The Completely Imaginary Thing That Keeps Ruining Real Lives
Hans Casteels is a Belgian born Canadian writer who stares at imaginary systems until they confess, then writes about them from the polite safety of a country that still pretends money has manners.
Money is an artificial construct. We invented it because paying seven thousand sheep for a castle was inefficient, noisy, and prone to wandering off halfway through escrow. At some point, a medieval accountant looked at the pasture and said there has to be a better way, preferably one that does not involve counting hooves. And so money was born. Not discovered. Not harvested. Invented. Like Monopoly, but with worse customer service.
This is important, because we like to talk about money as if it were weather. As if it simply happens. As if poverty arrives the way rain does, unexpectedly and without intent. But money is not a force of nature. It does not fall from the sky. It is a rule set. A story. A collective agreement that we all pretend is sacred, even though it was written by people who wore tights and thought leeches were medicine.
Once you accept that money is made up, everything else becomes awkward very quickly. Because if money is artificial, then its distribution is artificial. Its scarcity is artificial. Its abundance is artificial. Which means poverty is not some tragic cosmic oversight. It is a choice. Repeated daily. With charts.
We manipulate money constantly. Governments create it out of thin air to rescue banks, stabilize markets, fund wars, and calm investors who are feeling emotional. Trillions appear overnight when the right people are uncomfortable. No one asks where the money came from. No one suggests it might be irresponsible. It simply materializes, like a rabbit pulled from a very expensive hat.
But suggest doing the same to eliminate poverty and suddenly we are told this is complicated. Risky. Dangerous. Inflationary. Morally suspect. Apparently, money is flexible when it comes to derivatives but deeply conservative when it comes to dinner.
The truth is, we do not keep people poor because we cannot afford not to. We keep people poor because poverty is useful. It is the unpaid intern of capitalism. It does all the background work while being thanked for its resilience.
Poverty motivates. Poverty disciplines. Poverty ensures that someone will always take the night shift, the unsafe job, the humiliating gig labeled opportunity. Poverty is the quiet voice in the break room, reminding everyone to be grateful. It is the system clearing its throat.
If money were simply a medium of exchange, poverty would be a malfunction. A rounding error. Something to fix. Instead, poverty is treated as character development. A teaching tool. A moral proving ground. The poor are expected to emerge wiser, humbler, and more employable, preferably without costing anything.
We also insist on treating poverty as personal. Individual. The result of bad choices, insufficient effort, or a regrettable lack of hustle. This is convenient because it absolves the system. If poverty is a flaw in the person, then the structure is innocent. It just sits there, counting.
Meanwhile, the rules that govern money are adjusted constantly for those who already have it. Tax codes evolve. Loopholes bloom. Debts are restructured. Losses are socialized. Gains are protected like heirlooms. This is all perfectly legal, which is another way of saying carefully designed.
When ordinary people fall behind, the abstraction suddenly becomes physical. Rent is due. Food costs more. Health care turns into a ransom note. The imaginary system produces very real consequences. The numbers on the screen translate into empty refrigerators and postponed dentist visits. The fiction develops teeth.
What is especially impressive is how solemn we become about all this. We speak of fiscal responsibility with the reverence usually reserved for ancient scripture. We warn against reckless spending while recklessly funding everything except survival. We call this prudence. It is not. It is a preference.
And then there is the performance of concern. Panels are convened. Reports are written. Experts nod gravely while explaining that poverty is complex. Structural. Multifaceted. This is true in the same way that saying fire is hot is true. It explains nothing and solves even less.
The real complexity lies not in fixing poverty, but in justifying its persistence. That requires language. Narratives. Entire industries devoted to explaining why helping people is risky but letting them suffer is sustainable.
We praise the dignity of the poor while ensuring they have very little dignity-enhancing infrastructure. We admire their resilience while designing systems that demand it. We tell uplifting stories about overcoming hardship while making sure the hardship remains plentiful.
And we do all this while insisting the system works. Which it does. Just not for everyone. That is not a flaw. That is sorting.
The uncomfortable conclusion is that money works exactly as intended. It creates hierarchy. It rewards proximity. It enforces obedience. It converts artificial scarcity into real fear. And it does so quietly, efficiently, and with excellent branding. So yes, money is artificial. Poverty is real. That is not a paradox. It is the business plan.
We could change it. We could rewrite the rules. We could decide that survival is not something to be earned. The same imagination that replaced sheep with coins could replace deprivation with sufficiency. Nothing in physics would object. But that would require admitting that what we have now is not inevitable. It is chosen. Maintained. Defended. And that is the part we prefer not to discuss, because it would mean the problem is not money.
It is us.
If I May: A request for your consideration.
I don’t charge for this Substack and I never will. If you judge that this writing has any value, the only place it can be converted into money is here: a voluntary GoFundMe to help purchase new NICU bassinets for William Osler Health Centre. This exists because Ontario’s healthcare funding model has been allowed to decay to the point where essential neonatal life-support equipment can be twenty years old and still in service. That is not resilience. That is neglect with a communications strategy. When governments chronically underfund hospitals, responsibility quietly migrates downward until the public is left compensating for structural failure. Premature and critically ill newborns do not benefit from ideology, talking points, or budgetary patience. They benefit from functioning, modern equipment. This is you and me stepping in because the system did not.