations, and finance ministers.

This was no accident. Muskophobia, which has gripped educated elites, is not a reaction to the billionaire's eccentricity. It is fear of confronting three uncomfortable facts.

Three Facts They Fear

Fact one: Technology solves problems more efficiently than social programs and bureaucratic structures.

Fact two: Most corporate and government functions are redundant, and those who hold these positions know it.

Fact three: The future demands radical adaptation, not defense of the status quo.

In Davos, Musk articulated a vision that made the audience wince. "We might have AI smarter than any human by the end of this year. In five years, AI will be smarter than all of humanity combined." He spoke of an era of unprecedented abundance through ubiquitous free AI and pervasive robotics. Optimus robots would perform industrial tasks, care for the elderly, look after children.

"Economic output will be calculated as the average productivity of a robot multiplied by the number of robots," Musk explained. His final message was programmatic: "It's better to err on the side of being an optimist and wrong rather than a pessimist and right." For Musk, this is a life philosophy. For the Davos elite, it's an uncomfortable reminder that their caution may prove more costly than his mistakes.

The History We'd Rather Forget

Fear of automation is as old as automation itself. In 1811, British Luddite weavers smashed machines. Norbert Wiener predicted mass unemployment in the 1950s. John Maynard Keynes coined the term "technological unemployment" in the 1930s. All were wrong in the long run. In the short term, they were all right.

MIT research (Acemoglu & Johnson, 2024) reveals the uncomfortable truth of the Industrial Revolution: from 1760 to 1840—80 years—real wages for British workers stagnated or declined despite explosive productivity growth. The gains, as always, went to capital. It took 50-70 years before technological progress began raising living standards for the working masses.

The second revolution (late 19th century) demonstrated the "hollowing out" of the labor market. Middle-skilled jobs disappeared. Young workers transitioned to new professions. Older workers descended into unskilled manual labor.

The third revolution (computerization from the 1980s onward) created the productivity-wage divergence we still observe today. From 1995 to 2015, productivity in American manufacturing doubled. Employment peaked around 1980 and has declined steadily since. Output is at historic highs. There are fewer jobs than 40 years ago. The Bureau of Labor Statistics confirms: since the 1980s, a significant portion of the U.S. workforce has faced wage stagnation. Labor's share of national income has shrunk.

The fourth revolution is just beginning, but the numbers are already telling. World Bank (2016): 77% of jobs in China and 69% in India are at risk of automation. Acemoglu & Restrepo: each industrial robot reduces employment by 0.37 jobs per 1,000 workers. Brookings Institution: automation suppressed wage growth across 28 industries in 18 OECD countries from 1970 to 2018. These figures are already dated and don't yet account for AI and coming humanoid robotics.

The pattern is consistent: first, decades of pain for displaced workers, then new industries emerge and society prospers. But the specific individuals who lose their jobs at 45 rarely live to enjoy the bright future as its beneficiaries.

Rationality as a Cover for Fear

Musk's critics appeal to morality and social responsibility. But the rhetoric of care actually masks purely economic interests.

"Mass layoffs are cruel" translates to "our positions are under threat." "Disinformation on X" means "we've lost control of the information space." "Dangerous for democracy" reads as "doesn't play by the rules we established."

When Musk cut about 80% of Twitter's staff (from roughly 7,500 to fewer than 2,000 employees by the end of 2022), the platform continued operating. This proof is more frightening than any statistics. If such a significant portion of employees proved redundant at a major social network, what percentage is redundant in government structures? In corporations? In consulting?

Musk demonstrated that a significant portion of white-collar workers spend their time on approvals, reports, and meetings about meetings. Their functions don't create value. They create the appearance of productivity.

The Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE)—an advisory commission under President Trump that Musk headed and quickly abandoned—represented an existential threat to millions. Entire industries are built on process complexity: lawyers, consultants, compliance specialists, HR departments, regulators. Musk simplifies or eliminates them.

Tellingly, while Western elites debate the ethics of Musk's mass layoffs, China quietly outpaces the world in industrial robot deployment. According to the International Federation of Robotics, China installed 276,000 industrial robots in 2023—more than half of all global installations (51%)—while all of Europe installed about 92,000 robots and the U.S. about 34,000. No debates about human dignity in work. No ethics committees on automation. No union protests.

Chinese companies like BYD, Huawei, and DJI do the same things as Musk but don't provoke such hatred in the West. Why? Because they're far away. Because they don't touch us personally. A Chinese CEO automating production in Shenzhen doesn't threaten an American HR director's status. Musk doing it in Texas threatens directly.

Muskophobia is personalized. It's not fear of automation per se. It's fear of a specific person proving your redundancy on your turf, before your eyes, in your language.

Bureaucracy is the immune system of the status quo. Its purpose is not development but stability. Regulations, procedures, and standards weren't created by accident. They protect incumbent players. They create barriers to entry. They slow change.

Every Musk success undermines the legitimacy of entire professions. SpaceX launches rockets cheaper than NASA with less bureaucracy. Tesla built an electric vehicle industry that Detroit deemed impossible. Starlink deployed a global satellite network faster than telecoms could have agreed on licenses.

If he can do this without an army of McKinsey consultants, why do we need them? If he builds without 15-year approval processes, why do we need these processes?

The answer is simple: they're needed by those who profit from them. These are hundreds of thousands of high-paying jobs, university programs, consulting firms. An entire ecosystem existing thanks to complexity.

Musk destroys this, proving its redundancy. That's why he's hated not so much by workers but by the educated class. Their salaries, status, and identity are under threat.

Musk's Error: Ignoring Psychology

Musk is an engineer. For him, problems are solved technologically. Robot more efficient than a human? Replace. Process redundant? Delete. Employee unproductive? Fire.

But society is not an engineering system. People are not code that can be rewritten. Millions of workers whose professions will disappear won't instantly become robot programmers.

Adapting society to a roboticized world is more complex than Starlink. Starlink is 5,000 satellites and an engineering challenge. Labor market adaptation is 150 million Americans and billions globally, each with their own skills, families, mortgages, and ages.

A 45-year-old accountant replaced by AI won't become a data specialist. A 55-year-old middle manager won't retrain as a roboticist. He'll retire early with smaller savings.

Musk ignores basic psychology. People are conservative, attached to the familiar. Most will prefer the stability of mediocrity to the uncertainty of potential abundance. This isn't irrational. It's evolutionary caution about risk.

Society needs preparation. Retraining. Transitional programs. Support during transformation. Explanation of benefits. Involvement in the process.

Musk doesn't do this. He builds the future and expects people to adapt on their own. This doesn't work with the masses. People need time, support, a sense of control over their own lives.

Meanwhile, China implements automation faster than the West not because the Chinese are smarter or more technologically advanced, but because there's no need to convince society, conduct public debates, or overcome union resistance.

Authoritarian systems make decisions—and that's it. Democracy requires consensus. This is simultaneously its strength and weakness. Musk wants Western decision-making speed at Chinese levels. But this is impossible without abandoning democracy itself.

The question isn't whether Musk is right about technology. The question is whether democratic societies can adapt quickly enough not to lose the technological race to authoritarian systems. The answer remains unclear.

What Business and Society Must Do

History provides a clear answer: technology always wins. The question is the cost of transition and who will be among the winners.

A society that doesn't prepare people for a roboticized future won't get abundance—it'll get social crisis. Retraining programs, social support, psychological assistance aren't charity. They're investments in stability.

For business, the choice is even sharper. Entrepreneurs building companies for decades face a generational challenge. Strategies that worked five years ago become obsolete in months. Competitors who've implemented AI and automation gain advantages that hiring can't compensate for.

"Good enough for our lifetime" is no longer a strategy. A company not changing today won't survive tomorrow. But understanding the need for change doesn't equal understanding how exactly to change.

Most executives operate in an information vacuum. Consultants sell presentations about trends that are outdated by the time they're created. Internal teams defend budgets rather than speak the truth about how much of their functions can be automated. Conferences provide superficial overviews but not adaptation strategies for specific businesses.

Smart leaders don't need data. They need advisors who see three steps ahead. Experts who've survived technological revolutions. People who can distinguish hype from real trends, helping not just forecast changes but manage them.

Companies that survive periods of radical transformation aren't distinguished by the size of their innovation budgets. They're distinguished by access to expertise that helps make the right decisions amid uncertainty. And, even more importantly, by the courage to make those decisions.

Structured advisory boards, long-term strategic partnerships with world-class experts, regular access to knowledge from people who've lived through similar transformations—these aren't options. They're survival conditions. Not one-off consultations, but systematic work with those who've seen industries collapse and rebuild.

In a world where Musk is right about the speed of change, companies without access to top-tier expertise will repeat the Luddites' fate. Their business models will disappear not because they worked poorly yesterday, but because tomorrow they simply won't work.

The Choice of an Era

Muskophobia is a diagnostic test for readiness for the future. Your reaction to the words "there will be more robots than people" shows where you stand: hear a threat—you're defending the past; hear a challenge—you're thinking about adaptation; hear an opportunity—you're becoming part of the solution.

Musk is right about the main thing: technological optimism remains the only rational position, since the alternative is stagnation and decline. But he's wrong in ignoring those who can't keep up with changes. These people need real help with adaptation, not abstract lectures about the inevitability of progress.

Muskophobia is a luxury that a society capable of reacting to technological changes emotionally rather than pragmatically can afford. But the question remains open: how long will this luxury last in a world where competitors don't waste time on such debates?

Today's choice isn't between Musk and the status quo, but between technological progress with a social adaptation program and progress without one. The first path leads to prosperity through managed transformation. The second—to inevitable lag behind those who act while others discuss.

Technology always wins—all of human history demonstrates this. The only question is who will be among those building the new world, and who will remain on the sidelines discussing how ethical its creation was.