The Greatest Power Struggle and Love Story: Satan’s Fall and the Struggle for Light
The word "Satan" comes from the Aramaic Satana, a term that doesn't quite mean "enemy" as many today understand it. Instead, Satana refers to an opposing force, a counterbalance in the eternal struggle for power and light.
In Christianity, Lucifer—a Latin name meaning "light bringer"—originates from the Greek word phosphorus, referring to the morning star, the planet Venus. Lucifer's role is to herald the Sun's arrival, to carry the light, but never to own it. In many ways, he's the Sun's most significant challenger, forever rising before dawn, only to lose every morning when the Sun's brilliance overtakes him.
In antiquity, the Sun was seen as the ultimate guide, the redeemer of the lost, whose light revealed all things and rendered nothing invisible. As the Sun's perpetual rival, Lucifer, the planet Venus embodied the anti-redeemer who resisted the Sun's dominion, casting shadows instead of light. He is the leader of the opposition, of resistance, which in later Christian theology becomes associated with Satan, the force always opposing the divine order.
In Roman Catholic Christianity, this cosmic struggle transforms into a theological battle between Jesus, the Son, representing the Sun and light, and Lucifer, the embodiment of Satan, representing darkness. It is a never-ending power struggle, the tension between Christ and the Antichrist, good versus evil.
But this eternal conflict has deeper roots, crossing into different cultures and belief systems. In earlier Arabic traditions, the story is told differently—yet carries the same undertones of a fall from grace, a relationship turned bitter.
The figure of Iblis, whose name stems from the Greek Diablos—modern English's "devil"—was not always the opposing force we know today. Once, he was in love with the ultimate Lord, Al-Ilah. In those early days, Iblis, who was then known by a different name, Azazil, had a close and intimate relationship with the divine.
The name Azazil likely derives from the Akkadian words Ezizu, meaning "sublime," and il, meaning "lord" or "ruler." His name could be interpreted as "God's favorite;" he was once Al-Ilah's favored creation. He lived in devotion, a unique being made of fire ruling in the high heaven.
But then, everything changed when Al-Ilah created humans.
Azazil's fall is a tragic tale of love and pride. According to Islamic tradition, God had once trusted Azazil to lead a divine army to subdue the djinn, the beings who had inhabited the world before humankind, and restore order to a corrupted earth. Azazil's piety grew with this success, and he ascended to the highest heavens. But when God created humans and commanded the angels and Azazil to bow before them, Azazil refused. His pride, his fiery essence, could not allow him to accept a creation of clay as his equal, much less his superior. Being made of poisonous fire, He saw himself as more significant, purer.
Azazil was cast out of heaven for this refusal, condemned to live as the accursed Iblis. In his last moments before his fall, he stood before the Lord he had once adored and protested. "You are making a mistake," he warned. "These humans will fail you." And in his bitterness, in his heartbroken defiance, he vowed to lead humanity astray, to prove that they were unworthy of God's love. He would tempt, deceive, and mislead them until the end of time, turning the love he once had for his creator into a mission of destruction.
What began as a relationship of love and devotion turned into the greatest rivalry. Like a lover scorned, Azazil—now Iblis—was consumed by his pain. His love twisted into hate, his pride became his downfall, and his mission became clear: if he could no longer have his beloved's favor, he would take away the one thing his beloved cherished most—humankind.
This story echoes a profound and painful love. It is a love story but also a tale of loss, pride, and the consequences of refusing to bow to something greater than oneself.
Are these the true origins of our creation stories? Or do they simply reflect the deepest desires and flaws of the human heart? Perhaps these ancient tales speak more about our nature than the nature of the divine—our struggle to accept love, relinquish pride, and navigate the fine line between devotion and rebellion.
What do you think?
Keep gazing.
