There is no more reason to believe that Bitcoin will stand the

“There is no more reason to believe that Bitcoin will stand the test of time than that governments will protect the value of government-created money, although Bitcoin is newer, and we always look at babies with hope.” Thus spoke Paul Singer, a financier of sharp intellect and worldly skepticism, whose words pierce the fog of modern faith in technology and power alike. In this utterance lies a meditation on trust, on the fragility of human creations, and on the eternal tension between hope and history. His words do not condemn nor praise — they warn. For both Bitcoin and government money are inventions of the human hand, and all such inventions, though radiant in their birth, are subject to the trials of time.

In ancient days, men placed their trust in gold and grain, in land and lineage. These were tangible, wrought of the earth and touched by labor. But as civilization grew, mankind learned to trade with symbols — coins, paper, and now digital code. Each generation believed it had found a better vessel for wealth, yet the same question remained: what gives value to what we hold? Singer’s words recall this eternal truth — that neither the state nor the blockchain is immune to corruption, error, or the slow erosion of faith. Both systems live and die by the trust of the people who believe in them.

He reminds us that Bitcoin, though hailed as revolutionary, is still an infant — “a baby,” as he calls it, gazed upon with hope and idealism. Yet history teaches that even the brightest children of invention may falter. Recall the early days of the dot-com age, when the world believed the internet would make every man rich, every business immortal. Fortunes rose like fire and fell like ash. And yet from those ashes emerged something enduring — not the speculators’ gold, but the deeper power of the network itself. So it may be with Bitcoin and the technologies it has birthed; the child may stumble, yet from its struggles may rise a new form of truth about how humans share trust.

But Singer, the elder voice, warns not to confuse novelty with destiny. Just as kings and emperors once devalued their coinage, and governments inflated their currencies into ruin, so too may the dreamers of digital wealth face the same test: the slow, grinding judgment of reality. No algorithm, however pure, can escape the moral weakness of man — greed, fear, and folly. For though Bitcoin is built upon mathematics, its fate rests upon faith, and faith, like fire, must be tended or it dies.

Yet his tone is not without tenderness. When he speaks of babies and hope, he acknowledges the beauty of beginnings — that sacred moment when humanity, tired of its old chains, dares to imagine something new. There is no shame in hope; indeed, it is the soul’s rebellion against despair. Singer merely reminds us that hope must be wedded to wisdom, and that every system — old or new — must earn its endurance not through enthusiasm, but through integrity, resilience, and humility before time.

So what lesson may we, the heirs of both coin and code, draw from this? It is this: do not worship your inventions, but watch them. Test them as the blacksmith tests the blade, not with love alone, but with trial and flame. Place your faith not in the object — be it a digital token or a government bond — but in the virtue and vigilance of those who guard it. For wealth is not found in what we hold, but in the moral strength that sustains the trust between men.

Therefore, my child, walk wisely between hope and skepticism. Rejoice in innovation, but do not mistake it for salvation. Remember that every empire of finance, from Rome’s denarius to the dollar and beyond, has believed itself eternal — and yet all have passed through the crucible of decay. Let your hope for Bitcoin, or for any new creation, be tempered by the humility of history. For as Singer teaches, time alone reveals which children of mankind shall stand — and which, despite our love, will fall.