The Yin Yang of Good and Evil

When you were a child, they fed you stories neatly divided into heroes and villains. Simple, comforting labels. Good wore white, evil cloaked itself in black. But as you grow, the lines blur—and you begin to notice that heroes and villains often change places depending on who's telling the story. Welcome to the uncomfortable, fascinating reality: good and evil are just a matter of perspective.

In India, we burn Ravana's effigy each year, celebrating the triumph of good (Lord Rama) over evil. Ravana—the villainous demon king from the Ramayana, ten-headed and infamous—is universally recognized as evil incarnate.

But pause here and rewind the story a bit. What sparked Ravana's infamous abduction of Sita? It began when Rama’s younger brother Lakshmana harshly rejected Surpanakha, Ravana's sister, mocking her affection and disfiguring her by cutting off her nose. Imagine a different scenario—one without cruelty and humiliation. Would Ravana have sought revenge, or would he have continued ruling peacefully, celebrated instead as a great scholar and devotee of Shiva?

We conveniently forget these uncomfortable plot twists. The narrative we favor often simplifies morality into bite-sized, digestible chunks. But life isn’t a fairy tale; it’s a sprawling epic with countless hidden motives and misunderstood characters.

Take Loki, the infamous trickster god of Norse mythology. Today’s popular culture loves painting him as a charismatic villain. Mischievous, manipulative, perpetually plotting the downfall of Asgard—Loki seems born to be bad. But let's reconsider. Loki grew up overshadowed by his perfect half-brother Thor, under a father, Odin, who concealed Loki’s true origins. His constant attempts at validation were ignored or punished. What if Odin had embraced Loki openly? What if Thor had treated him less like a nuisance and more like a brother? Would Loki’s "evil" actions have ever occurred? Who, then, is truly to blame?

Mythology often mirrors our own human dynamics. The villains we see around us today often have similar origin stories rooted in neglect, injustice, or humiliation. It’s far easier to label them as inherently bad than to acknowledge our collective role in creating the conditions that spawned their behavior.

Consider Judas Iscariot, perhaps the most reviled traitor in human history, universally condemned for betraying Jesus Christ for thirty pieces of silver. Yet theological scholarship acknowledges Judas’ critical role in fulfilling the prophecy of Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection. Without Judas, there is no salvation narrative. Could it be that Judas was less a villain and more a tragic figure bound by destiny—playing his necessary role in a cosmic drama?

Real-world figures are equally divisive. Napoleon Bonaparte—heroic reformer or ruthless conqueror? To the French, Napoleon remains an enduring symbol of glory, modernization, and national pride. Elsewhere in Europe, he's remembered as an oppressive tyrant, a destroyer of nations. Perspective defines him.

In recent history, consider Edward Snowden. To millions, he's a courageous whistleblower who sacrificed his life in America to expose unlawful surveillance practices, defending global civil liberties. But ask the U.S. government, and you'll hear a different story—a traitor who compromised national security and endangered lives. Which truth is absolute? Neither. Both truths coexist, shaped entirely by perspective.

Even Elon Musk, a modern titan of industry, oscillates wildly between visionary hero and reckless villain. One day, he's celebrated for revolutionizing space travel, electric vehicles, and sustainable energy. The next, he's a villain accused of disrupting markets, spreading misinformation, or recklessly manipulating public opinion. His moral standing shifts almost daily, determined by which news feed or subreddit you frequent.

The fundamental truth, often uncomfortable to face, is that evil is rarely an isolated act. Villains are not born—they're created, often by circumstances perpetuated by the so-called heroes. Good and evil do not exist as absolutes, floating in isolation.

They are reflections of the dynamics we foster, the interactions we neglect, and the empathy we withhold.

Next time you're quick to label someone a villain, stop and ask: "What part did I—or society—play in shaping their story?" Recognizing our complicity doesn’t excuse wrongdoing, but it invites deeper understanding and humility. Perhaps the villain before you is just another soul who once stood on your side, pushed too far or misunderstood too deeply.

If we truly seek to create a better world, we must stop seeing morality as a binary. We must embrace complexity, accept responsibility, and have the courage to question narratives handed to us.

So let me leave you with this uncomfortable yet liberating thought:

Maybe there are no villains. Maybe there are no heroes. Maybe there are only people shaped by their experiences and our shared humanity. And if that’s true, the world might just be waiting for us to stop playing judges and start acting as healers.

Who’s the villain in your story? And whose villain might you have unknowingly become?