Islam & the Daevabad Trilogy: 3 Vital Lessons on the Meaning of Faith – A Discussion

One of the reasons that I love reading so much is how much it teaches me. Poetry helps me to better empathise with other people’s pain and hardships. Literary fiction in all its forms gives me glimpses into an array of cultures, socio-political experiences, and multitudes of identities that make up the construct of individualism. Science-fiction helps me to better comprehend our current place in the world and the plethora of potential for our growth as an intelligent, technologically obsessed race. Then there is fantasy, a genre that pushes the confines of comfort zones to show us the dynamic differences in our idealism, political preferences, and even the various ways that communities partake in religion or choose to forsake it entirely. Out of the myriad of reasons that I adore The Daevabad Trilogy by S.A. Chakraborty, this is the element that I appreciate the most: the lessons on what faith means on a deeply personal level.

My personal relationship with Islam has always been quite complex, especially during my younger years from mid-adolescence to my late twenties. As a child I was incredibly fascinated by the notion of a greater power who had created the vast world around me. I attended Sunday school and received lessons on the history of how Islam became established and the correct way to practise salat or namaz, and how every choice I made would eventually impact my ability to get into Paradise after I died. With childlike curiosity comes the need to ask questions and that is when I started to feel a humongous disconnect from my faith and my family’s faith.

Because I was never allowed to properly learn and understand the true essence of religion, I became completely disenfranchised by it; not only from Islam, but from all organised religions.

Growing up, asking questions—particularly as a biological female—was viewed as a means of leaving the religion and venturing into hypocritical territory, or becoming a munafiq. Rather than viewing these inquiries as an attempt at deepening my relationship with Islam, and thus Allah (SWT), they were received with fear and astonishment. Because I was never allowed to properly learn and understand the true essence of religion, I became completely disenfranchised by it; not only from Islam, but from all organised religions.

Religion can be a profoundly intimidating entity. There is this terrible anxiety of doing it wrong, of messing up the rituals or falling so far out of its confines that regardless of having a good heart and spirit, a person becomes mortified of going to Hell—or some variation thereof—in the afterlife. The rigid black and white dynamics that are presented to us as children can have a significant impact on how we come to perceive the very concept of faith and a Higher Being, as well as how we shall live as our futures progress. In my case, I did not feel that I could embrace an omniscient, omnipresent entity if the simple act of acquiring knowledge was viewed as a grave sin. As a rather inquisitive child and teenager, it felt completely illogical and immoral to me to go to Hell for wanting to build a more profound connection with said Great Entity.

About five to six years ago, when I reached the darkest and lowest point in my life due to severe trauma, I needed hope. I needed to believe that there was something more to life than the turmoil that I was undergoing. A friend that I had met—whom I had shared many philosophical debates with in regard to religion (she was a Pentecostal Christian Pastor) and how I struggled with accepting Islam—suggested that I should look into Islam again as an adult. After explaining to her what my childhood was like and why I was sceptical about doing research on it, she kept urging me to give it a try. Now that I was an adult, my situation was vastly different, and I also had resources available to me now that I did not have as a child, as per the arguments she made.

My ignorance was a slap to the face, leaving me feeling enraged and deeply saddened, yet surprisingly inspired.

During this period, I was also learning about the We Need Diverse Books® movement and getting more involved in the literary world as a book reviewer. This work led me to interacting with Muslim members of the bibliophile community who guided me a bit with my research. They gave me suggestions on books that focused solely on feminism in Islam and how fundamental aspects of the faith respect women rather than oppress them; how asking questions is actually encouraged—something that I did not even believe existed or could exist as these two words (feminism and Islam) never seemed like they could go hand-in-hand. My ignorance was a slap to the face, leaving me feeling enraged and deeply saddened, yet surprisingly inspired. I spent the better part of two years extensively studying Islam from the lens of intersectionality; it is something that I still do passionately to this day, and something I suspect I will keep doing until my demise. The point is that this excursion drastically changed my life and helped me build that connection with Islam that I always yearned for yet felt was completely beyond my reach due to who I was.

I provide this backstory, this context as it were, so that I may talk about how The Daevabad Trilogy has taught me three extremely fundamental lessons on what it means to be a person of faith. Regardless of one’s religion, although I use Islam here because that is my personal faith, there are three unique guidelines to always keep in mind when practising. They have helped me to become more open-minded and self-aware about my place within my religion and how it does not have to be a shackle of oppression. Instead it can be the key to finding and embracing my own sense of individualism.

Lessons #1: No Religion is Perfect

Saying this statement out loud feels like it is a simple statement of common sense. However, there is nothing common or simple about it. No religion is perfect.

No matter how much we want it to be, or how much we believe them to be, they are not infallible.  The core precepts of every faith may have at one time or another been a doctrine of flawlessness, most likely when they first came into existence. However, since religion is passed from human to human over the limitlessness of time and space, and humans are decidedly flawed, thus religion can never be perfect.

In the books, we watch as Ghassan uses faith to control and oppress the people of Daevabad. Those who practise a separate religion than him are constantly beaten down and persecuted in a brutal fashion, while likewise practitioners are given rights and privileges that many do not even deserve (i.e.: criminals). Even so, there are boundaries that come with said freedoms.

The basic foundations of both faiths are vehemently against these acts, yet somehow they have been weaponised in support of the very acts they condemn.

Similarly in real life, more often than not, especially in the modern era, religion is wielded like a sword to uphold varying political agendas. People who hold great positions of power utilise religion as a tool to maintain absolute authority rather than to use it as a source of compassion, understanding, acceptance, and to be non-judgemental. In America, Christianity is used to villainise non-Christians, LGTBQIA+ communities, and to remove reproductive rights. In many Southwest Asian countries, Islam is used for extremist propaganda and the severe oppression non-male communities. The basic foundations of both faiths are vehemently against these acts, yet somehow they have been weaponised in support of the very acts they condemn.

I do not believe that any religion should be viewed and accepted with blind faith, more so when it stems from wilful ignorance. It is much more important to understand why the established rules and principles are there as it pertains to a specific religion, and what it means to you as a person is truly how it is meant to be perceived or regarded.

When Alizayd finally stated to question the lessons he learned as a child and how it impacts the people of Daevabad, and people he cared deeply for such as Nahri, he started to realise what was truly right and what was wrong. Everything he believed was a sin turned out to be nothing more than the musings of a tyrant who sought absolute power over people he feared. Ali grew as a person while developing a deeper connection to his faith and garnering respect for his willingness to accept, learn, and acknowledge that things are not always as they seem.

Lesson #2: It is Okay to Ask Questions About What You Are Taught

This brings me to the second lesson learned: asking questions is more than okay and more often than not, it is extremely necessary!

Because no religion is perfect and everyone has their own intimate understanding of faith, it is supremely crucial to ask questions about things that we do not understand or feel uncertain or anxious about. Asking questions also helps to craft a more spiritually richer connection with one’s faith, which can then positively influence us in other avenues of our life. Being curious is not a crime or a symbol of choosing disenfranchisement.

Being curious is not a crime or a symbol of choosing disenfranchisement.

When I perform namaz now, my heart feels calmer and more connected with the act. There is no overwhelming confusion or tension that makes me feel like I am doing something incorrectly. I no longer feel like an imposter. The experience is rather meditative and has become a gigantic act of self-care that I look forward to throughout my day. This is my own personal experience, of course, and I never would have developed this relationship if I never asked questions.

Darayavahoush and Alizayd are great examples from the book series that exemplify this. In the events that take place in the third book, Dara comes to realise that what he was taught and told did not sync with the actions and behaviours that surrounded him. He began to ask questions and see a whole new side of the war that he was right in the middle of; he saw the shades of grey within the obtusely harsh blacks and whites that moulded the core of his beliefs. His questions led to him wanting to pursue a different path, one that was filled with compassion and a desire for justice.

As I mentioned above, Alizayd starts to understand that everything he was taught was founded on lies and then he ventures forth to uncover what is true and what is not. In the aftermath of acquiring the knowledge he sought, he was able to grow into the best version of himself. One who was far more open-minded and empathetic; someone more willing to admit to his wrongs and to learn from them.

Lesson #3: Religion Does Not Have to Suppress Individualism!

This brings me to my last lesson learned: religions do no need to stifle or suppress our desires to be unique and individualistic within our communities, or even within ourselves. I fought this battle my entire life because I was taught from a young age that being religious meant that I had to live by a particular cookie-cutter mould of what it meant to be Muslim. Being a trans Nonbinary Queer Muslim who enjoys body piercings and being an unattached cat human was never a possibility in my future from my childhood gaze. Even the simple act of choosing to wear a hijab was frowned upon in my household as the perception was that wearing a hijab meant I was being subjugated, and it would also diminish opportunities for me in my future; opportunities my immigrant parents worked very hard to attain and make possible.  

Individualism is what helps a religion to thrive. It nourishes the very foundations of faith to help it blossom and evolve with its people over spans of time and space

Individualism is what helps a religion to thrive. It nourishes the very foundations of faith to help it blossom and evolve with its people over spans of time and space, while also allowing a diverse myriad of folx to visualise and experience perspectives of faith—and the meaning of faith—that they may have never even contemplated. For me, it was discovering the existence of intersectional feminism within a religion that was only every used to suppress me as a child, more so where conservative gender roles were concerned.

Dara uses his knowledge and ultimate freedom to carve out a life for himself that gave him meaning beyond the fetters of torturous slavery and mass murder. He sought redemption by bringing peace and value to his people, while also learning to build a reflection of himself that was not tainted by the opinions and shards of others around him. Alizayd uses his newfound knowledge and experiences to bring about an era of peace and co-existence among groups of people who have only always known blood and death, thus finding a path for himself that was unique to his own beliefs and independence rather than what was expected of him by others.

Final Thoughts:

Religion is complicated. Choosing to be religious or partaking in any faith-based belief system can be incredibly complicated. Choosing to not believe in anything at all can also be equally complicated. There is rarely a right or wrong answer when it comes to these things because of how profoundly intimate and candid they are to a specific person. Learning to see the multi-dimensional aspects of a single faith was something I always understood logically in the back of my mind, and was a project that I was working to comprehend on a much more intricate level, and being able to read The Daevabad Trilogy helped me on this journey in outstanding ways.

Seeing the various shades of grey and even the various colours that paint the everyday lives of communities from across the globe, how their unique ethnic cultures or experiences growing up have helped to shape that connection they have with a higher being is remarkable to me. It is something that should be respected, even if they differ from what is familiar and right to you. The Daevabad Trilogy has shown me that it is not our place to cast judgements and to act so volatilely upon these passionate perceptions. Our job is to harbour compassion and understanding with an open-mind. Everything else is between an individual and their maker(s).

The point of this discussion is not to convert visitors to be more religious or to force people into accepting that their choice to not associate with religion is wrong. My goals are quite contrary. My first goal was to celebrate an aspect of one of my favourite fantasy book serials that made it such a compulsory read within the fantasy genre for me as a bibliophile. The second was to show people that no matter where they are on the spectrum of believing or not believing, there is no right or wrong way to do it, to live. The best way is what feels comfortable, safe, and square within a person. No one else matters. Their opinions should not define your own individuality. Life is short and the greatest way to make the most of it is to put faith in yourself and follow the path that feels right to you, maybe with a smidgen of compassion and unbiases.

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