What Evil Teaches Us About Freedom

Burning the Shadows of the Past

I’ve been thinking a lot about evil and freedom lately. These words feel like they carry too much weight. Heavy, overused, and often meaningless because we throw them around without stopping to think about what they really are.

I’ll admit, the more I think about them, the more I question if I even understand them. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe the point isn’t to understand. Maybe it’s to sit with the discomfort and see what comes up. Coming out of Scorpio season, I went with evil because it’s the biggest word I could find to describe an extreme of the shadow.

Let me use the title I gave to the weekly reading to begin this discussion about evil. I said in the weekly that I wasn’t sure if I was going to use ‘non timebo mala’ or ‘non timebo malum.’ This distinction is important to me. I’ve been reflecting on how much time we spend trying to identify individual evils - mala. The specifics: this person is wrong, this act is bad, this system is broken. But what if we step back and think about malum - evil as a concept? Not the details, but the thing underneath. That bigger force we fear but can’t quite name.

It’s easier to point at the mala, right? Easier to fixate on the wrongs we can see and measure than to face the idea of evil as something inside us, something we carry. Because what if it’s not just “out there”? What if it’s in here, too?

That’s where it gets tricky. Because as much as we don’t want to deal with evil, I think we all have this soul-level stage fright where we’re terrified of being evil. So much so that we overcompensate. We cut off parts of ourselves that feel too risky or messy. We cling to this idea of being good, of being right, of being...acceptable. And in doing so, we limit ourselves.

I’ve realised how often we imprison ourselves by being afraid to express who we really are. We’re so scared of being judged as bad or wrong that we look to the world for permission to be. We need validation, approval, understanding. But if our freedom comes from the outside, can we really call it freedom?

This fear, this need to be good, to avoid evil - it’s not freedom. It’s a prison. Furthermore, we imprison others when we project this evil on them.

And that brings me to freedom itself. If evil is what we reject, then freedom should be the absence of rejection, right? But it’s not that simple. In the West, we talk about freedom as if it’s just about escape - freedom from rules, from pain, from constraints. But that kind of freedom feels hollow. You can run as far as you want, but if you’re running from yourself, are you really free? Can you ever be free?

At some point, I realised that to be truly free is to let go of the desire to be free. To be clear, not to be free from desire - we looked at desire extensively in Scorpio season - but the expression of that desire as freedom. That constant striving - trying to escape or reach some ideal state - is just another form of control. The greatest freedom, I think, is the freedom to be authentically ourselves, without fear, without rejection. Not escaping constraints, but finding peace within them.

This tension - between experiencing harm and finding freedom in our response - plays out not just in our personal lives, but on the global stage. It’s especially evident in the way we respond to acts of violence or terror.

After the October 7th Hamas attacks, I remember hearing people discuss how Israel should and shouldn’t respond. One question that came up again and again in interviews was, “What choice did they have? What else could they have done?” I’m not trying to answer that question - it’s far too complex. But what struck me was the question itself. That line of questioning implies that when we face such profound evil, there are no options left except to respond in kind.

And isn’t that what we see so often? In legal systems around the world, we justify punishment with this same logic. Harm demands harm. Evil begets evil. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It’s seen as justice, or at least as balance. But what if that’s another kind of prison? What if responding in kind isn’t the only choice, but simply the one we default to because we can’t imagine anything else?

The questions we ask matter. They shape the possibilities we see - or don’t see. When we frame our response to evil as inevitable, as if the experience of harm leaves us no choice but to perpetuate it, we lose the freedom to act differently. This same logic - that harm must be met with harm - doesn’t just play out on the global stage. It echoes in our personal lives, in how we respond to the shadows and traumas we carry.

But Sagittarius energy reminds us there’s always another way. The archer looks to the future, aiming for what lies beyond the ashes of destruction. When evil strikes - whether on a global scale or in the intimacy of our own lives - we have a choice. Sometimes that choice is the choice to look for options we may not be aware of yet. We can sift endlessly through the wreckage, trying to make sense of the destruction, or we can raise our eyes and imagine a different meaning.

This isn’t about denying the pain or pretending the ashes aren’t there. It’s about being open to something more - a way forward that aligns with who we are and who we want to become. Sagittarius teaches us that freedom isn’t just about breaking free from what’s behind us; it’s about choosing what lies ahead. It’s about aiming high, not to escape the past, but to create a future that reflects the truth of how we see ourselves and what we stand for.

Sagittarius has that energy, right? It’s not about escaping. It’s about seeking. The archer doesn’t aim to destroy the shadow - it aims beyond it. But even to do that, we have to first believe that there is something beyond. Sagittarius reminds us that evil and freedom aren’t opposites. They’re part of the same journey. Evil shows us where we’re stuck, and freedom comes when we stop fearing it.

And here’s the thing about Sagittarius energy - it’s not about certainty. That’s what makes it adventurous. We don’t know what we’ll find, because it’s not about what we’ll find. It’s about the curiosity, the journey itself.

Curiosity transforms fear into possibility. It helps us move from reacting to exploring, from feeling trapped to imagining something new. When we ask questions, we’re no longer stuck in the narratives evil tries to impose - we’re creating our own path forward.

When I think about literal evil - acts that harm innocents - it gets heavier. Those acts, the ones we all recognise as wrong, come from the collective shadow. They show us what happens when we disconnect - from ourselves, from others, from responsibility. And it’s tempting to respond to that kind of evil with judgment or fear, to say, “That’s not me,” and push it as far away as possible.

But that’s where evil keeps its grip - when we deny it’s connected to us. When we refuse to see how the same seeds might exist in us, even in smaller ways. The shadows, the fear, the anger - they’re all connected.

Evil teaches us where we are most vulnerable and most human. It shows us where we can grow, not by succumbing to its logic, but by learning from it - choosing differently, creating differently, being differently.

Freedom isn’t about denying evil or running from it. It’s about seeing it clearly and refusing to let it control us. It’s about standing in the fire, knowing we’re stronger than it.

And maybe that’s the point. Burning the shadows of the past, not because they’re evil, but because they’ve served their purpose. They’ve taught us all they could. Now they’re just fuel for something brighter.

Non timebo malum. I shall fear no evil. Not because evil doesn’t exist - it does - but because I’ve walked through it before, and I’m still here. Evil has taught me that it can challenge me, but it can’t dictate who I am or what I do next. The same is true for us as a collective. You just have to pick up any basic history book to see the truth of this.

If evil, the shadow, is darkness, the light isn’t some abstract ideal - it’s the light of awareness. It’s the freedom to see clearly, to recognise the shadows for what they are, and to choose differently. It’s the freedom to be curious, to approach life with an open heart and an open mind, to explore what’s true instead of running from it.

We can find higher meaning not by denying the truth of what’s happened, but by stepping into it, asking questions, and seeking the paths it reveals. The future isn’t built by clinging to the past or fearing its repetition - it’s shaped by our willingness to imagine something more.

Freedom is knowing we have the power to choose a new way forward, no matter how deep the darkness we’ve faced. It’s the awareness that we are not bound by the shadows we’ve known, but illuminated by the choices we’re brave enough to make. Furthermore, if we’re curious and willing to explore, we could write stories and learn and teach in ways that reach far beyond anything we currently know.

That’s the beauty of freedom - it doesn’t stop with our individual choices. It ripples outward, touching others, shifting perspectives, and creating new possibilities. Curiosity isn’t just a personal tool; it’s a collective one. Through it, we uncover truths we didn’t know we carried, truths that can inspire and transform far beyond ourselves. Those truths begin with the questions we ask, and I will end here with the quote I chose to kick off Sagittarius season:

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” - Rainer Maria Rilke