Money Is Not Evil. Unexamined Pain Is.

To say that money is the root of all evil has always struck me as an intellectually lazy statement.

Money is simply money. It is a medium of exchange, a tool for transferring value so that people can acquire what they want, need, or prioritise. It does not think. It does not scheme. It does not decide. It has no moral agency of its own.

What people are often reacting to is not money itself, but what human beings do in pursuit of it, in fear of losing it, or in the presence of having more of it.

Even greed, in my view, is too simplistic to call the true source of evil. Greed is often a symptom. Beneath it, there is frequently fear, insecurity, deprivation, humiliation, trauma, or a deep sense of lack. Strip back enough layers, and many destructive behaviours begin to look less like pure malice and more like distorted survival instincts shaped over time.

That is why I also question the word evil. Is anyone truly evil in some isolated, self-generated sense? Or are many of the people we condemn the result of pain that was never addressed, wounds that were never healed, and environments that shaped them long before they had the language to understand themselves?

If you look deeply enough into almost any destructive life, there is usually a story behind it. Often there was a broken childhood. Often there was neglect, instability, violence, rejection, confusion, or emotional absence. It does not matter whether the family was rich or poor. Money may provide food and shelter, but it does not guarantee love, freedom, or emotional health.

By that point, it becomes difficult to keep blaming money, greed, or even evil itself as the true root of questionable behaviour. More often, it is the shaping of a person’s early life that distorts their perception of the world and influences the choices they later make.

This is not just something I observe in others. It is something I have had to confront within myself.

For a long time, I believed that I alone could shape my life into something controlled and comfortable. I built an image of who I thought I should be: high-functioning, intellectual, driven, composed. I projected confidence. I tried to be outgoing, personable, and constantly “on,” as though that version of me was the one most likely to succeed.

But that was never truly me. And I am not convinced that anyone is meant to live that way all the time.

What changed me was not faith in the way I once understood it. Faith kept me going, yes, but it was not what first allowed me to see God more clearly. What brought me closer was the slow dismantling of the false self I had built. It was the shedding of expectations I had placed on myself and the realisation that I could not carry everything alone, no matter how convincing the performance.

In that breaking down, something more honest emerged. I began to see that much of my struggle did not come from external forces alone, but from trying to live as someone I was not. In letting go of that illusion, I found a different kind of clarity, one that did not rely on constant projection, effort, or control.

Through all of it, I came to recognise that I was never truly alone. Even when I believed I had to rely solely on myself, something greater was present: steady, patient, and guiding me through the long process of unlearning and rebuilding.

I have also noticed that when I slow down and take my time, I make fewer mistakes and more decisions that compound positively over time. There is a quiet clarity that comes with patience, a kind of alignment that is easy to miss when everything is rushed.

I enjoy reading quotes for inspiration, but I have also come to realise that even someone with a PhD or a master’s degree can have a limited understanding of the world if they are not genuinely open to discovery. Perception can distort reality. Titles, labels, and credentials may or may not reflect the truth of who a person really is.

Just because something has always been done a certain way does not mean it is the best way, or the only way. Building a house with bricks and mortar may be traditional, but tradition alone is never proof of wisdom. The same is true of language, systems, and social beliefs. Much of what we inherit has been shaped by the power structures of its time, and one thing power rarely does willingly is let go of itself.

That is why I no longer accept common sayings at face value simply because they are repeated often. Many ideas survive not because they are true, but because they are convenient, familiar, and rarely examined.

Money is not evil. Greed is rarely the full explanation. And people are often far more shaped than they are understood.

The deeper root, more often than not, is pain left unexamined, identity left unchallenged, and wounds carried so long they begin to masquerade as character.