[He] who created death and life to test you [as to] which of you is best in deed - and He is the Exalted in Might, the Forgiving -
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alladhī khalaqa sabʿa samāwātin ṭibāqan mā tarā fī khalqi l-raḥmāni min tafāwutin fa-ir'jiʿi l-baṣara hal tarā min fuṭūrin
[And] who created seven heavens in layers. You do not see in the creation of the Most Merciful any inconsistency. So return [your] vision [to the sky]; do you see any breaks?
And We have certainly beautified the nearest heaven with lamps [i.e., stars] and have made [from] them what is thrown at the devils and have prepared for them the punishment of the Blaze.
Do they not see the birds above them with wings outspread and [sometimes] folded in? None holds them [aloft] except the Most Merciful. Indeed He is, of all things, Seeing.
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amman hādhā alladhī huwa jundun lakum yanṣurukum min dūni l-raḥmāni ini l-kāfirūna illā fī ghurūrin
Or who is it that could be an army for you to aid you other than the Most Merciful? The disbelievers are not but in delusion.
Blessed is He in whose hand is dominion, and He is over all things competent -
This is one of the most powerful openings in the Quran — 'Blessed is the One in Whose hand is the Dominion.' The word 'Tabarak' here doesn't just mean blessed in a casual sense; it carries the idea of something so exalted, so magnificent, that all goodness flows from it. Allah is declaring that ultimate sovereignty — over every kingdom, every government, every system of power — belongs to Him alone. And then comes the knockout line: 'He is over all things All-Powerful.' This was revealed in Makkah, where the Quraysh thought they held all the power, so imagine how that landed. It's a reminder that no matter who seems to be in charge in this world, real authority has only one address.
[He] who created death and life to test you [as to] which of you is best in deed - and He is the Exalted in Might, the Forgiving -
Here's something that might surprise you — death is mentioned before life. That's intentional. Allah created death and life as a test to see who among you is best in deed. Notice it doesn't say 'most' in deed — it says 'best.' Quality over quantity. You could pray all day but if your heart isn't in it, someone with fewer deeds done sincerely might outrank you. The pairing of 'Al-Aziz' (the All-Mighty) with 'Al-Ghafur' (the Oft-Forgiving) is beautiful here — He has the power to punish, but His nature leans toward forgiveness. It's like being told the exam is hard, but the Teacher genuinely wants you to pass.
[And] who created seven heavens in layers.1 You do not see in the creation of the Most Merciful any inconsistency. So return [your] vision [to the sky]; do you see any breaks?
Now Allah draws your attention upward — He created seven heavens in perfect layers, one above another. And then He issues a challenge: look at the creation of the Most Gracious and try to find a single flaw in it. Go ahead, look. This isn't just poetic language; it's an invitation to study the universe. Early Muslim scholars took this seriously — it's part of what drove the Islamic Golden Age of astronomy and science. The word 'tafawut' here means inconsistency or disproportion, and Allah is saying you won't find any. Every orbit, every law of physics, every ecosystem fits together with breathtaking precision.
Then return [your] vision twice again.1 [Your] vision will return to you humbled while it is fatigued.
Allah doubles down on the challenge — look again, and then look a third time. Your vision will come back to you humbled and exhausted, having found nothing wrong. There's something almost playful about this, like a master craftsman saying 'Go on, inspect my work, I'll wait.' The more humanity discovers through telescopes and microscopes, the more we find layers of complexity and order, not chaos. It's a verse that only gets more powerful with time. Every new scientific discovery is essentially your vision coming back, awestruck and tired, confirming what this verse said fourteen centuries ago.
And We have certainly beautified the nearest heaven with lamps [i.e., stars] and have made [from] them what is thrown at the devils1 and have prepared for them the punishment of the Blaze.
The nearest heaven — the sky you see at night — Allah says He beautified it with lamps, meaning the stars. But these stars serve a dual purpose: they're also described as missiles against the devils. In pre-Islamic and Islamic cosmology, the 'shayateen' — devils — would try to eavesdrop on the heavenly assembly, and shooting stars were understood as being hurled at them. Whether you take this literally or see deeper layers of meaning, the point is striking: the same stars that fill you with wonder also serve as a defense system for the unseen world. And for those devils, a punishment of the Blaze awaits. Beauty and power, wrapped into the same creation.
And for those who disbelieved in their Lord is the punishment of Hell, and wretched is the destination.
The tone shifts here — for those who disbelieve in their Lord, the punishment of Hell awaits, and what a terrible destination it is. The word 'masir' means the place you end up, your final destination. Think about how much effort people put into choosing where they'll retire or where they want to live — this verse is asking you to think about the ultimate destination. It's direct and unvarnished, which is characteristic of Makkan surahs that were trying to wake people up from their spiritual complacency. The Quraysh were comfortable, wealthy, and didn't want to hear about accountability — so Allah gave it to them straight.
When they are thrown into it, they hear from it a [dreadful] inhaling while it boils up.
This verse is visceral — when the disbelievers are thrown into Hell, they hear it inhaling, drawing breath, as it boils over. The word 'shaheeq' describes a horrific gasping or braying sound, like a donkey's inhale at its most grating. Hell isn't just a place here — it's almost alive, raging and hungry. The imagery is meant to shake you, to make the abstract idea of consequences feel terrifyingly real. The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, used to recite Surah Al-Mulk every night before sleep, and scholars say part of the reason was that these vivid descriptions keep the heart awake to reality even as the body rests.
It almost bursts with rage. Every time a company is thrown into it, its keepers ask them, "Did there not come to you a warner?"
Hell is so furious it almost bursts apart from sheer rage — 'takadu tamayyazu min al-ghayz.' Every time a new group is thrown in, the keepers of Hell ask them a simple question: 'Didn't a warner come to you?' This is crucial because it establishes that Allah never punishes without first sending a message. No one ends up there and can say they weren't told. The keepers — angels assigned to Hell — aren't asking out of curiosity; it's a rhetorical indictment. The question itself is the verdict. You were warned, and you chose to ignore it.
They will say, "Yes, a warner had come to us, but we denied and said, 'Allāh has not sent down anything. You are not but in great error.'"
And here's their answer — 'Yes, a warner did come to us, but we denied him and said Allah hasn't revealed anything. You're just deeply misguided.' This is a confession that hits different because it comes too late. They're admitting they heard the truth and actively rejected it. They didn't just passively miss the message; they told the messengers they were crazy. The phrase 'ma nazzala Allahu min shay' — 'Allah hasn't revealed anything' — is the exact kind of dismissal prophets faced in every era. It's the ancient version of 'religion is just made up.' And now, standing in the fire, they see the cost of that arrogance.
And they will say, "If only we had been listening or reasoning, we would not be among the companions of the Blaze."
This might be one of the most haunting verses in the entire Quran. The people of Hell will say, 'If only we had listened or used our reason, we wouldn't be among the companions of the Blaze.' Two faculties are highlighted — listening and thinking. They had ears and they had minds, and they used neither properly. This verse validates both revelation and reason as paths to truth — Islam doesn't ask you to check your brain at the door. The tragedy isn't that they couldn't understand; it's that they chose not to. And that 'if only' — that's the most painful phrase in any language, in this life or the next.
And they will admit their sin, so [it is] alienation1 for the companions of the Blaze.
So they confess their sins — but the confession comes too late to help them. 'Fa su'dan li-ashabi as-sa'ir' — so away with the companions of the Blaze. The word 'su'dan' implies being cast far away from mercy, a total removal. There's a lesson here about timing — repentance in this life is accepted, but once you're standing in front of the consequences, admission of guilt doesn't reverse the sentence. It's like studying after the exam is over. The Quran repeatedly emphasizes that the door of repentance is wide open right now, in this moment, but it won't be open forever.
Indeed, those who fear their Lord unseen will have forgiveness and great reward.
After those heavy verses about Hell, this comes like cool water — those who fear their Lord in the unseen, meaning when no one is watching and when they can't see Him, they get forgiveness and a great reward. The key word is 'bil-ghayb' — in the unseen. It's easy to be good when everyone's looking. The real test is who you are in private, in your thoughts, in those moments when you could easily cut corners and no one would know. That private consciousness of Allah, that quiet reverence — that's what earns not just forgiveness but 'ajrun kabir,' a reward described as great. Allah is generous with those who are sincere with Him.
And conceal your speech or publicize it; indeed, He is Knowing of that within the breasts.
Whether you whisper your words or shout them from the rooftops, Allah knows what's in your chest — your deepest thoughts, your hidden intentions, the things you'd never say out loud. This verse collapses the distinction between public and private that we rely on so heavily. In the age of social media, people curate their public image obsessively while their inner world might be completely different. Allah isn't interested in the performance; He's reading the heart. The word 'sudur' — breasts or chests — is used because the Arabs understood the chest as the seat of emotions and intentions. Nothing is hidden from Him.
Does He who created not know,1 while He is the Subtle, the Aware?
This is one of the most logically elegant verses in the Quran — 'Does He who created not know?' Just five words in Arabic that dismantle any doubt. If Allah designed you, assembled every neuron and emotion and thought pattern, how could He possibly not understand what's inside you? He is 'Al-Latif' — the Most Subtle, meaning He knows the finest, most delicate details — and 'Al-Khabir' — the All-Aware, meaning nothing escapes His notice. It's both a comfort and a wake-up call. Comforting because He understands your struggles better than you do. A wake-up call because He also sees every hidden intention you think you've buried.
It is He who made the earth tame1 for you - so walk among its slopes and eat of His provision - and to Him is the resurrection.
Now the lens shifts from the heavens to the earth beneath your feet. Allah made the earth 'dhalul' — subservient, docile, manageable — for you. Walk its paths, eat from His provision, and remember that to Him is the resurrection. There's a profound balance here: enjoy the earth, travel, explore, earn your living — but don't forget where you're headed. The earth isn't your permanent home; it's a guesthouse. The Prophet, peace be upon him, once said 'Be in this world as if you were a stranger or a traveler.' This verse captures that perfectly — use the earth, appreciate it, but know that the journey continues beyond it.
Do you feel secure that He who is above1 would not cause the earth to swallow you and suddenly it would sway?2
Do you feel safe from the One who is above the heavens — that He won't cause the earth to swallow you whole while it trembles beneath you? This is a sobering question. We walk on this planet every day with such confidence, rarely thinking about earthquakes, sinkholes, or the fact that we're standing on a thin crust above molten rock. The Quraysh felt invincible in their valley, and Allah is reminding them — and us — that the ground you stand on is only stable because He wills it to be. One shift, one tremor, and everything changes. It's not meant to make you paranoid; it's meant to make you grateful and humble.
Or do you feel secure that He who is above would not send against you a storm of stones? Then you would know how [severe] was My warning.
Or do you feel secure that the One in the heaven won't send against you a storm of stones? Then you would know how serious My warning was. This echoes what happened to previous nations — the people of Lut were destroyed by a rain of stones, and the people of the elephant were pelted from the sky. The Quraysh knew these stories; they were part of their cultural memory. Allah is saying: what makes you think you're exempt? The phrase 'fa-sataalamuna kayfa nadhir' — 'then you will know how My warning was' — has a chilling finality to it. By the time you find out the hard way, it's too late to change course.
And already had those before them denied, and how [terrible] was My reproach.
And certainly those before them denied their messengers too — so how was My rejection of them? This is Allah pointing to the historical record. The ruins of Thamud were visible to Arab traders. The story of Pharaoh's drowning was well known. The destruction of 'Ad was legend. Allah doesn't spell out the details here because the audience already knew them. The question 'how was My rejection?' is rhetorical — it was total, it was devastating, and it was permanent. History is full of civilizations that thought they were too powerful to fall. This verse says: look at what's left of them, and learn.
Do they not see the birds above them with wings outspread and [sometimes] folded in? None holds them [aloft] except the Most Merciful. Indeed He is, of all things, Seeing.
Do they not look at the birds above them, spreading their wings and folding them in? Nothing holds them up except the Most Gracious. This is one of those verses that stops you in your tracks if you really think about it. A bird in flight — something we see every day and barely notice — is actually a miracle of aerodynamics, muscle coordination, and divine sustenance. The Quran doesn't say 'physics holds them up' or 'air currents hold them up.' It says Allah holds them up. The laws of nature are His tools, not independent forces. He sees everything — every bird, every wing beat, every creature in every corner of creation. Nothing is too small for His attention.
Or who is it that could be an army for you to aid you other than the Most Merciful? The disbelievers are not but in delusion.
Or who is this army that could help you besides the Most Gracious? The disbelievers are in nothing but delusion. This is a direct challenge to the Quraysh, who relied on their tribal alliances, their wealth, and their military strength. Allah is asking: strip all of that away, and who exactly is going to protect you? Every army in history that thought it was invincible eventually fell. The word 'ghurur' — delusion — is powerful because it implies they're not just wrong; they're living in a fantasy. They've convinced themselves that their power is self-made and self-sustaining, when in reality it could be taken away in an instant.
Or who is it that could provide for you if He withheld His provision? But they have persisted in insolence and aversion.
Or who is this that could provide for you if Allah withheld His provision? But they persist in pride and aversion. This hits at something deeply practical — your job, your income, your food, your water — all of it flows from Allah's permission. If He decided to cut the supply, no government program, no savings account, no backup plan could save you. The Quraysh were traders who depended on seasonal caravans and the goodwill of the elements. They understood supply chains. Allah is telling them their ultimate supplier isn't the market — it's Him. And yet, despite knowing this on some level, they persist in 'ututww' — stubborn arrogance — and 'nufur' — active turning away from truth.
Then is one who walks fallen on his face better guided or one who walks erect on a straight path?
Is the one who walks stumbling on his face better guided, or the one who walks upright on a straight path? The image is vivid — picture someone face-down, blind, tripping over everything, versus someone standing tall, clear-eyed, walking a straight road. This is a metaphor for the believer and the disbeliever. The one without guidance doesn't just lack direction; they're literally face-planting through life, unable to see where they're going or what they're tripping over. Meanwhile, the believer has clarity, purpose, and a path that actually leads somewhere. It's a question that answers itself — and it's meant to make you honestly assess which person you resemble more.
Say, "It is He who has produced you and made for you hearing and vision and hearts [i.e., intellect]; little are you grateful."
Say: He is the One who produced you and gave you hearing, sight, and hearts — yet how little you give thanks. Three gifts are highlighted here, and they're not random. Hearing often comes first in the Quran because a baby hears before it sees, and because revelation is received through hearing. Sight lets you witness the signs of Allah in creation. And the heart — 'af'ida' — is your center of understanding, conscience, and spiritual perception. These three together are everything you need to find truth. The punchline is devastating in its simplicity: you barely even say thank you. Most people go through life using these gifts every second without once pausing to acknowledge where they came from.
Say, "It is He who has multiplied you throughout the earth, and to Him you will be gathered."
Say: He is the One who scattered you throughout the earth, and to Him you will be gathered. The word 'dhara'akum' comes from a root meaning to scatter or spread like seeds. Allah dispersed humanity across the globe — different continents, different cultures, different languages — and yet every single person, no matter where they ended up, will be gathered back to Him. There's something both humbling and unifying about that. Whether you're in a skyscraper in Tokyo or a village in Mali, your appointment is the same. The scattering is temporary; the gathering is permanent. This verse collapses all the distances we think matter.
And they say, "When is this promise, if you should be truthful?"
And they say, 'When will this promise be fulfilled, if you are truthful?' This is the classic skeptic's taunt — show us the Day of Judgment, prove it, put a date on it. The Quraysh used this line constantly against the Prophet, peace be upon him. It's the ancient equivalent of 'I'll believe it when I see it.' But the whole point of faith is that you won't see it until it arrives, and by then belief won't help you. Every generation of deniers has asked this same question, and every generation discovers the answer on their own terms — either through the minor judgment of death or the major one that ends all of history.
Say, "The knowledge is only with Allāh, and I am only a clear warner."
Say: the knowledge of when it will happen is only with Allah, and I am only a clear warner. The Prophet, peace be upon him, is instructed to be honest about what he doesn't know. He's not a fortune teller or a date-setter — he's a messenger with a specific job: warn people clearly and let them decide. This is one of the most dignified responses to mockery in the Quran. No defensiveness, no theatrics, just clarity. The knowledge of the Hour is with Allah alone — not with any prophet, any angel, any scholar. And the humility of that admission is itself a proof of prophethood, because a fraud would have made up an answer to keep his audience impressed.
But when they see it1 approaching, the faces of those who disbelieve will be distressed, and it will be said, "This is that for which you used to call."2
But when they see it approaching — the Day of Judgment, the very thing they mocked — the faces of the disbelievers will be stricken with distress. And it will be said to them: this is what you used to call for. The irony is devastating. They spent their lives sarcastically asking 'Where is this punishment you keep threatening us with?' — and now it's here, and the smirk is gone, replaced by dread. The word 'si'at' means their faces will darken, contort with grief and horror. What was once a punchline has become their reality. This is one of the Quran's most powerful reversals — the joke they were telling lands, but they're the ones it lands on.
Say, [O Muḥammad], "Have you considered:1 whether Allāh should cause my death and those with me or have mercy upon us, who can protect the disbelievers from a painful punishment?"
Say: have you considered — whether Allah destroys me and those with me, or shows us mercy — who will protect the disbelievers from a painful punishment? This is brilliant argumentation. The Quraysh wanted the Prophet dead, thinking that would solve their 'problem.' Allah tells him to respond: even if I die, even if every Muslim perishes, how does that help you? Your problem isn't me — your problem is with the Lord of the universe. Killing the messenger doesn't cancel the message. This verse strips away their distraction and forces them to face the real issue: they have no protection from what's coming, regardless of what happens to Muhammad and his followers.
Say, "He is the Most Merciful; we have believed in Him, and upon Him we have relied. And you will [come to] know who it is that is in clear error."
Say: He is the Most Gracious — we believe in Him, and upon Him we put our trust. Then you will know who is in clear error. There's a quiet confidence in this verse that's remarkable given the context. The Muslims in Makkah were outnumbered, oppressed, and mocked daily. And yet the instruction is to simply declare: we believe, we trust, and time will tell who's wrong. No threats, no desperation, just serene certainty. The name 'Ar-Rahman' — the Most Gracious — is used deliberately because the Quraysh particularly disliked it; they didn't want to acknowledge a God whose defining quality was overwhelming mercy. This verse is both a declaration of faith and a gentle gauntlet thrown at their feet.
Say, "Have you considered: if your water was to become sunken [into the earth], then who could bring you flowing water?"
Say: have you considered — if your water were to sink deep into the ground, who could bring you flowing water? This is the final verse, and it ends with the most basic, undeniable human need — water. Not theology, not philosophy, just water. If it disappeared tomorrow, vanished into the earth, who would you call? All your technology, all your wealth, all your pride — none of it can create water from nothing. The Quraysh lived in a desert; they understood water scarcity viscerally. But this question is timeless — even modern civilizations with all their engineering are helpless before a true drought. The surah that began with Allah's absolute dominion ends with a reminder of your absolute dependence. That's the circle closing perfectly.