Dan O’Dowd is a world-renowned expert in developing software that is both fail-proof and impenetrable to hackers. His work underpins some of the most critical technological advancements in defense and aerospace, including the secure operating systems for Boeing’s 787 Dreamliner, Lockheed Martin’s F-35 fighter jets, the Boeing B-1B intercontinental nuclear bomber, and NASA’s Orion Crew Exploration Vehicle. Since graduating from the California Institute of Technology in 1976, O’Dowd has been at the forefront of designing safety-critical systems and unhackable software, shaping the standards of modern cybersecurity over four decades.

In this conversation, O’Dowd takes aim at Elon Musk, dissecting the billionaire’s lofty promises and self-mythologizing. Biographers Walter Isaacson and Ashlee Vance have described Musk’s empathy as “warped”—a characterization O’Dowd expands on, arguing that Musk’s ambitions, from Mars colonization to Tesla’s vision for sustainable transportation and AI dominance, are less about innovation and more about marketing spectacle. He critiques Musk’s pattern of revisionist history, reckless leadership, and a track record of grand promises that frequently go unfulfilled—such as Tesla’s never-realized affordable car and SpaceX’s ongoing struggles.

O’Dowd also challenges Musk’s self-proclaimed Asperger’s diagnosis, arguing that it serves as a convenient excuse for erratic behavior rather than a genuine explanation. He draws comparisons between Musk and cult-like figures such as Keith Raniere, suggesting that Musk’s public persona is carefully crafted to mask his true motivations: power, control, and self-enrichment.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Regarding empathy, Walter Isaacson has outright stated that Musk lacks it. Ashlee Vance, another biographer who spent three years studying Musk’s life, arrived at a similar conclusion. At the time of his research, Vance was a veteran journalist for Bloomberg Businessweek, and in 2015, he published Elon Musk: Tesla, SpaceX, and the Quest for a Fantastic Future. His assessment? Musk’s sense of empathy is, at best, distorted—if it exists at all.

Vance put it this way: “Elon has the weirdest empathy of anyone I’ve ever encountered. He doesn’t have a lot of interpersonal empathy, but he has a lot of empathy for humanity.”

That statement alone is telling. If someone lacks interpersonal empathy—true, human-to-human emotional connection—can they really be considered empathetic? What they seem to possess instead is cognitive empathy: an intellectual understanding of emotions rather than a genuine emotional experience of them.

This distinction is one I’ve heard repeatedly from experts on narcissism and psychopathy. Figures like Musk don’t experience emotions the way most people do; they recognize how emotions function, but only in a detached, strategic sense.

When Musk speaks of “humanity,” he is speaking in abstraction, not in terms of individuals. And here’s the problem: only individuals exist. The notion of “empathy for mankind” is, in reality, not empathy at all.

Dan O’Dowd: It’s a sales pitch—a marketing tool to make his vision sound inspiring enough for people to join his cause. And that’s the key: it’s always about him being in charge. He doesn’t care about humanity—unless he’s running it. That’s the only condition under which he’s invested.

And we’re not the only ones who see this. Sam Altman, CEO of OpenAI, once said: “Elon wants the world to be saved—but only if he can be the one to save it.” That line stuck with me because it’s completely true.

I don’t think Musk experiences sympathy at all, and in some ways, that’s one of his greatest strengths. He doesn’t care about hurting people or the destruction he leaves behind. If you get in his way, he’ll run you over without a second thought. You are not a person to him. You are an obstacle that needs to be removed.

And this is where I reject the idea that Musk’s behaviour is due to Asperger’s or autism. That’s just another layer of fiction he’s built around himself. Musk has claimed to be on the spectrum. Still, there is nothing in his personality that actually aligns with autistic traits. People with autism often struggle with social cues and norms. Still, they are also deeply loyal, morally driven, and emotionally intense. They don’t manipulate people for sport. They don’t fabricate realities to maintain control. They don’t ruthlessly discard people the moment they are no longer useful.

What Musk exhibits is not autism. It’s unchecked narcissism, sociopathy, and a pathological inability to care about anyone but himself. The idea that he’s autistic is just another lie—another excuse—to explain away his callousness and cruelty.

Musk’s claim of Asperger’s is just another one of his excuses—a convenient way to justify his erratic behaviour and impulsive decisions. It gives him something to fall back on whenever he does something insane or socially inappropriate. He can say, “Oh, well, I have a diagnosis, so I sometimes say crazy things and act in funny ways. It’s a condition—I can’t help it.” But that’s not what’s really happening.

The reality is that Musk never developed self-control. He never developed the internal mechanisms that most adults do. Everything about his behaviour suggests he is stuck at 13 years old. Everything is new and exciting, and everything is about instant gratification. He never learned about the real consequences of life. He has been sheltered in a way that most 13-year-olds are sheltered, but what happens between ages 13 and 18 for most people? They grow up. They face the real world. They learn that actions have consequences.

But Musk never had that moment. He never went through that transition. He has been frozen at that stage of development ever since. That’s my personal belief—of course, I don’t have a medical test for it, nor does he. But his supposed Asperger’s diagnosis? It’s another convenient excuse to deflect accountability and say, “Oh, I can’t help it. That’s just my condition.” When, in reality, it’s just his lack of self-control.

Jacobsen: Let’s discuss Musk’s so-called “visionary” ideas. For years, he has championed grand ambitions—making humanity a multi-planetary species, carrying the light of human consciousness into the cosmos, and expanding civilization beyond Earth. To his credit, he has remained consistent in promoting these ideals.

On the surface, it all sounds poetic, almost lyrical—language designed to inspire. But what is the true function of these statements? Are they genuine aspirations, or do they serve another purpose? Are they, in the end, just another tool of manipulation, carefully crafted to rally people behind him?

O’Dowd: The answer is obvious. These visions are completely fabricated. Some are ripped straight from science fiction books and movies that Musk read as a kid. Others are just marketing slogans designed to give people “precedents and superlatives,” as he puts it, to motivate them. But none of them hold up under any level of scrutiny.

Take the Mars Colony idea—a million people on Mars. It’s preposterous. No serious planetary scientist thinks this is remotely feasible. Mars has no oxygen, no water, and is freezing cold nearly all the time. These are big problems. You need air and water, and Mars doesn’t have them.

Sure, some of these things could be manufactured—with enormous amounts of electricity. But where does that electricity come from? Unlike Earth, Mars doesn’t have fossil fuels—there were no dinosaurs or trees 300 million years ago that could have turned into oil or coal. So, that’s not an option. Solar power? Good idea—except Mars gets half the solar radiation that Earth does. That’s not necessarily a dealbreaker, but it does make things harder.

And then there’s the dust storms. Every so often, Mars gets a planet-wide dust storm that lasts for months or even years. Good luck keeping solar panels running through that. You’d need enormous battery storage—but even on Earth, we don’t have battery technology advanced enough to store months of electricity. And we certainly wouldn’t be able to ship that much battery capacity to Mars.

So now we’re looking at no energy, water, or air. What are these one million people supposed to do? It’s simply impossible. And then you get to the industrial problem. To sustain one million people, you’d need a full industrial civilization—semiconductor factories, plastics factories, concrete production. Oh, and guess what?

Mars doesn’t have concrete.

Concrete is made from limestone, clays, and specific minerals that Mars lacks. So, how exactly do you build anything? And what about metal mining? Sure, there might be metals underground, but we don’t know where they are, we don’t have a way to find them, and we don’t have the equipment to mine them.

It’s absurd.

Then there’s Optimus, the humanoid robot. Musk claimed that Optimus would end poverty and that every person on Earth would have everything they wanted because robots would do all the work. It’s the same nonsense utopia every scammer has sold since dawn. But not everybody can have what Musk has. There isn’t enough material on Earth to give every person a Gulfstream G650 private jet, a mansion, and billions of dollars. The math doesn’t work. It’s logistically impossible.

Then there’s Neuralink—which Musk claimed would cure paralysis and restore sight to blind people. It’s just another Jesus-level miracle he’s selling. The spinal cord repair claim? Completely ridiculous. The restoring vision claim? Utterly unproven. But Musk knows that if he says, “I can make the blind see and the crippled walk,” he’ll get people to throw money at him. It’s a modern version of what revival preachers did in the 19th century—bringing people up on stage, “healing” them and collecting donations.

And then there’s The Boring Company, which is supposed to revolutionize underground transportation. So, what has it actually done?

One tunnel in Las Vegas.

That’s it. And what is this tunnel? It’s just a small underground road where Teslas drive slowly in single file with human drivers. That’s the entire achievement of The Boring Company after ten years.

This is the pattern. The Mars Colony? Fake. Optimus? Fake. Neuralink’s miracle claims? Fake. The Boring Company? Useless. But people keep believing him. They keep giving him money.

Because that’s his real skill. Not building things. Not designing things. Selling dreams.

Musk’s xAI, the so-called cutting-edge AI company that can’t even spell Pennsylvania correctly. And that’s where we are now—none of this makes sense.

And let’s not forget Tesla’s so-called “Secret Master Plan.” In 2006, Musk published what he called the “Secret” Master Plan—which wasn’t actually secret. It was just another gimmick. He laid out a three-step vision for Tesla’s future:
Step one – build the Roadster, an expensive sports car, and sell it to rich people. Step two – take those profits and build a mid-range electric car. Step three – use those profits to build a mass-market, affordable electric car.

It sounded like a brilliant long-term plan. Only one problem: It never actually happened.

Yes, Tesla built the Roadster. But Musk didn’t invent it. He didn’t design it. The actual founders of Tesla had already developed the Roadster prototype before Musk entered the picture. He didn’t have the original idea and didn’t do the engineering. But what did happen?

They shipped the Roadster, but they lost a lot of money on it. There were no profits to fund the next step. So what did Tesla do? Did they build an affordable electric car next? No. Instead, they built the Model S, a luxury electric car.

I bought one myself—for $105,000. I was among the first 2,000 buyers. That is not an affordable electric car. Even today, with government incentives, a Model 3 still costs $40,000+. That’s mid-range at best, but it’s not affordable for most people.

And what about Step Three—the truly affordable mass-market electric car? It was cancelled. It’s in Isaacson’s biography. Musk himself admitted it. He has since confirmed that Tesla will not make a low-cost electric car.

Why? Because he can’t make any money off it. That’s why he’s not doing it. Tesla’s whole purpose was supposed to be making electric cars affordable for the masses. That’s how you transition the world to renewable energy for transportation. That’s how you make a real difference. But after 17 years and a trillion-dollar company, Musk has given up on that mission.

Let’s break this down: If only the rich could afford electric cars, how much of a real impact would EVs have on the environment?

If only 10% of the population switches to EVs, that’s only a 10% reduction in emissions—right? No. Because 70% of the electricity grid still runs on fossil fuels. So the actual impact is 3% of 10%—basically nothing.

And the wealthy—the people most likely to buy Teslas—also have the biggest carbon footprints. They fly private jets, own multiple homes, and consume more energy than the average person ever could. So, even if all of them drive EVs, the net impact is minuscule.

This is why Tesla has failed its own mission. Musk was supposed to lead the world toward a sustainable transportation revolution. But instead, he’s abandoning the idea of affordable EVs altogether.

But you know who isn’t giving up? BYD.

BYD just released an $11,000 electric car. That’s an affordable price almost anyone can afford, and it can change the market.

Musk had 17 years and trillions of dollars to do this. He didn’t. BYD did.

If only the upper-class switches to electric cars while everyone else continues driving gasoline-powered vehicles, then we haven’t solved anything. That applies to the U.S., where 70% of Americans still drive gasoline cars, and India, Africa, and the rest of the developing world, where billions rely on traditional fuels. Switching to electric vehicles only works if EVs become cheaper than gas-powered cars—or at least close enough in price to make switching a realistic option for the masses.

However, Musk’s entire strategy has been the opposite. Instead of making affordable electric cars, he focused on luxury EVs. And make no mistake—Teslas are still categorized as luxury vehicles. So what is the point of an electric car company that makes less than 1% of the world’s cars—only to be sold to rich people?

The real purpose of Tesla isn’t to solve climate change—it’s to sell wealthy people a badge of moral superiority. Tesla is a status symbol, a way for the rich to look down on the poor who still drive gas-powered cars and blame them for ruining the planet. But who actually consumes the most energy? The rich. They are the ones who fly private jets, own massive homes, and produce 5–10 times more carbon than the average person.

Tesla gives those same people an indulgence—a way to pretend they’re helping when they are the problem. But by buying a Tesla, they can say, “I’m part of the solution.” And Musk profits off of that guilt. It’s not the poor farmers in India who are destroying the environment. It’s the tech billionaires in Silicon Valley. But buy an electric car, and suddenly, you’re the hero.

And now? Musk has abandoned the very mission that made Tesla famous.

For 17 years, he was celebrated worldwide as a visionary, a humanitarian, and a man paving the way for a greener future. But now? He’s openly saying he won’t build a truly affordable EV. His own employees at Tesla were plotting behind his back to modify the CyberCab into a $25,000 EV—something that could actually bring EVs to the masses. But Musk figured it out.

And what did he do?

He killed it.

Because the real money—the trillion-dollar valuation that keeps Musk at the top of the world—isn’t in low-cost EVs. It’s in the CyberCab RoboTaxi fantasy. That’s what keeps the stock price inflated. That’s what keeps investors dumping billions into Tesla.

So now, after 17 years, he’s saying: “Actually, I’m not going to do the thing I built my entire reputation on. I won’t make EVs accessible to the masses. Because I can’t make enough money off of it.” The mission that made him beloved, worshipped, and called a humanitarian? It’s over. The only thing that matters to him now is the RoboTaxi scheme, which keeps him the richest man in the world.

Jacobsen: What about the claims of founding?

O’Dowd: Musk did not found Tesla. Legally, he won the right to call himself a co-founder—but only after suing the actual founders into financial ruin. The original Tesla team had already built a Roadster prototype before Musk even joined the company. He did not create the idea, engineer the product, or start the company. He invested $6 million and took over.

Same story with Twitter—he didn’t found it; he bought it.

The Boring Company and Neuralink? Those were his projects.

SpaceX? That’s one company where he was the founder—so credit where it’s due.

But here’s the thing—it shouldn’t even matter. Whether or not he founded Tesla is irrelevant in the grand scheme. It matters to Musk, though, because to him, image is everything. His entire brand is built on being the “genius founder.”

Jacobsen: So, what good can we say about Musk?

O’Dowd: He did play a role in accelerating the EV industry, that’s true. But it wasn’t because of his engineering brilliance—it was because he forced the auto industry to take EVs seriously.

That’s the best you can say about him. He didn’t invent EVs. He didn’t create Tesla. He didn’t make EVs accessible. But he did push the industry forward. But now? He’s walking away from even that accomplishment.

When I bought a Roadster, it was the only electric vehicle on the market. There were no other EVs available to buy. So, in that sense, Musk did build something meaningful. And I’ve thanked him for that—I even wrote an official thank-you note, saying what a great idea it was.

It’s given me 15 years of great entertainment. I drive that car every day, even in the middle of January. I take it through the hills, across the valleys, along the ocean, and into my office. It’s fantastic. I love my Roadster, and I won’t give it up. Actually, I have five Roadsters now—I forgot to mention that. Oops.

So, credit where it’s due—the Roadster was great. And I’ve got to say, the Model S was pretty darn good too. It was electric. It worked. And it still works. We still have our Model S—my wife drives it every day. After 13 years, it’s still going strong. That’s not bad. It’s a nice car—good size, range, solid build. It was a well-designed EV.

But Tesla never made money on it. It was too expensive, and not enough people could afford one. Then there’s the Model X—which I don’t think was a good product. And let’s talk about those Falcon Wing doors—that was pure Musk. You can tell that was one of his stupid ideas. And it never worked properly. It was a gimmick, not a practical feature.

Now, let’s talk about Starlink. It has been useful—once. Except for the one time we needed it, it dropped out. So, yes, that happened. It’s also expensive. And the problem with Starlink? It doesn’t scale well. They’re launching massive amounts of satellites, but they can’t effectively support large numbers of users. We’ll see what happens with Starlink in the long term, but I’m not convinced it’s a sustainable business model.

And then there’s Starship. That thing keeps blowing up. Seven launches—seven explosions. That’s his way of pushing forward with SpaceX, but at this point, it’s trial and error—with many errors.

So, let’s break this down.

Musk isn’t going to fulfill Tesla’s original mission of making affordable EVs for the masses.

For SpaceX, he thinks the key to getting to Mars is to build a Starship—but so far, it has failed.

And then you hear people say, “Musk is a genius because he built a rocket company.” But did he really? No, he didn’t invent the technology. He didn’t design the rockets. What he did do was raise the money. He sucked in $20 billion in funding. And that is something.

But then you have to ask—if you gave someone else $20 billion, could they also build a rocket company?

We landed on the moon before Elon Musk was even born. I watched it happen—well, on TV, but still, it happened more than 50 years ago. We had a rocket called the Saturn V, capable of lifting over 100 tons into space. When Musk first proposed Starship, the original design was supposed to lift 300 tons—then that number dropped to 150—and now? It’s down to around 100.

Jacobsen: So what, exactly, is Musk doing that hasn’t been done before?

O’Dowd: The Apollo engineers built their rockets with slide rules and analog computers. They didn’t have AI, supercomputers, or Musk’s $20 billion war chest. And yet, they did it. Musk, meanwhile, is still blowing up prototypes.

Let’s talk about Tesla’s real founders because Musk’s legal title as “co-founder” does not tell the full story.

Martin Eberhard and Marc Tarpenning were the real founders of Tesla. Musk did not create Tesla. But through legal settlements, Musk secured the right to call himself a co-founder—even though Tesla already had a prototype Roadster before he got involved.

So let’s be clear: Technically? Musk is legally a co-founder—because a court settlement allowed him to claim that title. Chronologically? He is not a real founder.

And Martin Eberhard has never held back his opinion on Musk. In an interview, he said that Musk was one of the biggest assholes he had ever worked with. And this wasn’t coming from some random critic but from one of the actual Tesla founders. This guy has worked with many difficult people in Silicon Valley. That was his paraphrased, direct opinion of Musk.

Jacobsen: And what about the argument that Musk “works his ass off” to save companies?

O’Dowd: Some people—including those who worked with him—claim that sometimes, he does. In his biography, Walter Isaacson describes this phenomenon as “Demon Mode.” Musk goes into a hyper-focused, problem-solving frenzy when things fall apart, pushing everyone around him to the limit. Isaacson might have quoted Kimbal Musk or one of Musk’s close associates when describing this state.

But here’s the thing—Demon Mode isn’t genius. It’s panic-driven chaos. It’s not a sign of great leadership—it’s a sign of a leader who lets everything spiral out of control, only to throw himself into the fire to put out the blaze he helped create.

There’s a difference between being a great strategist and a reckless gambler who sometimes gets lucky. So yes—Musk does have moments where he grinds, works, and pushes through challenges. But they aren’t a sign of discipline or stability—they’re signs of desperation and damage control.

Because the truth is, he doesn’t run companies well. He throws them into chaos, makes huge promises, and only occasionally pulls off a victory. And that’s why he’s been successful. Because when you don’t care about rules, honesty, or people, you can play the game differently than everyone else.

And if you get enough money, you can keep betting big until something works.

Jacobsen: Did Musk found OpenAI, or was he just an early investor?

O’Dowd: He was an early investor and sat on the board. But did he found it? Well, he certainly claims to be the reason OpenAI exists. That’s part of his usual revisionist history—whenever something succeeds, he inserts himself into the origin story.

When OpenAI needed funding, Musk helped fund the project. According to The Economic Times, he was listed as one of the co-founders when OpenAI was launched in 2015. But if you look at more reliable sources, like Euronews or

According to Wikipedia, the founding team included 12 people: Sam Altman, Greg Brockman, Ilya Sutskever, and others.

So yes, Musk was technically a co-founder but not the key operator. He was involved early, put in money, and left the organization when things didn’t go how he wanted. And now? He spends his time attacking OpenAI, claiming it has betrayed its original mission—even though he wasn’t there to build it out.

And that’s a pattern with Musk—being in and out of everything.

The Boring Company—did he found that? Yes. But did it go anywhere? No. It’s still operating but has only drilled one tunnel in Las Vegas and a short tunnel outside the Tesla factory in Texas. That’s it. It was supposed to revolutionize urban traffic but never built a high-speed tunnel system in Los Angeles, the East Coast, or anywhere else.

X (Twitter)? He didn’t found it—he bought it.
Neuralink? Co-founder.
Zip2? Co-founder.
PayPal? Co-founder.

The Musk Foundation? Well, that’s just a personal fund that builds houses for him.

Jacobsen: Wait—didn’t Musk claim he had no houses?

O’Dowd: Yes, he claimed he sold all his homes. But here’s the real reason he sold his properties: tax avoidance.

Musk was holding onto $40 billion in stock options. If he cashed them in while living in California, the state would tax him 13%—over $5 billion in taxes. So what did he do? He moved to Texas, a state with no income tax.

However, California has strict tax rules—they determine residency based on where you own property, where you spend time, and even whether you have a country club membership. If Musk had kept his house in California, the state could have claimed he was still a resident and taxed him accordingly. So, to avoid paying billions in taxes, he sold everything and moved to Texas before cashing out his stock.

So when he pretends he lives in a tiny rented house, it’s not because he’s a minimalist—he needed to ditch his California residency to avoid taxes.

That’s the real story.

So, Musk had to sell all his houses quickly—he had five or six of them and offloaded them as quickly as possible. Why? Because he needed to get out of California before cashing out his stock options. He had to be physically in Texas before executing the sale, or California would take 13% of his $40 billion payout—$5 billion in taxes he was trying to avoid.

That’s the real reason Musk sold his house and moved to Texas. But what did he say at the time? He framed it as some philosophical awakening, claiming he no longer wanted material attachments, houses slowed him down, and he wanted to be free. That was the public narrative. But the real story was simple: It was a business decision to escape California taxes.

Jacobsen: I’ve heard that lie before. After years of interviewing members of high-IQ societies and elite circles, I’ve noticed a recurring pattern. There’s always the carefully curated public face—a façade of genius, altruism, or self-sacrifice. But beneath it? The real game is power, control, and self-enrichment.

Take Keith Raniere, for example. Have you heard of NXIVM or DOS?

What began as a multi-level marketing scheme in the U.S. eventually morphed into a sex cult—one that ensnared powerful and wealthy individuals. Raniere managed to con $150 million from the Bronfman sisters, heirs to the Seagram fortune, by convincing them he was a brilliant philosopher. He even manipulated his way into the Guinness Book of World Records for having one of the highest recorded IQs—an accolade that, at the time, was essentially self-registerable.

But he wasn’t a genius. He lost that $150 million in the stock market because he had no idea what he was doing. Meanwhile, he was secretly running DOS—a group whose name, in Latin, means “master over slave.” Disguised as a women’s empowerment movement, DOS functioned as a recruitment pipeline, ultimately leading women into sexual servitude to Raniere.

And here’s where the parallel to Musk emerges. Raniere meticulously cultivated an image of renunciation—a thinker above material desires, a philosopher unburdened by the trivialities of wealth or power. He presented himself as an ascetic, someone guided by ethics and higher purpose. And yet, behind closed doors, he was indulging in total control, coercing his followers, including celebrities like Smallville actress Allison Mack, into submission.

His downfall? Branding. Quite literally. His followers were burned—marked near their groins with his initials, as if they were cattle. That moment shattered the illusion. It led to his arrest, prosecution, and a prison sentence of over a century.

The pattern is clear. The public persona and the hidden reality rarely align.

O’Dowd: Musk pretended to be homeless—but it was just a legal and financial move. He pretends to be a humanitarian, but his actions contradict everything he stands for.

Jacobsen: Thanks so much Dan, I appreciate it.

O’Dowd: Thanks again. It’s been fun.