Money and Power

Few things are more astonishing than a thin piece of paper or a set of digital numbers that can decide whether we eat today, whether a child gets medicine, or whether a society collapses. It is tempting to treat money as natural, like rainfall or gravity. But money is, in truth, something far stranger: a belief, a habit, a dance we all perform without entirely understanding why.

What is money, really? Someone who values individual liberty might tell you that money is freedom, a neutral medium that allows humans to express value and make choices. Someone focused on social power might argue that money is control, an instrument used to mask the exploitation of the many by the few. A banker might call it a tool. A monk might call it a temptation.

But there is another, quieter way to look at it. One that doesn’t shout “freedom!” or “oppression!” but whispers, “agreement.” We could say: money is not a thing, it’s a relationship. It doesn’t exist like a rock or a tree. It exists more like love, or law, or shame—real, yes, but made real only through people’s repeated acts of belief.

In this view, money is a symbol, floating above us like a cloud that we’ve agreed to pretend is solid. We build cities on this cloud, trade lives across it, go to war over it. It is powerful not because it is gold or paper, but because we say so.

And yet, that saying is not meaningless. It has weight. To walk into a shop and offer a credit card for food is not a delusion; it is a demonstration of collective faith. You believe that your card will work. The cashier believes the same. The bank believes you’re good for it. Everyone around you, without speaking, agrees to play along. And so the meal is yours.

This is why money is real, but constructed. We don’t dig it out of the earth like truth. We make it together, then forget we did. It is a kind of shared amnesia wrapped in daily transactions.

Some say this is dangerous. And they are right. For when we forget that money is a creation, we start treating it like a god. We sacrifice time, health, and relationships to it. We blame people for being poor, as if money were air and they had simply forgotten to breathe. We forget that behind every coin is a system of values, a culture, that gave it meaning in the first place.

Others say that the system should be abolished. Perhaps. But it is important to remember: even if capitalism were dismantled tomorrow, money in some form would almost certainly return. Why? Because humans need ways to store trust, to count obligations, to trade energy. We may no longer use cash, but we will still trade something—favors, food, information, influence.

The person who values individual liberty is right that freedom matters. People should be able to choose what they value. The person focused on social power is right that power matters. Not all choices are free. We can simply add: what we value is always constructed. Value does not exist out there in the world like a mineral waiting to be found. It exists between us, in relationships, stories, fears, and hope.

If money is a myth, it is one of the most successful myths humanity has ever told. But like all myths, it can become dangerous when we stop questioning it. The goal is not to destroy the myth, but to make it visible again, to see it as the fragile, human, invented thing it is.

We can then begin to ask better questions. Not “how much is it worth?” but “what kind of world does this kind of money create?” Not “how do we get richer?” but “what do we want to value together?”

For in the end, money is a mirror. It reflects what we choose to worship. If we look closely, we might see not just numbers or coins, but ourselves—hoping, bargaining, dreaming—and perhaps, choosing again.