BITCOIN WAS NOT CREATED TO GET RICH

Bitcoin wasn't born from a dream of wealth. It was born from disgust. From profound moral weariness. From a moment when the lie had become so thick that there was no other choice but to build something outside of it. Not a reform. Not an improvement. An exit. The obsession with price came later. As always. When something radical emerges, the system first denies it, then mocks it, then absorbs it. Price is the perfect tool for this. It transforms a rupture into an asset, a criticism into an opportunity, a rejection into a financial product. It reassures. It simplifies. It neutralizes. But Bitcoin was never designed to reassure anyone. It was designed because no one deserved to be trusted anymore.

At the beginning, there was no trader. There was no investor. There was a cold, hard truth: the global monetary system rests on a moral promise that has already been broken. A promise of discipline. A promise of responsibility. A promise of limits. All have been violated, slowly, methodically, under the cover of technical complexity and institutional language. Bitcoin is not an economic answer. It is an ethical one. The Genesis block is not a technical feat. It is a silent political act. A phrase etched into the code, not to impress, but to bear witness. “Chancellor on brink of second bailout for banks.” It is not a punchline. It is a statement of fact. Incriminating evidence. An indelible record. On that day, someone decided that history could no longer be erased.

A parallel monetary system isn't created because one wants to become rich. It's created because one has understood that wealth, as it's currently distributed, no longer has any relation to value, work, or responsibility. It's created because money has become a tool of soft domination, an invisible transfer mechanism, a social anesthetic. Bitcoin is not a product. It's a consequence. The obsession with price is an intellectual betrayal because it reverses causality. It makes people believe that Bitcoin exists because it's rising, when in fact it's rising because it exists. Because it addresses something profoundly broken. Because it offers a credible alternative in a world where all others rely on faith, coercion, or opacity.

When someone asks you “how much will it be worth?”, they aren’t asking a question about Bitcoin. They’re revealing their dependence on the very system they claim to criticize. They’re seeking external validation. Authority. A promise of profit that would finally justify their interest. As if the legitimacy of a tool were measured by its ability to enrich those who use it. Bitcoin has never promised wealth. It promises the absence of cheating. And in a world built on normalized cheating, that’s already revolutionary. The moral failure of the fiat system isn’t inflation. Inflation is just a symptom. The failure is deeper. It lies in the very idea that a small group of individuals can decide, without personal consequences, how much money governs the lives of billions of human beings. That they can alter the rules mid-game, then calmly explain that it was necessary, rational, inevitable.

Bitcoin eliminates this possibility. Not because it's smarter. But because it's dumber. More rigid. Colder. It doesn't interpret. It doesn't explain. It executes. And that's precisely why it's so unsettling. The current system works because it can adapt to the errors it creates itself. Every crisis justifies intervention. Every intervention paves the way for the next. It's a moral spiral where irresponsibility is rewarded, as long as it's large enough to be systemic. Bitcoin breaks this loop. It doesn't save anyone. It doesn't fix anything. It doesn't engage in "smart" monetary policy. It applies a rule and lets the world deal with it. This isn't a bug. It's the core of the project.

When you reduce Bitcoin to a graph, you miss what it says about us. You refuse to listen to what it reveals about our relationship to authority, fear, and control. You want to know if it will "double" when it's actually asking you if you're capable of living without permission. Price is a language the system understands. Bitcoin speaks another language. The language of the protocol. The language of the non-negotiable rule. The language of individual responsibility pushed to its breaking point. No recourse. No customer service. No excuses. That's why so many people hate it before they even understand it. Bitcoin doesn't promise you anything. It exposes you.

It forces you to confront what you usually delegate: risk management, value preservation, trust in the infrastructure. It's not comfortable. It's demanding. It's not there to reassure you, but to make you an adult in a world that prefers to infantilize. Those who came to get rich will leave as soon as the price disappoints them. It's inevitable. Bitcoin doesn't hold onto opportunists. It passes through them. It wears them down. It confronts them with their contradictions. And sometimes, for some, something shifts. The price ceases to be an end in itself. It becomes background noise. At that moment, Bitcoin truly begins.

It begins when you understand that even at zero, it would remain true. That even if forbidden, it would remain just. That even if marginal, it would remain necessary. Because it doesn't respond to a need for profit, but to a need for limits. A clear, legible, verifiable limit that no one can shift to their advantage. The fiat system rests on the promise that the right people will make the right decisions. Bitcoin rests on the opposite assumption: no one should be trustworthy. And it is precisely this lucid pessimism that makes it so robust. It's no coincidence that Bitcoin emerged after decades of crises, bailouts, interest rate manipulation, and endless debt. It's not a technological accident. It's a historical response. An object born from the moral exhaustion of a system that has reached the limits of its logic.

When you ask “why is it going up?” you look at the finger. Bitcoin shows you the moon, and what lies beyond: a world where money is no longer a neutral tool, but a political, social, and psychological lever. A world where the value of labor evaporates while the value of assets explodes. A world where saving is punished and debt glorified. Bitcoin doesn't promise to fix this world. It offers a partial escape from it. And that's why it's so misunderstood. People want it to be a comprehensive solution, a miracle cure, a new form of wealth. It's none of those things. It's an escape route. Discreet. Cold. Uncomfortable. Reserved for those who are willing to understand before they own.

Satoshi left no marketing roadmap. He didn't give talks. He didn't try to convince anyone. He released some code and left. This isn't a minor detail. It's a message. Bitcoin doesn't depend on a narrative. It stands on its own. The obsession with price is a betrayal because it tries to drag Bitcoin back into the very realm it left behind: the realm of promise, projection, and speculated future. Bitcoin doesn't need a bright future to exist. It already exists, here, now, block after block, indifferent to narratives. Those who remain understand that true wealth isn't the multiple displayed on a screen. It's the certainty that no one can dilute what you own, that no one can arbitrarily exclude you, that no one can change the rules without your consent.

In a world built on perpetual exception, Bitcoin is an immutable rule. In a world where everything is negotiable, it is not. In a world where trust has become an instrument of power, it has rendered it useless. Bitcoin was not created to make people rich. It was created because wealth had lost all moral meaning. The price will rise. The price will fall. The noise will continue. But what matters lies elsewhere. In what Bitcoin reveals, slowly, inexorably, about the ethical bankruptcy of a system that sustains itself through belief rather than truth. Bitcoin is not a gamble. It is a diagnosis. And like all honest diagnoses, it hurts before it sets you free.