What If We Abolished Inheritance? A Society Where the Dead’s Assets Return to the Market

Imagine a society in which inheritance simply does not exist. Not inheritance taxes, which are a different matter, but the very principle that when someone dies, their assets automatically pass to their family. During their lifetime, every individual would have full ownership of everything they had earned, purchased, or received and would be free to sell it, transfer it, or give it away. But at the moment of death, anything still registered in their name and not previously transferred would return to the state, whose sole task would be to put those assets back on the market as quickly as possible. A house, therefore, would not automatically pass to a child; a piece of land would not automatically become a grandchild’s property; shares in a company would not automatically become part of the family fortune. If the owner wanted to transfer those assets, they would have to do so during their lifetime. Otherwise, after their death, those assets would return to circulation.

The Problem of Assets That Become Frozen

The idea is deliberately radical, but it comes from a very concrete problem: what happens to a person’s assets when they die and their heirs are either uninterested, unable to agree, or simply incapable of managing them? Consider someone who lives alone, has no children, works their entire life, buys a home, and perhaps owns a small piece of land. They die without having made arrangements for their property. Under the current system, the law has to find someone who can inherit it. Brothers, nephews, cousins, or even more distant relatives may suddenly appear—people who may have had almost no relationship with the deceased but who, simply because they belong to the family, suddenly find themselves owning part of the estate.

What was once an orderly estate controlled by one person can become a co-ownership divided among several people, each with different interests. One wants to sell, another wants to keep the property, another demands a particular amount of money, another does not want to deal with it at all, and someone else may live on the other side of the world. The house remains there. The land remains there. The assets formally continue to exist, but putting them to productive use can become almost impossible. It is the paradox of wealth that exists on paper but, because ownership has been fragmented, can become economically sterile.

The So-Called “Dead Branches” of the Family

The phenomenon becomes even more obvious when it involves people who live alone, have no children, or have very weak family relationships. Someone may spend forty years working, buying a home, saving money, and perhaps accumulating a modest real estate portfolio. Yet when that person dies, those assets must necessarily go to someone.

And so brothers, nephews, cousins, and other relatives enter the picture. People who may have had very little contact with the deceased can suddenly find themselves with the opportunity to own a house or a piece of land. But family ties do not necessarily correspond to economic interest, the ability to manage an asset, or the desire to preserve it.

A society without inheritance would start from precisely this observation: a family asset does not necessarily have to remain in the family simply because a family exists.

Ownership as Responsibility

The rule would be simple: if I want my house to belong to my child, I have to take care of that while I am alive. If I want to help my niece, I can do so during my lifetime. If I want a particular piece of land to remain in the family, I can arrange the transfer. But if I spend my entire life making no decisions, I cannot expect the system to keep that asset within my family indefinitely after my death.

The asset would return to the state, but the state would not keep it. It would put it back on the market, allowing anyone with the interest and financial ability to purchase it—including, naturally, the deceased person’s own relatives.

Under this system, a child would no longer have an automatic right to their parent’s home, but they would have the opportunity to buy it. The house could still end up with the child, but only because the child chooses to purchase it and can afford to do so under market conditions. If the child is not interested, does not have the necessary money, or prefers to live somewhere else, another family could purchase the house.

Ownership would not disappear: it would change hands.

But Why Should a Child Have to Buy Their Parents’ Home?

This would be one of the first objections. Why force a child to buy back something their family built? If a father worked for forty years to purchase the home in which he raised his children, doesn't it seem absurd that, after his death, his child should have to compete with a stranger just to continue living in the house where they grew up?

The objection is powerful, but it also contains the central point of the proposal. The system would not say that the child cannot receive the house. It would say that the transfer must be a decision made while the owner is alive. If the house is genuinely intended for the child, the father can transfer it to them. If he does not, the system does not assume that his intention was necessarily to leave it to that particular child.

It is a stricter conception of property responsibility: having an heir is not enough; you must have decided to transfer the asset to them.

But What Happens to Vulnerable Children?

Here the idea becomes much harder to defend. It is one thing to talk about an adult child who is independent, employed, and capable of purchasing a home on the market. It is quite another to talk about a vulnerable child: someone with a severe disability, a disabling illness, a mental health condition that prevents them from working, or simply an adult child who is not financially self-sufficient and depends on their parents for life.

In such cases, inheritance is not merely a mechanism through which wealth passes from one generation to the next. It can be a safety net. A parent’s home may be what guarantees a roof over the head of someone who could never afford to buy one. Assets may be needed to pay for care, treatment, home adaptations, and everyday support. Abolishing automatic inheritance without creating an alternative system of protection would risk hurting precisely those who have the fewest means of protecting themselves.

And this is where the theory would have to confront reality. The parent of a vulnerable child cannot be treated as though they were simply accumulating wealth to pass on to an independent adult descendant. In many cases, the parent is building a private form of social welfare for someone who will continue to need protection even after the parent is gone.

The answer, however, would not necessarily have to be a return to automatic inheritance. One could imagine a system in which a parent, during their lifetime, could transfer ownership of the home or a right of residence to the vulnerable child, or establish a protected trust or dedicated pool of assets intended exclusively for that person's support. The law could also provide that certain assets dedicated to the care and support of a person who cannot care for themselves would not immediately enter the sales market but would remain protected for their benefit.

In other words, abolishing inheritance would have to go hand in hand with a genuine right to continuity of protection. The issue is not merely determining who owns the house after the parent dies. It is ensuring that the vulnerable child does not lose, along with the parent, their future.

This is probably the strongest objection to the entire experiment. If society is capable of telling a parent, “You cannot automatically leave your house to your child,” then it must also be capable of saying, “But your child will not be left without a home, care, or protection.”

What If the Owner Dies Suddenly?

Another objection concerns unpredictable circumstances. A young person may die in an accident without having had time to arrange their affairs. Someone may become seriously ill very quickly. An elderly person may no longer be capable of making decisions.

Would it really be fair for a simple failure to make arrangements to suddenly sever a home, built and paid for by a family, from that family?

Such a system would therefore have to make estate planning extremely simple, accessible, and inexpensive, providing tools that allow everyone to determine easily what should happen to their assets. But a difficult question would remain: should the system accept that some people, simply because they failed to make a decision, lose the ability to determine the fate of their property after death?

That is precisely what makes the experiment so radical.

Does Inheritance Really Encourage Saving?

There is also a significant economic objection. Parents often save precisely because they want to provide something for their children. A family may sacrifice consumption today to build assets that will be used by the next generation.

If inheritance were abolished, why save for forty years if I cannot leave what I have built to the people I love?

This is probably one of the hardest objections to dismiss. Abolishing inheritance could indeed change patterns of saving, investment, and consumption. Some people might consume more during their lifetime. Others might invest differently. Still others might gradually transfer their assets to their children.

But this is where an interesting feature of the system emerges: it would not eliminate the transfer of wealth; it would move it forward in time.

The Wealthy Would Transfer Everything Before They Die

And here comes an even stronger objection. A billionaire would not need to wait for inheritance. They could transfer their companies, homes, and investments to their children many years before death. In the end, family fortunes would continue to exist, while those most disadvantaged would be people who lacked the resources, information, or ability to organize such transfers in advance.

The risk is real. That is why such a society would need strict rules against sham transactions and schemes designed to circumvent the system.

But this objection also highlights an important point: abolishing inheritance does not mean abolishing inherited inequality. If the goal were to prevent wealth from passing from parents to children, then lifetime gifts and transfers would also have to be restricted. If, instead, the goal is to prevent abandoned assets, unused properties, and fragmented ownership from remaining frozen for generations, then lifetime transfers would not be a problem. They would be exactly what the system is designed to encourage.

Wouldn’t the State Become Too Powerful?

There is another fundamental question: are we sure it is a good idea to turn the state into the temporary owner of every estate left behind by the dead?

Imagine thousands of homes, parcels of land, companies, and other assets passing every year through a gigantic public system before being resold. Who determines the price? How long does the sale take? How do we prevent favoritism and corruption? What happens to a company that cannot easily be sold? And what happens to a property nobody wants to buy?

This would probably be one of the most delicate aspects of the system. The state should not become the permanent administrator of millions of assets. It should be only a temporary intermediary, subject to transparent and preferably automated procedures, with public auctions and predetermined deadlines.

The goal would be to prevent the end of inheritance from turning the state into a new giant property owner.

Wouldn’t This Be a Form of Expropriation?

Now we reach the strongest moral objection. A person works their entire life, pays taxes, legally purchases a home, and then, upon their death, the state takes it.

Wouldn't that essentially be a form of expropriation?

The answer depends on how we understand property rights. If we believe that ownership necessarily includes the right to determine who will own an asset after our death, then this system would certainly represent a radical limitation.

If, however, we distinguish the right to own property during one's lifetime from inheritance as a legal institution, the question changes. The owner would lose nothing while alive. They could sell, give away, consume, or transfer their assets. They simply would not be able to automatically create a new owner after their death.

Should the Dead Be Able to Decide for the Living?

And here we reach the deepest philosophical question. How long should a person's power over their property last after they die?

Today we accept that a property decision can cross generations. A house can pass from grandfather to child, from child to grandchild, and from grandchild to great-grandchild. A decision made by someone a hundred years ago can still determine who owns a property today.

A society without inheritance would break that bridge between generations. It would say that an owner is free to transfer their assets, but only while alive. After death, the assets return to the economic system.

It is a radical concept, but it contains a question worth asking: should a dead person have the power to decide indefinitely who, among the living, will own an asset?

The Real Target Is Not the Family, but Inertia

Ultimately, however, this hypothesis does not necessarily arise from a desire to attack the family or prevent parents from helping their children. Its real target would be something else: inertia.

The forgotten estate. The empty house. The piece of land nobody cultivates. The property divided among ten heirs who cannot agree. The years of litigation over who should receive what. The asset that loses value while its owners argue.

A society without inheritance would simply say: if you want your assets to remain in your family, take care of that while you are alive.

You could become extremely wealthy. You could help your children. You could give everything to a grandchild. You could build a family business. None of this would be prohibited.

But you could no longer leave death to automatically resolve something you never decided yourself.

A Society Without Dynastic Wealth?

The result would be a society in which private wealth continued to exist, but would have a harder time automatically becoming dynastic wealth. Property rights would be extremely strong during a person's lifetime, but not necessarily eternal across generations.

A house could belong to one person for fifty years, return to the market after their death, and pass to a new family. That family could own it for another forty years and, when the new owner died, the process could begin again.

Wealth would not be destroyed. It would change hands.

And perhaps that is the real provocation of the experiment: not abolishing private property, but preventing death from automatically turning it into perpetual family property.

The Final Question

Perhaps the most interesting question is not whether such a society would be fair or unfair. It is whether we are willing to challenge one of our deepest assumptions: that what we build during our lifetime must necessarily be able to survive our death and continue to belong to our descendants.

Today, we consider it almost natural for wealth to outlive its owner. A society without inheritance would instead say that property is first and foremost a responsibility of the living.

You can accumulate as much as you want. You can become as wealthy as you want. You can help whoever you want. You can transfer whatever you own to whoever you believe deserves it.

But you have to decide while you are alive.

Because in this society, death would not open an inheritance. It would reopen the market.

And whatever you did not decide to transfer would simply return to circulation.

The dead would not have the final word over property. The living would.

Relational Capital: In Life, It’s Not Just Who You Are — It’s Who You Know

We’ve been told a beautiful story our entire lives.

Study hard.

Work hard.

Become good at what you do.

Make something of yourself.

And sooner or later, your time will come.

That is the promise of a meritocratic society: if you have enough talent and determination, you can move up.

But there’s a question I’ve often found myself asking:

Move up where? And more importantly, who opens the door for you?

Because the more I observe society, the more I realize that there is a form of wealth we talk about far less than money, real estate, and financial assets.

It’s called relational capital.

Put simply, relational capital is the wealth contained in the people you know, the families you belong to, the circles you move in, and the relationships you can draw on when you need something.

It doesn’t mean having a lot of friends.

You can know half the city and have almost no social influence. Or you can know a handful of people and be part of a network capable of opening doors that remain firmly closed to everyone else.

And that’s where things get interesting.

You Can Have a Great Résumé and Still Have No One to Call

Imagine two young people with the same degree, roughly the same level of education, and the same desire to work.

One graduates and starts sending out résumés. Ten, then fifty, then a hundred. He waits for calls, goes to interviews, gets rejected, and starts over.

The other has a father who knows a business owner. His father makes a phone call. The business owner makes another call. A few days later, an interview is waiting.

Someone might say, “Well, maybe the second person was actually better.”

Maybe.

But that misses the point.

The difference appeared before either person had a real chance to prove their merit.

One had to go looking for an opportunity.

The other already had someone pointing him toward one.

And that may be one of the most underestimated differences in our society.

Not everyone starts from the same line.

And some people don’t even know where the starting line is.

Relational Capital Is Inherited

What I find even more interesting is that relationships, just like money and cultural capital, can be passed from one generation to the next.

A child might grow up in a family where the father knows the local business owner, an uncle is a professional, a cousin works in banking, a family friend is an executive, and an old schoolmate of the parents now holds an influential position.

That child probably doesn’t think of any of this as wealth.

To them, it’s simply normal life.

They grow up watching people meet, phone calls being made, favors being returned, invitations arriving, doors opening.

Without even realizing it, they learn how that world works.

Another kid can be just as intelligent and just as capable, yet grow up completely outside that network.

As an adult, that person first has to discover that such a world exists, then figure out how to get into it, and finally find someone willing to recognize them.

One person was given a map.

The other has to draw the map while walking.

And then someone has the nerve to say the first person got further because they simply worked harder.

There Are Families That Are More “Family” Than Others

You can see this very clearly in small towns.

You don’t need to live in New York, London, or Washington.

You don’t even need to be in a major city.

Spend enough time in a small town and watch how people interact.

Sooner or later, you notice something.

Some families are more “family” than others.

Not necessarily because they have more money.

Maybe they simply have a longer history, a familiar name, an established position, relationships built over decades.

They are the families that always seem to know someone.

If you need a professional, they know someone.

If a business is starting up, they know someone.

If there’s a problem, they know someone.

If you need access to a particular social circle, they know someone who can introduce you.

And when they don’t personally know the right person, they know someone who knows someone.

That is the power of a network.

You don’t have to know everyone.

You just have to know enough people to be able to reach almost anyone through them.

And Then There’s Marriage

This is where the subject becomes even more uncomfortable, because now we’re talking about something deeply personal: choosing a partner.

For centuries, families understood perfectly well that marriage wasn’t simply the union of two individuals.

It was also the union of two families, two fortunes, and—perhaps most importantly—two networks of relationships.

Today, we like to think that all of this belongs to the past and that marriage is simply about love.

And of course, love matters.

But it would be naïve to ignore the fact that we still tend to meet people within the environments we already inhabit.

We attend certain schools, universities, workplaces, clubs, restaurants, neighborhoods, and social circles.

And so, almost inevitably, we meet people who come from worlds similar to our own.

No conspiracy is necessary.

Nobody has to decide from above who should marry whom.

It’s enough for society to be organized into circles.

And when two people get married, it isn’t always just two individuals who come together.

Two networks meet.

Two families.

Two sets of assets.

Two reputations.

Two groups of connections.

And sometimes those two networks merge into something considerably more powerful than either one was before.

That’s Why Some People Would Rather Stay Single

There’s an interesting behavior that can seem strange if we look at relationships only through the lens of romance.

Some people would rather remain single than enter a relationship with someone they perceive as being too far removed from their own social environment.

It isn’t always snobbery.

Sometimes it’s simply an unconscious awareness that a relationship can change your position within society.

A partner can bring you into a new world—or pull you away from one.

They can introduce you to new people.

They can change how others perceive you.

They can even change the opportunities available to you.

And above all, they can shape the social environment in which your children will grow up.

At that point, marriage is no longer simply a private matter.

Whether we like it or not, it can also become one of the mechanisms through which social capital is passed on to the next generation.

The Social Elevator Isn’t Free

This is where the rhetoric of social mobility starts to crack.

We imagine the social elevator as something public.

You walk in.

You press the button.

You go upstairs.

But maybe society is more like a huge building filled with doors.

The elevator exists.

The problem is getting into the building.

And, more importantly, getting inside.

Because you can have talent, education, and ambition, but if you don’t know anyone and don’t even know where to knock, an enormous amount of your energy will be spent simply trying to find the entrance.

That’s the part of meritocracy we talk about the least.

Merit may help you win the race, but first you have to be allowed into the race.

And not everyone gets the same invitation.

The Power of a Phone Call

Think about a simple sentence:

“I’ll introduce you to someone.”

It sounds like almost nothing.

But it can completely change the situation.

Because when someone introduces you, they transfer a little of their own credibility to you.

I know you.

You know him.

I believe you’re someone worth listening to.

So I’ll introduce you.

From that moment on, you’re no longer a complete stranger.

That is relational capital.

It’s the phone call made before the résumé is sent.

It’s the dinner you were invited to.

It’s the group chat someone added you to.

It’s the professional who introduces you to another professional.

It’s someone saying, “I know your father.”

It’s, “Aren’t you so-and-so’s son?”

These sound like ordinary phrases.

But behind them there may be thirty, fifty, or even a hundred years of family history.

The Real Wealth of the Elite

Maybe we should stop thinking about elites simply as people who have a lot of money.

Their real wealth may be something far less visible.

It may be the list of people they can call.

A house can be sold.

A company can go bankrupt.

A bank account can be emptied.

A relationship built over decades, however, can continue generating opportunities.

One person introduces you to another.

That person brings you into another circle.

There, you meet more people.

One of them offers you an opportunity.

The opportunity generates money.

Money generates status.

Status gives you access to new circles.

And those circles generate new relationships.

The cycle feeds itself.

And perhaps this is how relational capital slowly turns into financial capital.

And What About the People Outside?

This is where we reach the part I find most uncomfortable.

People who are born outside these networks often have to build three things at the same time:

skills, money, and relationships.

Someone born inside a network may inherit at least part of all three.

That doesn’t mean their life will be easy.

It doesn’t mean they are incompetent.

It doesn’t even mean they won’t have to work hard.

It simply means that when they arrive at a door, they may already know someone on the other side.

And that is an enormous advantage.

Because one person may spend ten years building a network that another person received for free at birth.

The Capital You Can’t See

Perhaps that is precisely why relational capital is so difficult to recognize.

It doesn’t show up in a bank account.

It isn’t listed on a résumé.

You can’t see it in someone’s apartment.

It doesn’t have a stock-market price.

And yet it can follow a person throughout their entire life.

It’s knowing who to call.

It’s being recognized.

It’s being invited.

It’s having someone willing to say, “Come with me. I’ll introduce you.”

It’s having a last name someone recognizes.

It’s being able to walk into a room where other people don’t even know the meeting is taking place.

And perhaps that is the real difference between someone who possesses relational capital and someone who doesn’t.

The person without it has to search for opportunities.

The person who has it is often told that the opportunities exist.

In the End, It’s Not Just Who You Are

I’m not saying merit doesn’t exist.

I’m not saying everything is controlled by families.

I’m not saying every wealthy person is a beneficiary of nepotism and every poor person is a misunderstood genius.

Reality is much more complicated.

I’m saying something much simpler.

When we judge someone’s success, we usually see only the final result.

We see the successful professional, the entrepreneur, the politician, the executive, the prosperous family.

We don’t see all the people that person met along the way.

We don’t see the doors that opened.

We don’t see the introductions.

We don’t see the advice they received.

We don’t see the relational capital accumulated before that person ever began building their financial wealth.

So perhaps the question shouldn’t simply be:

“How much is this person worth?”

Maybe we should also ask:

“How much is the network they belong to worth?”

Because in life, we can inherit a house.

We can inherit money.

We can inherit a business.

But we can also inherit something far more subtle:

the people our parents know.

And maybe, in the end, the real social elevator isn’t the one that takes you from the ground floor to the top floor.

It’s the one that lets you meet the people who own the elevator.