Within a culture possessed by the myth of feminine evil, the

Mary Daly, fierce philosopher and breaker of chains, proclaimed: “Within a culture possessed by the myth of feminine evil, the naming, describing, and theorizing about good and evil has constituted a maze/haze of deception. The journey of women becoming is breaking through this maze—springing into free space, which is an a-mazing process.” These words are no gentle reflection, but a clarion cry, shaking the dust from centuries of lies. For Daly unveils a truth that has been hidden in plain sight: that the very language of good and evil has been twisted to imprison women, binding them in illusions, veiling them in shadows not of their own making.

The myth of feminine evil is old, as old as Eden and older still. From the tale of Eve blamed for the Fall, to Pandora whose curiosity unleashed suffering upon men, to witches hunted under the sign of the devil—the story has been repeated like a spell: that woman is the source of ruin, the temptress, the danger. These myths, told by men, carved into law, sanctified by scripture, became the walls of the maze in which generations of women wandered. In that maze, good was defined as obedience, silence, submission; evil as defiance, curiosity, desire. What appeared as truth was but deception woven into the very air of culture.

But Daly speaks of women becoming—a journey of breaking through. To become, in her vision, is to tear away the veils of the maze, to refuse the old naming, to refuse the lies. It is to burst into free space, where woman is no longer trapped by definitions given to her, but names herself, shapes herself, becomes herself. This is why Daly calls the process a-mazing: it is both a wonder and a liberation, a flight from labyrinth into sky.

Consider the story of the suffragists, those women who demanded the right to vote when all the world told them they were too frail, too irrational, too bound to home. Society’s maze declared their struggle evil—unnatural, dangerous, rebellious. Newspapers mocked them, leaders scorned them, even their sisters were taught to fear them. Yet they pressed forward, breaking through walls of ridicule and law. And when at last they won, it was as if the very air cleared; the haze of deception was pierced, and women stepped into a wider space of possibility. Their struggle was Daly’s vision made flesh.

This teaching is not only of the past but of the present. The maze still exists, though its paths may be subtler. Women are told how to speak, how to look, how to act; what is “good” and what is “evil” is still whispered through the mouths of tradition and power. Yet Daly’s wisdom reminds us that every act of resistance—every refusal to be named falsely—is a breaking of walls, a movement into a-mazing freedom. The journey of becoming is never finished, for every generation must cut new paths toward truth.

O seekers of justice, take this lesson to heart: do not accept the names given to you by those who fear your strength. Question them. Break them. Cast them aside. Remember that culture itself can be a haze, and that what is praised as virtue may be but a mask for obedience, and what is condemned as sin may be the very act of liberation.

The lesson is this: true becoming is not obedience but freedom. To walk this path, dare to name yourself. Dare to trust your own voice, even when the chorus of the age calls it dissonance. Build communities of others who have broken through, for in shared strength the space widens, and the haze lifts. Let your becoming be a beacon, showing that the old myths of feminine evil dissolve when touched by the fire of truth.

Thus, Daly’s words stand as a torch for future generations: the maze is not eternal. The walls are not immovable. Break them, and the world expands. Step into the a-mazing space, and in your becoming, you call forth a future where no one is bound by lies, but all may walk freely in the light.