Finding Amusement Inside the Enemy’s Playground

In the early years of life, the heart remains an unblemished vessel aligned with its innate nature (fitrah), deeply sensitive to every shadow that crosses its vision. By its very creation, a sound heart naturally coils from darkness, recognizing it as a threat to its inner life and peace. Yet, modern entertainment performs a subtle alchemy: it strips moral dangers of their dread, transforming harmful concepts into charming cartoon characters, and the roots of malice into friendly childhood companions. Consequently, that which once drove a child to seek refuge beneath the safety of blankets is welcomed with excitement—outfitted in bright new colors to make the mind familiar with the very poison that compromises it.

In my youth—before walking under the light of Islam and learning to view the world through the lens of tazkiyah—I mistook these for innocent tales. I believed a thing’s nature was decided merely by its packaging: frightening in one story, delightful in another.

It is precisely through this door of unexamined curiosity that the enemy establishes his first foothold. The descent rarely begins with an open declaration of war; it arrives as a pleasant diversion, disguised so beautifully that the heart is lulled to sleep. We never pause to ask why we have become enamored with the very things we ought to flee.

For me, this quiet curiosity eventually led to magazine horoscopes, where I scanned small columns to learn what the random positions of the stars supposedly revealed about my personality and future. I began grouping people by zodiac signs, checking compatibility, and viewing my unique inner state through generic descriptions written for millions of strangers. How trivial it seems now! Out of billions of human beings, I was seeking the deep secrets of my character within a handful of traits assigned by distant lights in the sky.

Yet Allah did not leave the human heart to wander aimlessly through the night sky. Revelation came to anchor the chest:

“So set your face towards the religion, inclining to truth. [Adhere to] the fiṭrah of Allah upon which He has created mankind.” (Sūrah al-Rūm 30:30)

Allah did not leave us to search the changing stars for an explanation of the people He created. Instead, He directed us to the fiṭrah—our pure, original nature—alongside the fruits of īmān, the subtle inclinations of the nafs, and the serious sicknesses that affect the heart. The person who nurtures his heart finds his entire character transformed; his patience, gratitude, and reliance upon his Lord become the visible marks of his being. Conversely, when one repeatedly gives the reins over to desire, that choice leaves a dark, lasting imprint upon the heart. If a young person seeks to truly understand who they are, the journey begins not by looking up at the stars, but by turning to the Creator of those stars, and the One who fashioned the chest that contains the heart.

Because I was not yet a Muslim, I had no measure by which to judge where these paths led, brushing them off as standard childhood pastimes. Yet entertainment rarely stays confined to a screen. What starts as an amusing tale quietly matures into a personal interest; that interest hardens into a lifestyle aesthetic; and that aesthetic slowly numbs the defenses of the heart, making the dangerous seem merely intriguing.

It is for this reason that the Almighty issued His clearest warnings:

“Do not follow the footsteps of Shayṭān.” (Sūrah al-Baqarah 2:168)

Reflect deeply on the divine precision of the word footsteps (khuṭuwāt). The enemy of mankind is too clever to demand an immediate leap into open disbelief or obvious wickedness. He merely asks for the first step. Then another. Taken on its own, each single step appears small and benign—a song, a movie, a passing trend. Yet it is in this direction, discovered only when you have wandered miles into the wilderness, that reveals the true intent of the guide.

I look back at my own youth and see this path with painful clarity. First came the passive consumption of casual entertainment, watering the soil for a darker aesthetic—an infatuation with symbols of death and music mixed with occult themes. Though Allah, in His boundless mercy, saved me by making these things look empty before they could consume me, the momentum carried me further astray. I later found myself drawn to charms and amulets, where superstition felt completely normal. When they inevitably failed to provide real shelter, the momentum simply carried me through seasons of reckless behavior before Truth finally calibrated my inner state.

The progression itself is far more revealing than any single interest along the way. The enemy takes what is corrupt and adorns it with stories, humor, and modern style until it hasan undeniable appeal. Once a foul thing is allowed to sit comfortably within a young person's surroundings, the critical question of the mind silently shifts from "Is this pleasing to my Lord?" to "Which part of this do I like?"

This is exactly why the insights of Ibn al-Qayyim are so valuable for the youth. He masterfully demonstrates how the greatest ruins of the heart always trace back to small, ignored beginnings that were continually fed by what we take in.

• In Rawḍat al-Muḥibbīn, he compares the repeated, careless gaze to water poured upon the roots of a tree: what begins as a fragile sapling grows deep and unmovable through steady nourishment ¹. What we persistently permit into our field of attention acts as that very water; if the soil is corrupt, it quietly fuels a destructive growth that eventually chokes our innate nature.
  

• In Al-Jawāb al-Kāfī, he maps out the incremental decay of the inner state: a careless glance gives birth to a passing thought; the thought breeds an idea; the idea ignites a desire; and desire, left unchecked, hardens into a firm resolve that ultimately drives the limbs to action ². Whatever we repeatedly allow through the gates of our attention will eventually take over the heart.
  

What, then, happens to the fortress of the heart when the sworn enemy of the human being is turned into a source of recreation? Allah addresses his reality with the utmost gravity:

“Indeed, Shayṭān is an enemy to you, so take him as an enemy.” (Sūrah Fāṭir 35:6)

The true believer never approaches the enemy with fascination or careless curiosity. We observe this caution in the Sunnah. Consider the profound narration of Ṣafiyyah (رضي الله عنها) when she visited the Prophet ﷺ during his iʿtikāf. As he walked her home at night, two men from the Anṣār saw them and hurried away out of deep respect. The Messenger of Allah ﷺ immediately called out: “Slow down; she is only Ṣafiyyah.” When the Companions expressed shock that he would think they suspected him, he replied:

“Indeed, Shayṭān flows through the son of Ādam like blood, and I feared that he might cast something [evil] into your hearts.” (Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim)

These were the pure-hearted Companions, yet the Prophet ﷺ did not leave their hearts to assumption; he cut off the very possibility of a misunderstanding before a single bad seed could take root in their chests. How sharply this contrasts with the reckless confidence of youth today, who boast about watching horror movies alone in the dark or playing games centred on jinn and sorcery, declaring, “See! Nothing happened to me!”

This is a profound delusion. The absence of an immediate consequence does not mean an act is safe. A person may walk away outwardly unchanged, while something deep within his unseen world quietly hardens. The heart does not sound an alarm when it changes for the worse.

Instead, revelation describes a far more terrifying phenomenon: the accumulation of rān - sealing the heart. As Allah says:

“No! Rather, the stain has covered their hearts because of what they used to earn.” (Sūrah al-Muṭaffifīn 83:14) 

Every dark image welcomed with delight, every forbidden theme consumed for entertainment, deposits a tiny black speck upon the heart. At first, it is imperceptible. But as these specks multiply, they merge into a dense coating that gradually blocks the light of guidance. The heart does not bleed when it becomes numb; it simply rusts until it grows completely indifferent, unfazed, and unfeeling toward the very darkness it once would have fled from in terror.

This same deception underpins modern birth-sign culture. As Ibn al-Jawzī exposed centuries ago in Talbīs Iblīs, the fundamental error of astrology lies in attributing real power and unseen influence to created, helpless celestial bodies ³. Modern horoscope culture simply presents this in stylized personality descriptions and viral compatibility charts, providing a convenient language through which young people explain their flaws, justify their behaviors, and label one another.

This reality carries an immense weight when we consider our children as an amānah (trust). A child learns what to respect and what to disregard by watching what adults treat lightly. If jinn, siḥr, and dark forces repeatedly appear as sources of amusement, their natural defenses erode.

True tarbiyah does not mean raising children in forced ignorance or suffocating paranoia, for shelter alone cannot preserve a child forever. Rather, authentic tarbiyah builds furqān—the divine criterion and inner discernment that enables the heart to distinguish truth from falsehood. We do not merely shelter the child; we train the eyes of his heart so that when he steps into a world decorated with temptation, he looks past the glitter to ask: “What does my Lord say about this?”

Shayṭān possesses no absolute compulsion over the servant; as Allah describes him:

“The whisperer who withdraws, who whispers into the hearts of mankind.” (Sūrah al-Nās 114:4–5)

He merely paints the forbidden path in attractive colors until the youth willingly takes the steps himself. For this reason, a believer has nothing to gain by testing how close they can walk to the edge of destruction without falling in. Real wisdom lies in knowing what deserves the care of your heart, and what is better left entirely untouched.

There is a vast distinction between studying an enemy to guard against his traps, and entering his domain for the sake of amusement. A horror film, a dark game, or astrology may offer a sudden fascination, but fascination is not nourishment. The heart was created with a specific capacity for delight and tranquility, meant to be filled only by its Creator. A void in the heart can only be filled with closeness to Allah, and loneliness can only be removed except by intimacy with Him.

When a young person fills that vessel with artificial thrills, cheap scares, and dark amusements, the heart loses its delicate sensitivity. It can no longer taste the sweetness of ʿibādah (worship), nor feel the quiet tranquility of dhikr (remembrance). It becomes addicted to intense, chaotic stimulation simply to feel alive, while remaining dead to the subtle, magnificent beauty of divine guidance.

In our daily prayer, we ask:

“Guide us to the Straight Path.” (Sūrah al-Fātiḥah 1:6)

Remaining on this path requires us to continually examine the daily choices by which our īmān is either strengthened or distracted. The heart undergoes a silent education through what it repeatedly welcomes through its gates. Some choices strengthen its longing for Allah, while others leave it content with lesser, empty things.

We cannot prevent the modern world from packaging poison as sweet, but revelation gives the believer the absolute criteria to see past the glitter. The ultimate loss to be feared is not merely that our youth will encounter the dark, but that the heart might become so completely accustomed to artificial thrills that it forgets the true sweetness of seeking Allah's eternal pleasure, and striving for a place in the Heavens that sits far higher than the stars they once used for amusement.

May Allah guide us to the Straight Path, keep our hearts firm upon it, and grant us the deep sight to recognize the difference between what merely captures the heart for a fleeting moment, and what is worthy of it for all of eternity. Āmīn.

- n.dahlia

Sources:

¹ Ibn al-Qayyim, Rawḍat al-Muḥibbīn wa Nuzhat al-Mushtāqīn, pp. 94–95.

² Ibn al-Qayyim, Al-Jawāb al-Kāfī liman Sa’ala ‘an al-Dawā’ al-Shāfī.

³ Ibn al-Jawzī, Talbīs Iblīs (Dhikr Talbīs Iblīs ʿalā al-Munajjimīn wa Aṣḥāb al-Falak).