ߞߎ߬ߙߣߊ߬ ߞߟߊߒߞߋ ߞߘߐ ߟߎ߬ ߘߟߊߡߌߘߊ - ߊ߲߬ߞߌ߬ߟߋ߬ߞߊ߲ ߘߟߊߡߌߘߊ - ߞߓ. ߥߊ߬ߟߌ߯ߘ ߓߊߟߌߤߊߛ߭ ߊ.ߟߑߊ߳ߺߊߡߑߙߌ߮ ߓߟߏ߫ - ߊ߬ ߓߊ߯ߙߊ ߦߋ߫ ߛߋ߲߬ߠߊ߫. * - ߘߟߊߡߌߘߊ ߟߎ߫ ߦߌ߬ߘߊ߬ߥߟߊ
فَتَعَٰلَى ٱللَّهُ ٱلۡمَلِكُ ٱلۡحَقُّۗ وَلَا تَعۡجَلۡ بِٱلۡقُرۡءَانِ مِن قَبۡلِ أَن يُقۡضَىٰٓ إِلَيۡكَ وَحۡيُهُۥۖ وَقُل رَّبِّ زِدۡنِي عِلۡمٗا
﴾114﴿ [205]Exalted is Allah—the Sovereign, the Absolute Truth![206] [207]And do not ˹O, Muhammad˺ hasten with the Qur’an before its revelation is completed to you, but say: [208]“My Lord, increase me in knowledge.”
[205] The aya transitions from describing the revelation to glorifying its Sender. When Allah, Exalted is He, exalted the status of the Qur’an, He immediately followed it by exalting His Own Majesty—so as to alert His creation to the veneration that He rightfully deserves (cf. al-Rāzī).
Ibn ʿĀshūr further expounds: “It is an expression of praise for Allah—the One who revealed the Qur’an—and a declaration of gratitude for the blessing of the Qur’an itself. It teaches thankfulness for what Allah has clarified for His servants of the means of moral rectification, guiding them through both encouragement and warning, and directing them by the most eloquent speech and finest expression. Therefore, it is thematically derived from the earlier statement “Thus, have We sent it down—an Arabic Qur’an...” and what follows it. This derivation indicates that such a revelation, such variation, and such means of rectification all stem from the wondrous manifestations of His Majesty—all of which point to His exaltedness and greatness, and to the fact that He is the True Sovereign, who governs the affairs of His dominion with the utmost perfection and the most effective methods of guidance and order.
[206] That is: Exalted is God—the One alone worthy of worship—supremely above all His creation, transcendent and sanctified beyond all imperfection. He is the Sovereign whose dominion subdues every king and tyrant. To Him alone belongs all command and prohibition. He is the Truth—absolutely and in every regard: His Essence is the Truth, His Word is the Truth, His Promise is the Truth, His Command is the Truth, His Actions are all Truth, and His Recompense—founded upon His Law, His Religion, and the Hereafter—is the Truth (cf. al-Ṭabarī, Ibn Kathīr, al-Saʿdī).
Ibn al-Qayyim (Badā’iʿ al-Fawā’id, 4: 165) says: “Just as His Essence is the Truth, so too is His Speech the Truth, His Promise the Truth, His Command the Truth, all His Actions are Truth, and His Recompense—which necessarily entails His Law, His Religion, and the Hereafter—is also the Truth. So, whoever denies any of this has not described Allah as the Absolute Truth in every respect and from every perspective. For His being the Truth necessitates His legislation, His religion, His reward, and His punishment. So how could it be imagined of the True Sovereign that He created His creation in vain, left them neglected—without command or prohibition, without reward or punishment?!”
[207] The Prophet (ﷺ), out of his profound compassion and concern for the guidance of his people, yearned for the revelation to come more frequently and swiftly, especially upon hearing verses containing powerful warnings. This longing stemmed from his earnest desire to hasten their admonition and moral reformation. However, Divine instruction gently redirected this impulse, teaching him to entrust the timing and manner of revelation to Allah alone—who, in His perfect wisdom, knows what is most fitting for the spiritual state and readiness of the people at large (cf. Ibn ʿĀshūr).
This gentle instruction is taken to mean do not hasten—O Muhammad—in reciting or committing to memory what Gabriel recites to you, before he has completed his recitation. Rather, listen attentively until he finishes—for Allah has assured you that He shall gather it within your heart and grant you its recitation (cf. Ibn Kathīr, al-Saʿdī, al-Qurṭubī).
The aya has been explained by Ibn ʿAbbās and others to refer to the Prophet (ﷺ) beginning to recite ayas before Gabriel (عليه السلام) had completed conveying them—out of concern that he might forget them or fail to retain them. This interpretation underscores the Prophet’s deep sense of responsibility regarding the preservation of revelation. In response, God reassured him of Divine preservation and instructed him to listen attentively until Gabriel had finished (cf. al-Samʿānī): “Do not move your tongue with it to hasten it. *Indeed, upon Us is its collection and its recitation. So when We have recited it, follow its recitation. Then indeed, upon Us is its clarification” (75: 16–19). Another interpretation, attributed to al-Ṭabarī, is that the aya prohibits the Prophet (ﷺ) from rushing to teach the Qur’an to his Companions before the meanings and interpretations had been fully revealed to him—emphasising deliberate transmission and accurate understanding.
[208] The aya concludes with a beautiful supplication. The Noble Messenger (ﷺ) is instructed to pray: “My Lord, increase me in knowledge,” beyond what You have already taught me of the Revelation (cf. al-Ṭabarī, Wāḥidī, al-Tafsīr al-Muyassar). Ibn Kathīr said: “Ibn ʿUyaynah (r) said: The Prophet (ﷺ) remained in a continual increase of knowledge until Allah, Mighty and Majestic, took his soul.”
Knowledge is goodness, and the increase of goodness is a thing to be sought—and it comes only from God Almighty. The path to it lies in striving, in longing for knowledge, in asking God for it, seeking His aid, and remaining in need of Him at all times (cf. al-Saʿdī).
Umm Salamah (i) has reported that the Prophet (ﷺ), when he prayed the dawn prayer and had concluded with salām, would say: “O Allah, I ask You for beneficial knowledge, pure provision, and accepted deeds.” (Ibn Mājah: 925)
Ibn ʿĀshūr further expounds: “It is an expression of praise for Allah—the One who revealed the Qur’an—and a declaration of gratitude for the blessing of the Qur’an itself. It teaches thankfulness for what Allah has clarified for His servants of the means of moral rectification, guiding them through both encouragement and warning, and directing them by the most eloquent speech and finest expression. Therefore, it is thematically derived from the earlier statement “Thus, have We sent it down—an Arabic Qur’an...” and what follows it. This derivation indicates that such a revelation, such variation, and such means of rectification all stem from the wondrous manifestations of His Majesty—all of which point to His exaltedness and greatness, and to the fact that He is the True Sovereign, who governs the affairs of His dominion with the utmost perfection and the most effective methods of guidance and order.
[206] That is: Exalted is God—the One alone worthy of worship—supremely above all His creation, transcendent and sanctified beyond all imperfection. He is the Sovereign whose dominion subdues every king and tyrant. To Him alone belongs all command and prohibition. He is the Truth—absolutely and in every regard: His Essence is the Truth, His Word is the Truth, His Promise is the Truth, His Command is the Truth, His Actions are all Truth, and His Recompense—founded upon His Law, His Religion, and the Hereafter—is the Truth (cf. al-Ṭabarī, Ibn Kathīr, al-Saʿdī).
Ibn al-Qayyim (Badā’iʿ al-Fawā’id, 4: 165) says: “Just as His Essence is the Truth, so too is His Speech the Truth, His Promise the Truth, His Command the Truth, all His Actions are Truth, and His Recompense—which necessarily entails His Law, His Religion, and the Hereafter—is also the Truth. So, whoever denies any of this has not described Allah as the Absolute Truth in every respect and from every perspective. For His being the Truth necessitates His legislation, His religion, His reward, and His punishment. So how could it be imagined of the True Sovereign that He created His creation in vain, left them neglected—without command or prohibition, without reward or punishment?!”
[207] The Prophet (ﷺ), out of his profound compassion and concern for the guidance of his people, yearned for the revelation to come more frequently and swiftly, especially upon hearing verses containing powerful warnings. This longing stemmed from his earnest desire to hasten their admonition and moral reformation. However, Divine instruction gently redirected this impulse, teaching him to entrust the timing and manner of revelation to Allah alone—who, in His perfect wisdom, knows what is most fitting for the spiritual state and readiness of the people at large (cf. Ibn ʿĀshūr).
This gentle instruction is taken to mean do not hasten—O Muhammad—in reciting or committing to memory what Gabriel recites to you, before he has completed his recitation. Rather, listen attentively until he finishes—for Allah has assured you that He shall gather it within your heart and grant you its recitation (cf. Ibn Kathīr, al-Saʿdī, al-Qurṭubī).
The aya has been explained by Ibn ʿAbbās and others to refer to the Prophet (ﷺ) beginning to recite ayas before Gabriel (عليه السلام) had completed conveying them—out of concern that he might forget them or fail to retain them. This interpretation underscores the Prophet’s deep sense of responsibility regarding the preservation of revelation. In response, God reassured him of Divine preservation and instructed him to listen attentively until Gabriel had finished (cf. al-Samʿānī): “Do not move your tongue with it to hasten it. *Indeed, upon Us is its collection and its recitation. So when We have recited it, follow its recitation. Then indeed, upon Us is its clarification” (75: 16–19). Another interpretation, attributed to al-Ṭabarī, is that the aya prohibits the Prophet (ﷺ) from rushing to teach the Qur’an to his Companions before the meanings and interpretations had been fully revealed to him—emphasising deliberate transmission and accurate understanding.
[208] The aya concludes with a beautiful supplication. The Noble Messenger (ﷺ) is instructed to pray: “My Lord, increase me in knowledge,” beyond what You have already taught me of the Revelation (cf. al-Ṭabarī, Wāḥidī, al-Tafsīr al-Muyassar). Ibn Kathīr said: “Ibn ʿUyaynah (r) said: The Prophet (ﷺ) remained in a continual increase of knowledge until Allah, Mighty and Majestic, took his soul.”
Knowledge is goodness, and the increase of goodness is a thing to be sought—and it comes only from God Almighty. The path to it lies in striving, in longing for knowledge, in asking God for it, seeking His aid, and remaining in need of Him at all times (cf. al-Saʿdī).
Umm Salamah (i) has reported that the Prophet (ﷺ), when he prayed the dawn prayer and had concluded with salām, would say: “O Allah, I ask You for beneficial knowledge, pure provision, and accepted deeds.” (Ibn Mājah: 925)
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
وَلَقَدۡ عَهِدۡنَآ إِلَىٰٓ ءَادَمَ مِن قَبۡلُ فَنَسِيَ وَلَمۡ نَجِدۡ لَهُۥ عَزۡمٗا
﴾115﴿ [209]And verily We had already taken a covenant[210] from Adam aforetime,[211] but he forgot;[212] and We found in him no firm resolve.[213]
[209] As made clear at the beginning of this Sura (see notes on Aya 1), the stories of Prophets Adam and Moses (عليهما السلام) are presented to the Noble Messenger, Muhammad (ﷺ), during a most trying phase of his mission, as contrasting examples of those entrusted with the Divine Message—one who lacked the resolve to uphold it, and another who bore it with steadfast determination. The Noble Messenger is thus instructed to emulate those of unwavering resolve among the Messengers: “So bear patiently, just as the Messengers of firm resolve before you bore patiently!” (46: 35)
Moreover, Ibn ʿĀshūr posits that since the story of Moses (عليه السلام) with Pharaoh and his people carries profound lessons for the Deniers and defiant—those who rejected and opposed the Prophet (ﷺ)—and that is the intended purpose behind its narration, it is as though the Prophet (ﷺ) desired more of these instructive accounts, hoping that his people might awaken from their misguidance. Hence, that story was followed by the story of Adam (عليه السلام) and his encounter with Satan, as a fulfilment of the benefit contained in the Divine Command: “My Lord, increase me in knowledge.”
al-Ṭabarī further expounds: “The Exalted is saying: And if these—those to whom We present varied warnings in this Qur’ān—O Muhammad, squander My covenant, disobey My command, abandon My obedience, and follow the command of their enemy Iblīs, obeying him in defiance of My Order—then indeed, their forefather Adam (عليه السلام) had done the same long ago.”
[210] ʿAhidnā means We commanded and instructed. The term ʿahd refers to the act of safeguarding something and maintaining it consistently over time. The root meaning of ʿa-h-d conveys the sense of preserving and attending to a thing with care (cf. Ibn Fāris, Maqāyīs al-Lughah; al-Iṣfahānī, al-Mufradāt; al-Sijistānī, Gharīb al-Qur’ān; al-Kafawī, al-Kulliyyāt).
[211] The prepositional phrase min qabl (lit. “from before”) has been the subject of various exegetical interpretations concerning its referent. According to al-Rāzī, three primary views are found: (1) that it refers to a time before those to whom warnings were varied in the Qur’ān; (2) that it denotes the time before Adam (عليه السلام) ate from the tree—i.e., when God had already made a covenant with him, as reported from Ibn ʿAbbās; and (3) that it points to a time before the mission of Muḥammad (ﷺ) and the revelation of the Qur’ān, as held by al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī.
al-Ṭabarī endorses the first view, while al-Qurṭubī prefers the second. A fourth interpretation takes min qabl to mean “before the present time,” an opinion adopted by al-ʿUlāymī, al-Shawkānī, and al-Qāsimī.
[212] al-Shinqīṭī discusses two major interpretations of the phrase fa-nasiya (“but he forgot”): (1) that forgetting here denotes intentional abandonment or neglect, a usage well attested in Arabic, where nisyān may signify deliberate non-observance, not merely cognitive lapse. (2) that it refers to actual forgetfulness, the opposite of remembrance—where Satan, having sworn by God that he was a sincere adviser, deceived Adam (عليه السلام) into forgetting the Divine Command. According to the first interpretation, there is no tension with the subsequent statement: “Thus did Adam (عليه السلام) disobey his Lord, and he went adrift.” However, the second interpretation poses a theological issue, since forgetfulness normally implies excusability—raising the question of how disobedience can still be ascribed to Adam (عليه السلام).
al-Shinqīṭī resolves this by arguing that Adam (عليه السلام) was not excused by forgetfulness, citing the principle that exemption from blame on account of forgetfulness, error, or coercion is a distinctive mercy granted exclusively to Prophet Muhammad’s followers. The aya, by attributing both forgetting and disobedience to Adam (عليه السلام), indicates that he remained accountable. al-Shinqīṭī explicitly endorses the first interpretation as the sounder one—that the aya refers to deliberate neglect. Similarly, al-Qurṭubī attributes this view—that nisyān in this context means abandonment of the command or covenant—to Mujāhid and the majority of exegetes.
[213] That is: We found in Adam (عليه السلام) no resolute determination of heart to uphold My command, no steadfastness in fulfilling My covenant, and no firm resolve to refrain from disobeying Me (cf. al-Ṭabarī, al-Qurṭubī, al-Shinqīṭī).
Moreover, Ibn ʿĀshūr posits that since the story of Moses (عليه السلام) with Pharaoh and his people carries profound lessons for the Deniers and defiant—those who rejected and opposed the Prophet (ﷺ)—and that is the intended purpose behind its narration, it is as though the Prophet (ﷺ) desired more of these instructive accounts, hoping that his people might awaken from their misguidance. Hence, that story was followed by the story of Adam (عليه السلام) and his encounter with Satan, as a fulfilment of the benefit contained in the Divine Command: “My Lord, increase me in knowledge.”
al-Ṭabarī further expounds: “The Exalted is saying: And if these—those to whom We present varied warnings in this Qur’ān—O Muhammad, squander My covenant, disobey My command, abandon My obedience, and follow the command of their enemy Iblīs, obeying him in defiance of My Order—then indeed, their forefather Adam (عليه السلام) had done the same long ago.”
[210] ʿAhidnā means We commanded and instructed. The term ʿahd refers to the act of safeguarding something and maintaining it consistently over time. The root meaning of ʿa-h-d conveys the sense of preserving and attending to a thing with care (cf. Ibn Fāris, Maqāyīs al-Lughah; al-Iṣfahānī, al-Mufradāt; al-Sijistānī, Gharīb al-Qur’ān; al-Kafawī, al-Kulliyyāt).
[211] The prepositional phrase min qabl (lit. “from before”) has been the subject of various exegetical interpretations concerning its referent. According to al-Rāzī, three primary views are found: (1) that it refers to a time before those to whom warnings were varied in the Qur’ān; (2) that it denotes the time before Adam (عليه السلام) ate from the tree—i.e., when God had already made a covenant with him, as reported from Ibn ʿAbbās; and (3) that it points to a time before the mission of Muḥammad (ﷺ) and the revelation of the Qur’ān, as held by al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī.
al-Ṭabarī endorses the first view, while al-Qurṭubī prefers the second. A fourth interpretation takes min qabl to mean “before the present time,” an opinion adopted by al-ʿUlāymī, al-Shawkānī, and al-Qāsimī.
[212] al-Shinqīṭī discusses two major interpretations of the phrase fa-nasiya (“but he forgot”): (1) that forgetting here denotes intentional abandonment or neglect, a usage well attested in Arabic, where nisyān may signify deliberate non-observance, not merely cognitive lapse. (2) that it refers to actual forgetfulness, the opposite of remembrance—where Satan, having sworn by God that he was a sincere adviser, deceived Adam (عليه السلام) into forgetting the Divine Command. According to the first interpretation, there is no tension with the subsequent statement: “Thus did Adam (عليه السلام) disobey his Lord, and he went adrift.” However, the second interpretation poses a theological issue, since forgetfulness normally implies excusability—raising the question of how disobedience can still be ascribed to Adam (عليه السلام).
al-Shinqīṭī resolves this by arguing that Adam (عليه السلام) was not excused by forgetfulness, citing the principle that exemption from blame on account of forgetfulness, error, or coercion is a distinctive mercy granted exclusively to Prophet Muhammad’s followers. The aya, by attributing both forgetting and disobedience to Adam (عليه السلام), indicates that he remained accountable. al-Shinqīṭī explicitly endorses the first interpretation as the sounder one—that the aya refers to deliberate neglect. Similarly, al-Qurṭubī attributes this view—that nisyān in this context means abandonment of the command or covenant—to Mujāhid and the majority of exegetes.
[213] That is: We found in Adam (عليه السلام) no resolute determination of heart to uphold My command, no steadfastness in fulfilling My covenant, and no firm resolve to refrain from disobeying Me (cf. al-Ṭabarī, al-Qurṭubī, al-Shinqīṭī).
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
وَإِذۡ قُلۡنَا لِلۡمَلَٰٓئِكَةِ ٱسۡجُدُواْ لِأٓدَمَ فَسَجَدُوٓاْ إِلَّآ إِبۡلِيسَ أَبَىٰ
﴾116﴿ And ˹remember, O Muhammad˺[214] when We said to the angels: “Prostrate yourselves to Adam,” they bowed—except Iblīs; he ˹adamantly˺ refused.
[214] al-Ṭabarī explains: “The Exalted is informing His Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) of how Adam (عليه السلام) squandered His covenant—teaching him thereby that Adam’s offspring will, in that regard, follow his pattern, except for those whom Allah protects.”
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
فَقُلۡنَا يَٰٓـَٔادَمُ إِنَّ هَٰذَا عَدُوّٞ لَّكَ وَلِزَوۡجِكَ فَلَا يُخۡرِجَنَّكُمَا مِنَ ٱلۡجَنَّةِ فَتَشۡقَىٰٓ
﴾117﴿ So We said: “O Adam! Verily this is an enemy to you and to your spouse—so let him not drive you both out of the Garden, lest you ˹Adam˺ suffer;”[215]
[215] The attribution of suffering solely to Adam (عليه السلام)—despite both him and Eve being expelled—reflects his role as caretaker and head of the household. His hardship implicitly includes that of his family, just as his well-being entails theirs. The wording preserves the rhetorical rhythm while signalling his representative responsibility. Alternatively, suffering here refers to the toil of securing sustenance, a duty specifically assigned to the man (cf. al-Zamakhsharī, al-Bayḍāwī, Abū Ḥayyān. Abū al-Suʿūd).
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
إِنَّ لَكَ أَلَّا تَجُوعَ فِيهَا وَلَا تَعۡرَىٰ
[216] God Almighty attributed Adam’s hardship—assuming his expulsion—to the deprivation of the essential pillars upon which human subsistence turns, and which were uniquely available in Paradise. These are: satiety, quenching of thirst, clothing, and shelter (cf. al-Biqāʿī). The sequence—beginning with exposure and the instinctive need for covering (clothing), followed by descent to the earth (with the loss of a stable abode), and then the later burden of toil and striving to secure food and drink—clearly indicates that the hardship entailed by the expulsion was a hardship of livelihood, not merely one of punitive consequence (cf. al-Rāzī, al-Qurṭubī, Ibn Kathīr, al-Saʿdī).
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
وَأَنَّكَ لَا تَظۡمَؤُاْ فِيهَا وَلَا تَضۡحَىٰ
[217] Taḍḥā means becoming exposed to the sun and thus feeling the heat. al-Ḍuḥā refers to the spreading of sunlight and the extension of the daytime. The root ḍ-ḥ-y denotes the emergence or exposure of something (cf. Ibn Fāris, Maqāyīs al-Lughah; al-Iṣfahānī, al-Mufradāt; al-Sijistānī, Gharīb al-Qur’ān).
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
فَوَسۡوَسَ إِلَيۡهِ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنُ قَالَ يَٰٓـَٔادَمُ هَلۡ أَدُلُّكَ عَلَىٰ شَجَرَةِ ٱلۡخُلۡدِ وَمُلۡكٖ لَّا يَبۡلَىٰ
﴾120﴿ Then Satan[218] whispered to him: “O Adam! Shall I direct you to the Tree of Immortality and a kingship that never decays?”[219]
[218] We observe here that God Almighty uses the word “Satan” (al-Shayṭān) in reference to the same entity He had earlier referred to as Iblīs (cf. 7: 116). While both terms point to the archnemesis of humankind, their usage is nuanced and deliberate.
From a linguistic standpoint, Iblīs is a proper noun derived from iblās, denoting despair or loss of hope in Divine Mercy. The root b-l-s signifies silence and despondency resulting from grief or defeat. The verb ablasa describes one bereft of hope and comfort (cf. Ibn Fāris, Maqāyīs al-Lughah; al-Iṣfahānī, al-Mufradāt; al-Zajjāj, Maʿānī al-Qur’ān). In contrast, Shayṭān is a descriptive term applied to every rebellious and obstinate being—whether human, jinn, or beast—marked by excessive transgression. It is derived either from shaṭana, “to be far,” in reference to being distant from righteousness and Divine Mercy, or from shāṭa, “to burn,” symbolising either his fiery origin or his ruinous defiance (cf. Ibn Manẓūr, Lisān al-ʿArab; al-Fayrūzābādī, al-Qāmūs al-Muḥīṭ; Ibn al-Athīr, al-Nihāyah fī Gharīb al-Ḥadīth).
In Islamic theology, Iblīs is a being created from fire who worshipped alongside the angels, though he was never of their kind. When Allah commanded the angels to prostrate to Adam (عليه السلام), Iblīs defied the command out of arrogance, claiming superiority due to his fiery origin over the clay of Adam (عليه السلام). For this, he was expelled from Divine Mercy and cast down from the celestial realm. He then petitioned for reprieve until the Day of Resurrection, and the All-Forbearing granted it. Assured of delay, he grew defiant and vowed: “So by Your Might! I shall surely mislead them all * except Your servants among them—those made sincere” (38: 82–83). The Qur’an identifies Iblīs as al-Shayṭān in various places, such as: “Then the Satan whispered to them to expose to them what had been hidden from them of their shameful parts...” (7: 20); and: “O Children of Adam (عليه السلام)! Let not the Satan tempt you as he drove your two parents out of the Garden, stripping them of their garments to show them their shameful parts...” (7: 27) (cf. al-Ṭabarī, Ibn Kathīr).
Theologically, al-Shayṭān may denote Iblīs specifically, as in the story of Adam (عليه السلام), or refer more generally to any malignant agent of corruption—human or jinn—that invites to evil and misguidance. This broader use is affirmed in: “Like so We made for every Prophet an enemy—satans from humankind and jinn—who inspire one another with gilded speech to deceive...” (6: 112) (cf. Ibn al-Jawzī, al-Qurṭubī, al-Shinqīṭī).
In light of this, a semantic distinction in the Qur’an’s usage of the two terms becomes evident. The name Iblīs is employed in contexts that underscore his rebellion and despair—his defiance of the Divine command and his subsequent banishment from Divine Mercy. The term Shayṭān, on the other hand, is used where he is depicted as actively scheming: sowing corruption, whispering temptations, and leading astray—particularly in his seduction of Adam (عليه السلام), his wife, and their descendants thereafter, as exemplified in the very two ayas upon which this discussion is based.
[219] In these ayas (117–120), the Qur’anic narrative establishes a profound ontological and ethical contrast between Divine provision and Satanic deception—a contrast that goes to the heart of the human condition. God Almighty addresses Adam (عليه السلام) and his spouse with a benevolent command: “Indeed, it is I who provide for you here: so eat freely from wherever you will, and do not approach this tree…” (cf. 7: 19). What is provided by the Divine is clear, sufficient, and grounded in mercy. It encompasses the four cardinal necessities of dignified human existence—food, drink, clothing, and shelter—each of which protects the human being from vulnerability and indignity.
These are not merely material needs but markers of what the Qur’an elsewhere describes as ḥayāt ṭayyibah (a wholesome life). They represent a state of Divinely-granted equilibrium, in which the human being can dwell in peace, free of anxiety, shame, or deprivation. This is a vision of life grounded in gratitude, restraint, and trust.
In stark opposition stands the Satanic whisper. His proposition is not framed in terms of need, but in terms of desire: “Shall I direct you to the Tree of Immortality and a kingship that never decays?” (20: 120). These are phantoms of permanence and power, appealing not to Adam’s hunger or thirst, but to his latent yearning for more than sufficiency. The irony is striking: Adam (عليه السلام) was already in a state of comfort, provision, and Divine intimacy—yet it was the suggestion of something beyond what had been Divinely apportioned that triggered the Fall.
This seduction by excess reveals a deeper Qur’anic anthropology: the fall of man is not due to scarcity, but to the refusal to be content with sufficiency. The sin lies not in hunger, but in ṭamaʿ—unrestrained yearning for what one has neither need nor right to. Satan’s success lies in this redirection of man’s orientation—from the tangible, blessed reality to the shimmering promise of what is unattainable. In this manner, the Fall becomes an existential metaphor: a turning away from Divine sufficiency toward the illusion of autonomous gain.
This perspective is echoed in the wisdom of the Prophet (ﷺ), who said: “Whoever wakes up secure in his home, healthy in his body, and possessing his day’s provision—it is as if the world in its entirety has been granted to him.” (al-Tirmidhī: 2346; Ibn Mājah: 4141). In this ḥadīth, we find a prophetic anthropology that redefines wealth and fulfilment’ not in terms of abundance, but in terms of qanāʿah (contentment). The Prophet (ﷺ) situates true prosperity in the recognition of sufficiency, not in the illusion of perpetuity or expansion. It is a direct rebuttal to Satan’s deceit: if man is content, he is immune to temptation; if he is grateful, he is protected from delusion.
The lesson embedded in these verses is timeless and universal. The tragedy of humankind is not merely in external loss, but in the interior dislocation that occurs when sufficiency is abandoned in pursuit of illusion. The Fall, then, is not merely historical—it is archetypal. It recurs whenever man turns away from what God has given, and yearns instead for what God has withheld as a trial. In that moment, desire severs trust, and illusion eclipses gratitude.
Hence, the narrative is not just a moral story about temptation; it is a theological statement about the nature of Divine mercy, the limits of human aspiration, and the peril of measuring dignity by imagined gain. Against the false promises of Satan—immortality, dominion, autonomy—the Qur’an reasserts the truth: that sufficiency is a mercy, and contentment is salvation.
From a linguistic standpoint, Iblīs is a proper noun derived from iblās, denoting despair or loss of hope in Divine Mercy. The root b-l-s signifies silence and despondency resulting from grief or defeat. The verb ablasa describes one bereft of hope and comfort (cf. Ibn Fāris, Maqāyīs al-Lughah; al-Iṣfahānī, al-Mufradāt; al-Zajjāj, Maʿānī al-Qur’ān). In contrast, Shayṭān is a descriptive term applied to every rebellious and obstinate being—whether human, jinn, or beast—marked by excessive transgression. It is derived either from shaṭana, “to be far,” in reference to being distant from righteousness and Divine Mercy, or from shāṭa, “to burn,” symbolising either his fiery origin or his ruinous defiance (cf. Ibn Manẓūr, Lisān al-ʿArab; al-Fayrūzābādī, al-Qāmūs al-Muḥīṭ; Ibn al-Athīr, al-Nihāyah fī Gharīb al-Ḥadīth).
In Islamic theology, Iblīs is a being created from fire who worshipped alongside the angels, though he was never of their kind. When Allah commanded the angels to prostrate to Adam (عليه السلام), Iblīs defied the command out of arrogance, claiming superiority due to his fiery origin over the clay of Adam (عليه السلام). For this, he was expelled from Divine Mercy and cast down from the celestial realm. He then petitioned for reprieve until the Day of Resurrection, and the All-Forbearing granted it. Assured of delay, he grew defiant and vowed: “So by Your Might! I shall surely mislead them all * except Your servants among them—those made sincere” (38: 82–83). The Qur’an identifies Iblīs as al-Shayṭān in various places, such as: “Then the Satan whispered to them to expose to them what had been hidden from them of their shameful parts...” (7: 20); and: “O Children of Adam (عليه السلام)! Let not the Satan tempt you as he drove your two parents out of the Garden, stripping them of their garments to show them their shameful parts...” (7: 27) (cf. al-Ṭabarī, Ibn Kathīr).
Theologically, al-Shayṭān may denote Iblīs specifically, as in the story of Adam (عليه السلام), or refer more generally to any malignant agent of corruption—human or jinn—that invites to evil and misguidance. This broader use is affirmed in: “Like so We made for every Prophet an enemy—satans from humankind and jinn—who inspire one another with gilded speech to deceive...” (6: 112) (cf. Ibn al-Jawzī, al-Qurṭubī, al-Shinqīṭī).
In light of this, a semantic distinction in the Qur’an’s usage of the two terms becomes evident. The name Iblīs is employed in contexts that underscore his rebellion and despair—his defiance of the Divine command and his subsequent banishment from Divine Mercy. The term Shayṭān, on the other hand, is used where he is depicted as actively scheming: sowing corruption, whispering temptations, and leading astray—particularly in his seduction of Adam (عليه السلام), his wife, and their descendants thereafter, as exemplified in the very two ayas upon which this discussion is based.
[219] In these ayas (117–120), the Qur’anic narrative establishes a profound ontological and ethical contrast between Divine provision and Satanic deception—a contrast that goes to the heart of the human condition. God Almighty addresses Adam (عليه السلام) and his spouse with a benevolent command: “Indeed, it is I who provide for you here: so eat freely from wherever you will, and do not approach this tree…” (cf. 7: 19). What is provided by the Divine is clear, sufficient, and grounded in mercy. It encompasses the four cardinal necessities of dignified human existence—food, drink, clothing, and shelter—each of which protects the human being from vulnerability and indignity.
These are not merely material needs but markers of what the Qur’an elsewhere describes as ḥayāt ṭayyibah (a wholesome life). They represent a state of Divinely-granted equilibrium, in which the human being can dwell in peace, free of anxiety, shame, or deprivation. This is a vision of life grounded in gratitude, restraint, and trust.
In stark opposition stands the Satanic whisper. His proposition is not framed in terms of need, but in terms of desire: “Shall I direct you to the Tree of Immortality and a kingship that never decays?” (20: 120). These are phantoms of permanence and power, appealing not to Adam’s hunger or thirst, but to his latent yearning for more than sufficiency. The irony is striking: Adam (عليه السلام) was already in a state of comfort, provision, and Divine intimacy—yet it was the suggestion of something beyond what had been Divinely apportioned that triggered the Fall.
This seduction by excess reveals a deeper Qur’anic anthropology: the fall of man is not due to scarcity, but to the refusal to be content with sufficiency. The sin lies not in hunger, but in ṭamaʿ—unrestrained yearning for what one has neither need nor right to. Satan’s success lies in this redirection of man’s orientation—from the tangible, blessed reality to the shimmering promise of what is unattainable. In this manner, the Fall becomes an existential metaphor: a turning away from Divine sufficiency toward the illusion of autonomous gain.
This perspective is echoed in the wisdom of the Prophet (ﷺ), who said: “Whoever wakes up secure in his home, healthy in his body, and possessing his day’s provision—it is as if the world in its entirety has been granted to him.” (al-Tirmidhī: 2346; Ibn Mājah: 4141). In this ḥadīth, we find a prophetic anthropology that redefines wealth and fulfilment’ not in terms of abundance, but in terms of qanāʿah (contentment). The Prophet (ﷺ) situates true prosperity in the recognition of sufficiency, not in the illusion of perpetuity or expansion. It is a direct rebuttal to Satan’s deceit: if man is content, he is immune to temptation; if he is grateful, he is protected from delusion.
The lesson embedded in these verses is timeless and universal. The tragedy of humankind is not merely in external loss, but in the interior dislocation that occurs when sufficiency is abandoned in pursuit of illusion. The Fall, then, is not merely historical—it is archetypal. It recurs whenever man turns away from what God has given, and yearns instead for what God has withheld as a trial. In that moment, desire severs trust, and illusion eclipses gratitude.
Hence, the narrative is not just a moral story about temptation; it is a theological statement about the nature of Divine mercy, the limits of human aspiration, and the peril of measuring dignity by imagined gain. Against the false promises of Satan—immortality, dominion, autonomy—the Qur’an reasserts the truth: that sufficiency is a mercy, and contentment is salvation.
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
فَأَكَلَا مِنۡهَا فَبَدَتۡ لَهُمَا سَوۡءَٰتُهُمَا وَطَفِقَا يَخۡصِفَانِ عَلَيۡهِمَا مِن وَرَقِ ٱلۡجَنَّةِۚ وَعَصَىٰٓ ءَادَمُ رَبَّهُۥ فَغَوَىٰ
﴾121﴿ So they both ate of it, and lo their nether regions became exposed to them and they scurried ˹in panic˺ to attaching leaves of the Garden to themselves; thus did Adam disobey his Lord, and he went adrift.[220]
[220] Ghawā means he acted in ignorance and strayed from the right course. The root gh-w-y in Arabic denotes the opposite of sound judgement and guidance (rushd)—it signifies a deviation from what is right and proper (cf. Ibn Fāris, Maqāyīs al-Lughah; Ibn al-Jawzī, Tadhkirat al-Arīb; al-Kafawī, al-Kulliyyāt).
Adam (عليه السلام) went against the instruction of his Lord, and ate from the tree from which God had forbidden him to eat. So, he missed the path of right guidance and did not attain what the Satan had promised him (cf. al-Ṭabarī, al-Samarqandī, al-Shinqīṭī).
Adam (عليه السلام) went against the instruction of his Lord, and ate from the tree from which God had forbidden him to eat. So, he missed the path of right guidance and did not attain what the Satan had promised him (cf. al-Ṭabarī, al-Samarqandī, al-Shinqīṭī).
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
ثُمَّ ٱجۡتَبَٰهُ رَبُّهُۥ فَتَابَ عَلَيۡهِ وَهَدَىٰ
[221] Ijtabāhu means, He chose him and selected him with favour. The term ijtibā denotes gathering or selecting something in a manner that signifies honour and distinction, and the root j-b-y in Arabic conveys the idea of collecting or drawing something together (cf. Ibn Fāris, Maqāyīs al-Lughah; al-Iṣfahānī, al-Mufradāt; al-Kafawī, al-Kulliyyāt).
al-Shinqīṭī further sheds light: “Al-ijtabā’ is to choose and elect; to select by way of gracious preference. That is to say: After what had come to pass from Adam (عليه السلام)—with some lapse—his Lord chose him and elected him, then turned towards him in Mercy and guided him to what pleases Him. Though the reason for this selection is not stated here, it is made clear elsewhere, in His saying: “Adam (عليه السلام) received a few words from His Lord, and He forgave him; He is the All-Forgiving, the Most Merciful” (2: 37). That is: by virtue of those words—as indicated by the use of the particle fa (then)—his Lord accepted his repentance. We have already presented in Sura al-Baqarah that the words Adam (عليه السلام) received are those mentioned in Sura al-Aʿrāf: “They said: ‘Our Lord, we have indeed wronged ourselves. Should you not forgive us and have mercy on us then we shall surely be among the losers’” (7: 23). The best way to interpret the Qur’an is by means of the Qur’an.”
[222] God Almighty chose Adam (عليه السلام) after his lapse: He turned to him in mercy for that misdeed, guided him to repentance, granted him the success to carry it out, and kept him firm upon it (cf. al-Ṭabarī, al-Shawkānī, al-Saʿdī).
al-Shinqīṭī further sheds light: “Al-ijtabā’ is to choose and elect; to select by way of gracious preference. That is to say: After what had come to pass from Adam (عليه السلام)—with some lapse—his Lord chose him and elected him, then turned towards him in Mercy and guided him to what pleases Him. Though the reason for this selection is not stated here, it is made clear elsewhere, in His saying: “Adam (عليه السلام) received a few words from His Lord, and He forgave him; He is the All-Forgiving, the Most Merciful” (2: 37). That is: by virtue of those words—as indicated by the use of the particle fa (then)—his Lord accepted his repentance. We have already presented in Sura al-Baqarah that the words Adam (عليه السلام) received are those mentioned in Sura al-Aʿrāf: “They said: ‘Our Lord, we have indeed wronged ourselves. Should you not forgive us and have mercy on us then we shall surely be among the losers’” (7: 23). The best way to interpret the Qur’an is by means of the Qur’an.”
[222] God Almighty chose Adam (عليه السلام) after his lapse: He turned to him in mercy for that misdeed, guided him to repentance, granted him the success to carry it out, and kept him firm upon it (cf. al-Ṭabarī, al-Shawkānī, al-Saʿdī).
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
قَالَ ٱهۡبِطَا مِنۡهَا جَمِيعَۢاۖ بَعۡضُكُمۡ لِبَعۡضٍ عَدُوّٞۖ فَإِمَّا يَأۡتِيَنَّكُم مِّنِّي هُدٗى فَمَنِ ٱتَّبَعَ هُدَايَ فَلَا يَضِلُّ وَلَا يَشۡقَىٰ
﴾123﴿ He ˹Allah˺ said: “Go you down, both of you,[223] from it ˹Paradise˺—all together. You will be enemies to one another.[224] Whenever guidance comes to you from Me whoever follows it shall neither go astray, nor suffer misery.”[225]
[223] A group of exegetes view that the address in the aya, “Go you down, both of you, from it—all together,” is directed to Adam (عليه السلام) and Iblīs, and that Eve is included in the ruling only by extension, not as an independent addressee. Among those who adopted this view are al-Qurṭubī, Ibn al-Qayyim, Ibn Kathīr, and al-Biqāʿī. Ibn al-Qayyim supports this opinion by noting: “When Allah mentioned the sin, He attributed it to Adam (عليه السلام) alone, not to his wife, saying: “… thus did Adam (عليه السلام) disobey his Lord, and he went adrift,” and then said: “Go you down, both of you, from it—all together.” This indicates that the one addressed with the command to descend was Adam (عليه السلام) and the one who had enticed him to sin—namely, Iblīs—while the wife was included in the outcome only as a dependent, not as an addressee in her own right (cf. Ḥādī al-Arwāḥ, p. 30).
On the other hand, some scholars consider that the address in the aya is to Adam (عليه السلام) and Eve. Among those who adopted this view are al-Ṭabarī, al-ʿUlaymī, al-Shawkānī, and al-Shinqīṭī. They argue that the dual form of the imperative “ihbiṭā” (Go down, both of you) necessitates that two individuals are being addressed. Since both Adam (عليه السلام) and his wife had been mentioned earlier in the context of command and prohibition, it strengthens the interpretation that she was included in the address.
The command to descend (ihbiṭ) appears in various grammatical forms throughout the Qur’an—sometimes in the singular, as in 7: 13 and likewise in 38: 77, both of which are directed solely to Iblīs; sometimes in the plural, referring to Adam (عليه السلام), his wife, and Iblīs as the main parties to the narrative; and at other times in the dual form, which may refer either to Adam (عليه السلام) and his wife, who jointly partook of the tree and disobeyed the command, or to Adam (عليه السلام) and Iblīs, as they are the respective fathers of the two kinds—humankind and jinnkind—whose destinies the story encapsulates, thereby serving as a lesson and admonition for their offspring (cf. Ibn al-Qayyim, Ḥādī al-Arwāḥ, p. 30).
[224] Enmity shall arise between you: Adam (عليه السلام) and his progeny on one side, and Iblīs and his progeny on the other (cf. Ibn Kathīr, al-Biqāʿī, al-Saʿdī, Ibn ʿĀshūr).
[225] The eternal struggle between Adam (عليه السلام) and his progeny and Satan and his forces is a foundational truth woven into the human narrative from the very beginning. It is not merely a historical episode but an ongoing cosmic tension—one side rooted in the fitrah (innate nature) and Divine guidance, the other in pride, envy, and deception. This enmity was declared at the very outset: “you will be enemies to one another”—a declaration not of temporary dispute, but of perpetual moral warfare between two lineages: that of those who seek the Pleasure of God and those who follow the path of misguidance.
In this battlefield of existence, salvation hinges solely on how firmly one clings to Divine revelation. For left to their own devices, people are vulnerable—pulled by desires, distractions, and delusions. But the Word of God, revealed through the Prophets and preserved in the Qur’an, is the unbreakable lifeline that spans the Heavens and the Earth. It is, in the words of the Prophet (ﷺ): “Indeed, this Qur’an is the sturdy Rope of Allah (ḥabl Allāh al-matīn), the clear light, and the wise reminder...” (al-Ṭabarānī, al-Kabīr: 8676). In his parting sermon, he (ﷺ) solemnly stated: “I have left among you two things; if you hold firmly to them, you shall never go astray after me: the Book of Allah and my Sunnah” (Mālik, al-Muwaṭṭa’: 1594; also narrated in al-Ḥākim (1/93)).
Consequently, the Qur’an is not merely a text but a lifeline, a Divine map amid the fog of confusion. It is the axis upon which truth revolves and the shield by which one resists Satan’s relentless whispers. The more a person attaches themselves to the Qur’an—reciting it, reflecting upon it, and living by it—the more they are protected from the traps of their sworn enemy. To falter in this grip is to risk becoming prey to deception, but to cling to it is to find clarity, purpose, and safety in an age of misguidance.
On the other hand, some scholars consider that the address in the aya is to Adam (عليه السلام) and Eve. Among those who adopted this view are al-Ṭabarī, al-ʿUlaymī, al-Shawkānī, and al-Shinqīṭī. They argue that the dual form of the imperative “ihbiṭā” (Go down, both of you) necessitates that two individuals are being addressed. Since both Adam (عليه السلام) and his wife had been mentioned earlier in the context of command and prohibition, it strengthens the interpretation that she was included in the address.
The command to descend (ihbiṭ) appears in various grammatical forms throughout the Qur’an—sometimes in the singular, as in 7: 13 and likewise in 38: 77, both of which are directed solely to Iblīs; sometimes in the plural, referring to Adam (عليه السلام), his wife, and Iblīs as the main parties to the narrative; and at other times in the dual form, which may refer either to Adam (عليه السلام) and his wife, who jointly partook of the tree and disobeyed the command, or to Adam (عليه السلام) and Iblīs, as they are the respective fathers of the two kinds—humankind and jinnkind—whose destinies the story encapsulates, thereby serving as a lesson and admonition for their offspring (cf. Ibn al-Qayyim, Ḥādī al-Arwāḥ, p. 30).
[224] Enmity shall arise between you: Adam (عليه السلام) and his progeny on one side, and Iblīs and his progeny on the other (cf. Ibn Kathīr, al-Biqāʿī, al-Saʿdī, Ibn ʿĀshūr).
[225] The eternal struggle between Adam (عليه السلام) and his progeny and Satan and his forces is a foundational truth woven into the human narrative from the very beginning. It is not merely a historical episode but an ongoing cosmic tension—one side rooted in the fitrah (innate nature) and Divine guidance, the other in pride, envy, and deception. This enmity was declared at the very outset: “you will be enemies to one another”—a declaration not of temporary dispute, but of perpetual moral warfare between two lineages: that of those who seek the Pleasure of God and those who follow the path of misguidance.
In this battlefield of existence, salvation hinges solely on how firmly one clings to Divine revelation. For left to their own devices, people are vulnerable—pulled by desires, distractions, and delusions. But the Word of God, revealed through the Prophets and preserved in the Qur’an, is the unbreakable lifeline that spans the Heavens and the Earth. It is, in the words of the Prophet (ﷺ): “Indeed, this Qur’an is the sturdy Rope of Allah (ḥabl Allāh al-matīn), the clear light, and the wise reminder...” (al-Ṭabarānī, al-Kabīr: 8676). In his parting sermon, he (ﷺ) solemnly stated: “I have left among you two things; if you hold firmly to them, you shall never go astray after me: the Book of Allah and my Sunnah” (Mālik, al-Muwaṭṭa’: 1594; also narrated in al-Ḥākim (1/93)).
Consequently, the Qur’an is not merely a text but a lifeline, a Divine map amid the fog of confusion. It is the axis upon which truth revolves and the shield by which one resists Satan’s relentless whispers. The more a person attaches themselves to the Qur’an—reciting it, reflecting upon it, and living by it—the more they are protected from the traps of their sworn enemy. To falter in this grip is to risk becoming prey to deception, but to cling to it is to find clarity, purpose, and safety in an age of misguidance.
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
وَمَنۡ أَعۡرَضَ عَن ذِكۡرِي فَإِنَّ لَهُۥ مَعِيشَةٗ ضَنكٗا وَنَحۡشُرُهُۥ يَوۡمَ ٱلۡقِيَٰمَةِ أَعۡمَىٰ
﴾124﴿ But whosoever turns away from My Reminder[226]—then truly for him is a life of constriction[227]—and We shall raise him up on the Day of Resurrection, blind.[228]
[226] The referent of dhikrī (My Reminder) in this verse has elicited varied interpretations due to the breadth of meaning embedded in the root dh-k-r, which includes mention, remembrance, reminder, and reflection. Some exegetes take it to mean Divine guidance, particularly in light of the preceding aya (20: 123). Others interpret it as remembrance of God—encompassing both verbal and inward forms of dhikr (cf. 13: 28). A third view identifies it as referring specifically to the Qur’an, described elsewhere as al-dhikr (cf. 15: 9). These meanings are not mutually exclusive: the Qur’an is a dhikr that both contains guidance and calls to remembrance. Hence, turning away from the Reminder implies rejecting revelation, heedlessness of God, and abandonment of Divine instruction (cf. al-Ṭabarī, al-Rāzī, Ibn ʿĀshūr).
[227] Ḍankā is, narrow and constricted. The term ḍank—when applied to dwellings, places, and means of livelihood—denotes severity and hardship. The root ḍ-n-k signifies tightness and constriction (cf. Ibn Fāris, Maqāyīs al-Lughah; al-Iṣfahānī, al-Mufradāt; al-Kafawī, al-Kulliyāt).
Exegetes have differed regarding the scope of the life of constriction (al-maʿīshah al-ḍank). Among those who suppose it to be comprehensive—encompassing this world, the grave, and the Hereafter—are Ibn Taymiyyah, Ibn al-Qayyim, and al-Shinqīṭī. Others, such as al-Ṭabarī and al-Qurṭubī, interpret it more specifically as referring to the punishment of the grave. This latter view is also attributed to several early authorities among the earlier generation, including Abū Saʿīd al-Khudrī, Abū Hurayrah, ʿAbdullāh ibn Masʿūd, Abū Ṣāliḥ, and al-Suddī. By contrast, the interpretation that restricts al-maʿīshah al-ḍank to worldly hardship alone is associated with Ibn Kathīr, and appears to be the preferred view of Ibn ʿĀshūr.
Further, “a life of constriction” has been explained by the exegetes as referring to a state of inner constriction and spiritual distress, regardless of outward comfort. This constricted life, as Ibn al-Qayyim and others argue, is not limited to material deprivation but includes psychological and existential suffering in this world, the grave, and the Hereafter. The aya is thus understood to encompass all three phases of human existence (cf. al-Jawāb al-Kāfī, p. 120).
Moreover, scholars observed that the more one indulges the body through unchecked desires, the more the soul narrows and darkens. Conversely, disciplining the self through remembrance of God expands the heart and grants lasting ease. Even if the Denier appears to enjoy worldly abundance, his heart remains plagued by alienation, anxiety, and hollow pursuits. These are masked by the intoxications of lust, status, and love of the world—forms of heedlessness more blinding than intoxicants. As one exegete remarks: “The drunkard sobers eventually—but the one drunk on dunya only awakens in the ranks of the dead” (cf. Ibn al-Qayyim, ibid.).
Consequently, the life of hardship is inescapable for the one who turns away from the remembrance of what God revealed. It is hardship in the world, torment in the grave, and blindness on the Day of Resurrection.
[228] Among those who confine the meaning of blindness in this context to literal loss of eyesight are Ibn al-Qayyim, and al-Saʿdī. al-Shinqīṭī explains: “This noble aya contains an indicator that the intended meaning of blindness is blindness of sight—unable to see. The indicator is the statement: ‘My Lord, why have You raised me blind, though I once had sight?’—which clearly shows that this blindness is the opposite of eyesight. For indeed, the Denier had been blind of heart already in the worldly life.”
Yet, some exegetes broadened the meaning to encompass both physical blindness and the blindness of insight. al-Ṭabarī, for example, says: “The soundest view is that which Allah Almighty stated—that he shall be resurrected blind to all proof and perception, as the Majestic One declared—thus generalising without restricting.” al-Wāḥidī comments: “It was said: blind in sight. And it was said: blind to the proof—meaning he has no evidence to which he may be guided. And when ‘blind’ is used without qualification, its apparent meaning is blindness of the eye.”
[227] Ḍankā is, narrow and constricted. The term ḍank—when applied to dwellings, places, and means of livelihood—denotes severity and hardship. The root ḍ-n-k signifies tightness and constriction (cf. Ibn Fāris, Maqāyīs al-Lughah; al-Iṣfahānī, al-Mufradāt; al-Kafawī, al-Kulliyāt).
Exegetes have differed regarding the scope of the life of constriction (al-maʿīshah al-ḍank). Among those who suppose it to be comprehensive—encompassing this world, the grave, and the Hereafter—are Ibn Taymiyyah, Ibn al-Qayyim, and al-Shinqīṭī. Others, such as al-Ṭabarī and al-Qurṭubī, interpret it more specifically as referring to the punishment of the grave. This latter view is also attributed to several early authorities among the earlier generation, including Abū Saʿīd al-Khudrī, Abū Hurayrah, ʿAbdullāh ibn Masʿūd, Abū Ṣāliḥ, and al-Suddī. By contrast, the interpretation that restricts al-maʿīshah al-ḍank to worldly hardship alone is associated with Ibn Kathīr, and appears to be the preferred view of Ibn ʿĀshūr.
Further, “a life of constriction” has been explained by the exegetes as referring to a state of inner constriction and spiritual distress, regardless of outward comfort. This constricted life, as Ibn al-Qayyim and others argue, is not limited to material deprivation but includes psychological and existential suffering in this world, the grave, and the Hereafter. The aya is thus understood to encompass all three phases of human existence (cf. al-Jawāb al-Kāfī, p. 120).
Moreover, scholars observed that the more one indulges the body through unchecked desires, the more the soul narrows and darkens. Conversely, disciplining the self through remembrance of God expands the heart and grants lasting ease. Even if the Denier appears to enjoy worldly abundance, his heart remains plagued by alienation, anxiety, and hollow pursuits. These are masked by the intoxications of lust, status, and love of the world—forms of heedlessness more blinding than intoxicants. As one exegete remarks: “The drunkard sobers eventually—but the one drunk on dunya only awakens in the ranks of the dead” (cf. Ibn al-Qayyim, ibid.).
Consequently, the life of hardship is inescapable for the one who turns away from the remembrance of what God revealed. It is hardship in the world, torment in the grave, and blindness on the Day of Resurrection.
[228] Among those who confine the meaning of blindness in this context to literal loss of eyesight are Ibn al-Qayyim, and al-Saʿdī. al-Shinqīṭī explains: “This noble aya contains an indicator that the intended meaning of blindness is blindness of sight—unable to see. The indicator is the statement: ‘My Lord, why have You raised me blind, though I once had sight?’—which clearly shows that this blindness is the opposite of eyesight. For indeed, the Denier had been blind of heart already in the worldly life.”
Yet, some exegetes broadened the meaning to encompass both physical blindness and the blindness of insight. al-Ṭabarī, for example, says: “The soundest view is that which Allah Almighty stated—that he shall be resurrected blind to all proof and perception, as the Majestic One declared—thus generalising without restricting.” al-Wāḥidī comments: “It was said: blind in sight. And it was said: blind to the proof—meaning he has no evidence to which he may be guided. And when ‘blind’ is used without qualification, its apparent meaning is blindness of the eye.”
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
قَالَ رَبِّ لِمَ حَشَرۡتَنِيٓ أَعۡمَىٰ وَقَدۡ كُنتُ بَصِيرٗا
ߊߙߊߓߎߞߊ߲ߡߊ ߞߘߐߦߌߘߊ ߟߎ߬:
ߞߎ߬ߙߣߊ߬ ߞߟߊߒߞߋ ߞߘߐ ߟߎ߬ ߘߟߊߡߌߘߊ - ߊ߲߬ߞߌ߬ߟߋ߬ߞߊ߲ ߘߟߊߡߌߘߊ - ߞߓ. ߥߊ߬ߟߌ߯ߘ ߓߊߟߌߤߊߛ߭ ߊ.ߟߑߊ߳ߺߊߡߑߙߌ߮ ߓߟߏ߫ - ߊ߬ ߓߊ߯ߙߊ ߦߋ߫ ߛߋ߲߬ߠߊ߫. - ߘߟߊߡߌߘߊ ߟߎ߫ ߦߌ߬ߘߊ߬ߥߟߊ
ߘߟߊߡߌߘߊ߫ ߞߓ. ߥߊ߬ߟߌ߯ߘ ߓߊߟߌߤߊߛ߭ ߊ.ߟߑߊ߳ߺߊߡߑߙߌ߮ ߓߟߏ߫