Say, [O Muḥammad], "It has been revealed to me that a group of the jinn listened and said, 'Indeed, we have heard an amazing Qur’ān [i.e., recitation].
And among us are Muslims [in submission to Allāh], and among us are the unjust. And whoever has become Muslim - those have sought out the right course.
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wa-ammā l-qāsiṭūna fakānū lijahannama ḥaṭaban
But as for the unjust, they will be, for Hell, firewood.'
Say, [O Muḥammad], "It has been revealed to me that a group of the jinn listened and said, 'Indeed, we have heard an amazing Qur’ān [i.e., recitation].
This surah opens with Allah telling Prophet Muhammad to share something remarkable — a group of jinn happened to hear the Quran being recited and were absolutely captivated by it. They rushed back to their fellow jinn and said, 'We've heard an amazing Quran!' Notice they didn't say 'a book' or 'a speech' — they called it amazing, stunning, something that stopped them in their tracks. The jinn are beings created from smokeless fire, living in a dimension parallel to ours, and even they recognized the Quran's power immediately. Tradition holds this happened during the Prophet's journey to Ta'if, one of the lowest points in his life — rejected by humans, yet unseen beings were being moved by the very same message. There's something deeply comforting in that: even when you feel like nobody's listening, you never really know who your words are reaching.
It guides to the right course, and we have believed in it. And we will never associate with our Lord anyone.
The jinn don't just admire the Quran like a nice piece of literature — they act on it. They declare that it guides to the right path, so they believed in it, and they commit to never associating any partner with their Lord. What's striking here is how immediate their response is — no committee meetings, no 'let us think about it,' just hearing truth and submitting to it. This tells you something important about sincerity: when the heart is ready, faith doesn't need a long deliberation process. These jinn essentially became monotheists on the spot, rejecting whatever forms of shirk they had practiced before. It's a subtle challenge to the Quraysh too — creatures you can't even see recognized the truth faster than you did.
And [it teaches] that exalted is the nobleness of our Lord; He has not taken a wife or a son
Now the jinn start correcting their own theology, and it's fascinating to watch. They affirm that God's majesty is far too exalted for Him to have taken a wife or a son. This was a direct rejection of beliefs that some jinn apparently held — and also a mirror aimed at certain human beliefs about God having offspring. The phrase 'Exalted is the Majesty of our Lord' shows genuine reverence; these aren't beings casually updating their worldview, they're in awe. It's a reminder that the concept of God's absolute oneness and transcendence isn't just a human theological debate — it resonates across all conscious creation.
And that our foolish one [i.e., Iblees]1 has been saying about Allāh an excessive transgression.
Here the jinn get honest about their own community's problems. They admit that the foolish among them used to say outrageous things about Allah — lies, exaggerations, things that crossed every line. The word 'safih' (foolish) is telling because it implies these weren't evil masterminds but reckless, ignorant loudmouths who spoke without knowledge. Every community has people like that, those who confidently make claims about God and religion with zero actual understanding. The jinn are essentially doing collective self-reflection, acknowledging that they let bad voices dominate for too long. It takes real maturity to look at your own group and say, 'We had a problem, and we were wrong to tolerate it.'
And we had thought that mankind and the jinn would never speak about Allāh a lie.
This ayah reveals a deeply human — well, deeply jinn — mistake. They assumed that neither humans nor jinn would ever dare lie about Allah, so when someone made false claims about God, they just believed them. It's a fascinating insight into how misinformation spreads: people assume that nobody would fabricate something so serious, so they let their guard down. You see this everywhere today — we trust claims because we can't imagine someone would be bold enough to make them up, especially about sacred matters. The jinn are confessing that their gullibility was part of the problem. Blind trust, even in religious contexts, can lead you astray if you're not verifying what you hear against actual truth.
And there were men from mankind who sought refuge in men from the jinn, so they [only] increased them in burden [i.e., sin].
This ayah describes a strange pre-Islamic practice where certain humans would seek protection from jinn by invoking their leaders — especially when traveling through desolate valleys or remote places. Arabs used to call out to the 'chief jinn' of an area for safe passage, essentially flattering these beings. But instead of helping, this only increased the jinn in arrogance and the humans in fear. It was a toxic transaction — the humans got more paranoid and the jinn got bigger egos. There's a powerful lesson here about seeking refuge in the wrong places: when you turn to anything other than God for ultimate protection, you don't solve your problem, you deepen it. The very thing you thought would save you ends up having more power over you.
And they had thought, as you thought, that Allāh would never send anyone [as a messenger].
The jinn continue their confession by admitting they shared a mistaken belief with some humans — that Allah would never resurrect anyone or send a messenger. It's interesting that they say 'as you thought,' drawing a parallel between jinn and human skepticism. Denial of the afterlife and prophethood wasn't just a human problem; it was widespread across both realms of conscious beings. This shared delusion gave both groups a false sense of security, a feeling that there would be no accountability. But hearing the Quran shattered that comfortable illusion for these jinn. Sometimes the beliefs we hold most firmly are the ones most in need of examination.
And we have sought [to reach] the heaven but found it filled with powerful guards and burning flames.
Now the jinn describe something they experienced firsthand — they used to ascend toward the heavens to eavesdrop on angelic conversations, picking up fragments of divine knowledge. But suddenly, they found the sky filled with fierce guards and shooting stars. This was a cosmic security upgrade, and it happened around the time of Prophet Muhammad's mission. The jinn are reporting a real, observable change in their reality — what used to be an open channel was now completely locked down. Scholars note that this increased celestial security was one of the signs that a major prophet had arrived. The universe itself was being reorganized to protect the integrity of the final revelation.
And we used to sit therein in positions for hearing,1 but whoever listens now will find a burning flame lying in wait for him.
Building on the previous ayah, the jinn explain that they used to have regular listening posts in the heavens — actual positions where they'd sit and intercept information. But now, anyone who tries to eavesdrop finds a burning flame lying in wait for them. The shift from past tense to present tense is deliberate — this isn't ancient history, it's their current reality. Before Islam, fortune-tellers and soothsayers would get fragments of truth from jinn who'd overheard celestial conversations, mixed with layers of lies. With the Quran's arrival, that pipeline was shut down permanently. It's as if God was saying: the truth is now available directly and clearly, so there's no more need for back-channel whispers.
And we do not know [therefore] whether evil is intended for those on earth or whether their Lord intends for them a right course.
This is a remarkably humble admission from the jinn. They say they genuinely don't know whether the changes they're witnessing — the heightened security in the heavens — mean that something terrible is planned for the people of earth, or whether God intends to guide them to something good. They're sitting with uncertainty and admitting it openly. In a world where everyone pretends to have all the answers, especially about God's plans, this is refreshing. The jinn model something we could all learn from: it's okay to say 'I don't know what God has planned.' Uncertainty isn't a weakness — pretending to have knowledge you don't possess is the real problem.
And among us are the righteous, and among us are [others] not so; we were [of] divided ways.1
The jinn here paint a picture of their own community that's strikingly similar to human societies. They say some of them are righteous and some are otherwise, and they follow many different paths. This single verse demolishes the simplistic idea that all jinn are evil demons — they're a diverse creation with free will, moral choices, and varying levels of faith. Just like humans, they have their saints and their sinners, their seekers and their skeptics. The phrase 'ways different' suggests real theological and moral diversity among them. It's a reminder that the capacity for good and evil, belief and disbelief, isn't unique to humanity — it's a feature of any being given the gift and burden of choice.
And we have become certain that we will never cause failure to Allāh upon earth, nor can we escape Him by flight.
Now the jinn express a profound realization: they've become certain — absolutely certain — that they can never escape God's power, whether they stay on earth or try to flee. There's no outrunning the Creator of the universe. This certainty isn't born from fear alone but from genuine understanding. They grasped that God's authority isn't limited by geography or dimension. You can't hide from the One who created every hiding place. It's the kind of theological clarity that changes everything about how you live — when you truly internalize that there's no escape from accountability, your choices start to shift naturally toward what's right.
And when we heard the guidance [i.e., the Qur’ān], we believed in it. And whoever believes in his Lord will not fear deprivation or burden.1
This is one of the most beautiful and hopeful verses in the surah. The jinn declare that when they heard the guidance, they believed in it, and whoever believes in their Lord will fear neither loss nor injustice. The Arabic words 'bakhs' (loss, being shortchanged) and 'rahaq' (burden, oppression) cover both sides of the anxiety coin — fear of not getting what you deserve, and fear of being overwhelmed by what you don't. Faith, they're saying, addresses both. You won't be cheated out of your reward, and you won't be unjustly burdened. That's an incredible promise, and it's coming from beings who just recently found faith — their enthusiasm and conviction are palpable. New believers often see truths that longtime believers have let become routine.
And among us are Muslims [in submission to Allāh], and among us are the unjust.1 And whoever has become Muslim - those have sought out the right course.
The jinn now divide their community into two clear groups: those who have submitted to God — the Muslims among them — and those who are unjust. Those who chose Islam, they say, have found the right path. The use of the word 'Muslim' here is significant — it means 'one who submits to God,' and it applies to jinn just as much as to humans. Islam isn't an exclusively human religion; it's a universal principle of submission to the Creator. The jinn who accepted this truth 'sought the right course' actively — it wasn't passive. They made a deliberate choice, which is exactly how faith is supposed to work, regardless of what kind of being you are.
But as for the unjust, they will be, for Hell, firewood.'
After the gentle hope of the previous verses, this one lands hard. The unjust among the jinn — those who refused to submit — will be fuel for Hellfire. The word 'hatab' (firewood) is vivid and unsettling; they won't just be in the fire, they'll feed it. The jinn themselves are stating this about their own kind, which gives it extra weight — this isn't an outside judgment but an insider's acknowledgment of consequences. It also closes the jinn's speech on a note of stark realism. They've talked about diversity, free will, hope, and belief, but they don't sugarcoat the ending for those who choose wrong. Truth includes uncomfortable parts, and honest people don't edit those out.
And [Allāh revealed] that if they had remained straight on the way, We would have given them abundant rain [i.e., provision].
The perspective shifts here — now Allah is speaking, and He makes a conditional statement about humanity. If people had stayed firm on the straight path, God would have blessed them with abundant water. In the Arabian context, water meant everything — life, prosperity, agriculture, survival. But this isn't just about literal rain; water symbolizes all forms of divine provision and blessing. The 'if' is crucial — it's conditional, meaning the blessings are tied to choices. Stay on the path, and abundance flows. Stray from it, and the provision tightens. It's a principle you can observe throughout history: societies built on justice and truth tend to flourish, while those built on corruption eventually dry up, sometimes literally.
So We might test them therein. And whoever turns away from the remembrance of his Lord1 He will put into arduous punishment.
This verse adds a surprising twist to the previous one. God says the abundance He would provide isn't just a reward — it's a test. Prosperity is a trial just as much as hardship is, maybe even more so, because wealth and comfort have a way of making people forget where their blessings come from. And whoever turns away from the remembrance of their Lord will be driven into a severe punishment. The key phrase is 'remembrance of his Lord' — dhikr, that ongoing awareness of God. When you're blessed and you forget the source, you've already begun failing the test. This is why some of the most spiritually dangerous moments in life aren't the hard times but the easy ones.
And [He revealed] that the masjids1 are for Allāh, so do not invoke2 with Allāh anyone.
Places of worship — masajid, which literally means places of prostration — belong to Allah alone, so don't invoke anyone alongside Him there. This verse has been understood in multiple layers. On the surface, it's about keeping mosques free from any form of polytheism or divided worship. But 'masajid' can also refer to the act of prostration itself, meaning that the very gesture of bowing down belongs exclusively to God. Some scholars connect this to the jinn being present when the Prophet prayed and being overwhelmed by the purity of monotheistic worship. Whatever the layer, the message is clear: sacred spaces and sacred acts of worship are for God alone, no partners, no intermediaries, no exceptions.
And that when the Servant [i.e., Prophet] of Allāh stood up supplicating Him, they almost became about him a compacted mass."1
This verse captures a vivid scene — when the Prophet stood up to pray and call upon God, the jinn crowded around him so thickly they almost crushed each other. The word 'libadan' (a compacted mass) paints an image of jinn pressing in from every direction, utterly fascinated by what they were witnessing. Imagine being so drawn to someone's worship that you physically can't stay away. The Prophet didn't know they were there — he was simply praying with sincerity, and that sincerity was magnetic across dimensions. There's a powerful lesson about the quality of your worship: authentic devotion has an attraction that transcends the visible world. You never know what forces are drawn to genuine prayer.
Say, [O Muḥammad], "I only invoke my Lord and do not associate with Him anyone."
Allah now tells the Prophet to make a clear declaration: I call upon my Lord alone, and I don't associate anyone with Him. After all the talk about jinn, celestial eavesdropping, and invisible beings, this verse brings everything back to the simplest possible statement of faith. No matter how complex the unseen world is — and this surah shows it's very complex — the response is beautifully simple: worship God alone. The Prophet isn't claiming special powers over jinn or cosmic authority; he's just a servant calling upon his Master. That simplicity is the whole point of the message, and it's what made it so compelling to jinn and humans alike.
Say, "Indeed, I do not possess for you [the power of] harm or right direction."
The Prophet is instructed to be radically honest about his own limitations. He tells people plainly: I don't have the power to harm you or to guide you on my own. This is remarkable transparency from a religious leader — no grandiose claims, no promises of personal power, no cult of personality. He's positioning himself exactly where a prophet should be: as a messenger, not the source. In a world full of spiritual figures who claim supernatural abilities and personal authority over people's fates, this humility is striking. The Prophet's power came precisely from his honesty about his own powerlessness — everything he brought was from God, and he never pretended otherwise.
Say, "Indeed, there will never protect me from Allāh anyone [if I should disobey], nor will I find in other than Him a refuge.
Continuing this theme of prophetic humility, Muhammad is told to say that no one can protect him from Allah, and he could never find any refuge apart from Him. Think about what this means — even the Prophet himself has no escape from God's authority. If the greatest human being to walk the earth is saying 'I have no shelter except God,' what does that tell the rest of us? It demolishes any idea of spiritual intermediaries who can override divine will. Nobody — no saint, no angel, no jinn — stands between you and God's judgment. The only refuge is God Himself, and that's simultaneously humbling and liberating.
But [I have for you] only notification from Allāh, and His messages." And whoever disobeys Allāh and His Messenger - then indeed, for him is the fire of Hell; they will abide therein forever.
The Prophet clarifies the one thing he does possess — the responsibility to convey Allah's message. That's it. Not magical protection, not the power to control destinies, just the duty to deliver the notification from God. And then the verse pivots to a warning: whoever disobeys Allah and His Messenger will face the fire of Hell, dwelling there forever. The contrast is sharp — the Prophet has limited power, but the message he carries has unlimited consequences. Don't confuse the humility of the messenger with the weight of the message. A postal worker might look ordinary, but the letter they deliver might change your entire life. The content matters infinitely more than the carrier.
[The disbelievers continue] until, when they see that which they are promised, then they will know who is weaker in helpers and less in number.
This verse looks forward to a moment of terrible clarity — when the deniers finally see what they've been promised, they'll suddenly understand who was truly weak and outnumbered. Right now, the disbelievers feel like they have the numbers, the power, the support systems. But on that Day, the tables flip completely. Those who seemed powerful will realize their helpers can't help and their armies can't protect. It's a recurring Quranic theme: worldly power structures are temporary illusions, and the Day of Judgment reveals the real balance of power. The question isn't who has more followers today, but who will have any support at all when it truly counts.
Say, "I do not know if what you are promised is near or if my Lord will grant for it a [long] period."
Allah tells the Prophet to admit something that might surprise people: he doesn't know whether the promised Day is near or far. God might have set a distant term for it. This is another act of radical honesty — the Prophet isn't making dramatic predictions about the end times to drum up urgency. He genuinely doesn't know the timeline, and he says so. In an era where doomsday predictions are a whole industry, this restraint is profound. The point isn't to obsess over when it's coming but to be ready whenever it arrives. Uncertainty about the timing is actually part of the test — it keeps you in a constant state of preparedness rather than last-minute cramming.
[He is] Knower of the unseen, and He does not disclose His [knowledge of the] unseen to anyone
God is the Knower of the unseen — 'Alim al-Ghayb — and He doesn't reveal His hidden knowledge to just anyone. This is a foundational principle in Islamic theology: the unseen realm belongs to God alone. No fortune-teller, no astrologer, no self-proclaimed mystic has genuine access to it. After an entire surah discussing jinn, heavenly eavesdropping, and invisible beings, this verse draws a firm boundary. Yes, the unseen world is real and populated, but knowing its secrets is God's exclusive domain. Anyone who claims otherwise is either deceived or deceiving. It's a liberating truth — you don't need secret knowledge to live well, just sincere faith and right action.
Except whom He has approved of messengers, and indeed, He sends before him [i.e., each messenger] and behind him observers1
There's one exception to God's exclusive knowledge of the unseen — messengers whom He has specifically chosen. And even then, God places guardian angels before and behind the messenger to protect both the messenger and the message. This divine security detail ensures that the revelation reaches humanity intact and uncorrupted. The jinn can no longer eavesdrop, the devils can't tamper with the message, and the prophet is shielded during the transmission process. It's an elegant system — God opens one authorized, protected channel while shutting down all the unauthorized ones. The revelation you hold in your hands went through this divine quality control, and that should give you tremendous confidence in its integrity.
That he [i.e., Muḥammad (ﷺ)] may know1 that they have conveyed the messages of their Lord; and He has encompassed whatever is with them and has enumerated all things in number.
The surah closes with a comprehensive statement about God's knowledge and precision. He ensures that the messengers have faithfully delivered their Lord's messages, He encompasses everything they have with His knowledge, and He has counted every single thing in precise number. That last phrase — 'taken account of everything in number' — is striking in its exactness. God's knowledge isn't vague or general; it's detailed down to the digit. Every atom, every deed, every whisper is catalogued. Coming at the end of a surah about unseen beings, hidden realms, and cosmic events, this verse is the ultimate reassurance: nothing in this vast, complex, multi-dimensional creation escapes God's awareness. Not a single thing. And somehow, that level of total surveillance by a perfectly just and merciful God isn't terrifying — it's deeply comforting.