IS BITCOIN TOO DIFFICULT TO EXPLAIN?
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Bitcoin. The word alone is enough to make some people squint. Others freeze, shrug, or change the subject. There are those who pretend to understand, those who don't dare ask questions, and those who confidently assert, "It doesn't make any sense, it's too complicated." This unease, this discomfort, this almost visceral intellectual resistance to Bitcoin are not trivial. And when we try to explain it, when we sincerely try to arouse curiosity or convey what we've understood, we hit a wall. Why do so many people give up? Why does this technology, which claims to be open to all, seem to be understood only by a small elite, almost a sect of initiates? Is it a question of vocabulary? Bad faith? Cognitive dissonance? Or simply method?
We have to admit that Bitcoin is a strange object. You can't touch it. You can't imagine it as a coin. You can't print it. You can't stop it. And yet, it's there. It exists. It spreads. It shapes vocations, fortunes, convictions. But it defies benchmarks. You have to unlearn to understand. That's where the problem lies. The average citizen doesn't want to unlearn. They want benchmarks. They want things to have a familiar name, a reassuring form, a known framework. Bitcoin offers none of that. Bitcoin begins with a doubt: what if everything we've been taught about money is wrong? What if the state isn't essential to trust? What if banks are parasites? What if scarcity can exist without a central authority? Simply asking these questions is enough to provoke a reaction of rejection. Even before going into details, Bitcoin offends.
And when we try to explain, we use cursed words. Blockchain. Hash. Proof of Work. Halving. Digital signature. Private key. UTXO. Lightning. Nodes. Mining. Satoshi. The terms follow one another like spells in a foreign, hermetic language. Even the simplest, like "wallet," are misleading. A wallet that isn't a wallet, a currency that isn't a currency, a transaction that isn't an accounting line but an inclusion in a signed block on a time-stamped distributed ledger... The language of Bitcoin is a trap. It repels those who don't want to delve into it, and it traps those who want to do too well. Because it's not enough to know the words. You have to understand their logic. And this logic is counterintuitive.
This is where the discomfort grows. Because the further we get into the explanations, the more we realize that Bitcoin is a multilayered mess. It's not a technical subject. It's a philosophy. It's a revolution. It's a critique of the system. An insult to monetary authorities. A call for individual sovereignty. A radical challenge to the modern economy. And yet, it's also a simple protocol. A software program. A network. An algorithm. Bitcoin is all of these things at once. And the person explaining it inevitably gets lost. They start with the basics: "It's a digital currency," then drift, slip, and drag the other person into a spiral: "No, actually, it's a distributed consensus protocol based on proof-of-work allowing predictable issuance and decentralization of validator nodes." At this point, the listener has already given up. They hear a geek in a trance; they don't see the point. They no longer understand why they should listen.
But should we blame him? The world he lives in has never taught him to question money. Never. He was taught how to earn money. How to save. How to pay taxes. How to take out a loan. He was never told what money really was. Or where it came from. Or why it was losing value. He took all of this as a backdrop. A fixed, untouchable backdrop. And now he's being told about a currency he can create himself, secure himself, hold himself. He's told he can do without banks. That he can send money without permission, without third parties, without censorship. That the code is enough. He doesn't believe it. He thinks it's a scam. He thinks of tulips. Something for nerds, traders, or criminals. He turns a blind eye.
Because the human mind has defenses. It rejects anything that forces it to question its foundation. And Bitcoin isn't a new layer. It's a new floor. It doesn't add up. It replaces. It requires a mental reset. And it's hard. Very hard. This is where traditional pedagogy fails. Banking metaphors, comparisons with PayPal or digital gold don't help. They simplify by betraying. They reduce a world to a familiar, but false, image. And as soon as the listener senses that they're being lied to, even by simplification, they reject everything. The paradox is that the more you simplify, the more you betray the essence. And the more complex you make it, the more you lose the other person. There is no good angle. There is no shortcut. The only way is slowness. Impregnation. Doubt. The other person must want to understand. They must seek. Otherwise, he won't find anything.
So we can blame the jargon. It's true, Bitcoin has an abstruse vocabulary, often unnecessarily technical. But that's not the real problem. We can blame the public's lack of curiosity. It's also true, many don't want to understand. But that's not a fault, it's a protection. We can blame the willful elitism of certain maximalists, who cultivate the cult of difficulty. But even the most educational fail. Even the gentlest, the simplest, the most patient. Because the real obstacle is elsewhere. The real obstacle is the mental revolution that Bitcoin imposes. That's what it asks of everyone: to become responsible again. For their money. For their time. For their security. For their choices. Bitcoin is not a technology to be consumed. It's a mirror. It tells everyone: you can be free, but you have to want it. And many prefer not to be. Or not yet.
So, is a radically new pedagogy needed? Probably. A pedagogy that doesn't begin with words, but with sensations. With a story. With a bug. With a failure. With an awakening. The person has to experience something. Bank censorship. Confiscation. Hyperinflation. An account freeze. Fear. Suspicion. That's where Bitcoin can come in. Not before. Because as long as the world works, even if it's poorly functioning, we don't want a plan B. We stay in the boat, even if it's taking on water. The water has to be up to our knees for the canoe to become attractive. And Bitcoin is the canoe. The ark. But we mustn't say that. We must make it felt.
The best Bitcoin educators aren't professors. They're the living. The ones who tell their stories. The ones who say: I was blocked by my bank. I wanted to send money to my family, and they said no. I saw my currency lose 90% of its value in a year. I mined at home to take back power. I read the white paper and I cried. These are the stories that touch people. Because Bitcoin isn't software. It's a scar. A response to a violence that many don't yet see.
Is it too difficult to explain? Yes. Because it's not a subject of explanation. It's a subject of experience. You don't enter Bitcoin through the head. You enter it through doubt. Through need. Sometimes through pain. And then you come back to the head. You learn. You dig. You read. You listen. You become obsessed. But the entry point is never technical. It's always existential. That's why so many people drop out. Because they haven't been touched yet. Not hurt enough to seek another path. And good for them. Too bad for us. Because explaining Bitcoin isn't teaching a concept. It's waiting for someone else to be ready to receive a bomb. And most of the time, they aren't.
We can keep trying. Simplifying. Popularizing. But we'll have to accept it: Bitcoin can't be understood. It has to be experienced. It has to be tested. It changes everything. And this kind of thing can't be passed on like a cooking recipe. It's planted in the mind, like a seed. And it grows slowly, very slowly, in silence, in doubt, in inner conflict. And one day, without warning, the seed germinates. The person comes back. They say, "By the way, can you explain it to me again?" And only then is it time to talk.
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