وَإِذَا رَأَيْتَهُمْ تُعْجِبُكَ أَجْسَامُهُمْ ۖ وَإِنْ يَقُولُوا تَسْمَعْ لِقَوْلِهِمْ ۖ كَأَنَّهُمْ خُشُبٌ مُسَنَّدَةٌ ۖ يَحْسَبُونَ كُلَّ صَيْحَةٍ عَلَيْهِمْ ۚ هُمُ الْعَدُوُّ فَاحْذَرْهُمْ ۚ قَاتَلَهُمُ اللَّهُ ۖ أَنَّىٰ يُؤْفَكُونَ
Wa idhā raʾaytahum tuʿjibuka ajsāmuhum, wa in yaqūlū tasmaʿ li-qawlihim. Ka-annahum khushubun musannada, yaḥsabūna kulla ṣayḥatin ʿalayhim. Humu'l-ʿaduwwu fa'ḥdharhum, qātalahumu'llāh, annā yuʾfakūn
"When you see them their bodies please you; and if they speak you listen to their words. They are like timbers propped up. They think every cry is against them. They are the enemy, so beware of them. May God destroy them! How are they turned away!"
This verse is the sūra's centre, and it consists of six separate sentences. Each sentence adds something to the one before it, and the picture is built step by step:
1. The appearance — their bodies are impressive. 2. The voice — their speech is listened to. 3. The comparison — timbers propped up. 4. The inner state — thinking every cry is against them. 5. The verdict — they are the enemy. 6. The close — an imprecation and an expression of astonishment.
The order is meaningful: it runs from the outside inwards. First how they appear, then what they are, then what they feel.
The root ع-ج-ب: a thing's surprising a person, being outside the ordinary, arousing wonder. From the same root come ʿajīb (astonishing), taʿajjub (wonder) and ʿujb (self-admiration).
In Form IV (aʿjaba) it becomes transitive: "it pleased him, it won his admiration, it impressed him".
The choice of word is particularly striking here. The verse does not say "their appearance" (ṣuwaruhum) or "their faces" (wujūhuhum). It says "their bodies".
At the centre of the word jism is volume: that which takes up space. A face carries identity; a body carries only mass. That is, the verse says that what is impressive is not a personality but a weight of presence.
In the context of the period this has a concrete equivalent: height, bearing, imposing presence, good clothing. That leading men in a community should arouse respect by their physical presence was an ordinary thing in that period, and it still is today.
And there is something to notice: the verse does not deny this effect. It does not say "you suppose them impressive"; it says "they please you". The effect is real. The verse is not correcting an illusion; it is saying what a real impression does not measure.
This distinction matters. Had the sūra claimed that the appearance was deceptive, the remedy would have been to look carefully. The verse says something harder: the appearance is a true appearance, and even so it says nothing.
A nicety of word order: the sentence is built not as tasmaʿu qawlahum (you hear their words) but as تَسْمَعْ لِقَوْلِهِمْ (you give ear to their words). A lām has come in between.
In Arabic, when the verb samiʿa takes a direct object it means "to hear"; when it comes with a lām it gains the sense of giving ear, listening, being inclined to accept. The difference is the difference between passive hearing and active listening.
So the verse does not say "their words reach your ear"; it says "you listen to their words". Their words are found worth listening to.
This joins with the finding of the first verse. There it was recorded that what they say is true. Here it is recorded that their manner of saying it is impressive as well. Together the two verses draw the portrait of a persuasive speaker.
And the structure of the conditional clause is interesting: wa in yaqūlū — "if they speak". That is, their speaking is not regular; when they do speak they are effective. This accords with the image of immobility in the verse's next sentence: timbers do not always speak.
The choice of word is critical. In Arabic شَجَر (shajar) is used for a living tree. Khashab, by contrast, is a felled tree: a log, timber, firewood.
So the comparison is made not to a tree but to a dead tree. And the difference between the two words is exactly the sūra's subject:
| Shajar | Khashab | |
|---|---|---|
| Condition | Living | Felled |
| Its root | In the soil | None |
| Does it grow | Yes | No |
| Does it stand | Of itself | Only if propped |
And in the Qurʾān shajar is mentioned together with a root: "A good word is like a good tree, its root firm and its branches in the sky" (Ibrāhīm 14/24). There the quality of the tree is the firmness of its root.
A note on the variant reading: it is recorded in the sources that this word is read as khushub (with ḍamma on the shīn) and as khushb (with the shīn vowelless). There is no difference of meaning between the two readings; both are two forms of the same plural. I make no attribution to particular imāms of the variant readings.
The word is a passive participle: the passive adjective of Form II. That is, "propped up" — not leaning, but made to lean.
This passivity is the vital point of the comparison. The timbers are not leaning of themselves; someone has propped them. Their standing is not their own doing.
A relative of the root: from the same root comes إِسْنَاد (isnād) — in the science of hadith, the chain of transmitters on which a report rests; and سَنَد (sanad) — a support. A report's sanad is what holds that report up.
This is a fine link established at the level of the word: musannada means "having a support". And the timbers in the comparison are things that do not carry their own weight and stand only by a support. Looked at from outside they stand upright; when the support is withdrawn they fall.
One. Complete from outside, empty within. A log carries all the outward properties of the tree: the same weight, the same height, the same grain. The only thing missing is life — and that is not visible from outside.
Two. To be standing is not to be able to stand. The passivity of the word musannada says this. To stand inside a community does not mean to belong to it. A support can take the place of belonging.
Three. Uselessness. A felled tree serves two purposes: either it is burned or it is used in a building. The log propped against a wall does neither. It is neither alive nor in use. It takes up space and does no work.
And this third point joins with the verse's first sentence: tuʿjibuka ajsāmuhum — their bodies, that is, their volumes, please you. A log too is volume. The same idea is said twice: taking up space is taken for a sign of presence.
At al-Baqara 2/17-20 two long comparisons were established for the hypocrites, and they were treated in this commentary. Now we have a third comparison in hand, and the comparison is instructive.
| al-Baqara 2/17-18 | al-Baqara 2/19-20 | al-Munāfiqūn 63/4 | |
|---|---|---|---|
| The picture | A man who kindles a fire, its light taken away | A man walking in a downpour | Timbers propped against a wall |
| Movement | It happened once, then stopped | Intermittent — he walks in the lightning, stands still in the dark | None |
| The senses | Deaf, dumb, blind | Fingers in the ears, the sight about to be taken | The body impressive, the voice listened to |
| Life | Alive but useless | Alive, in fear | Dead |
| What it awaits | Nothing — lā yarjiʿūn | The next flash of lightning | A cry |
The greatest difference is movement. In both pictures in al-Baqara there is a movement: in one a movement that has stopped ("they will not return"), in the other an intermittent movement ("whenever it lights up for them they walk in it, and when darkness falls over them they stand still").
In al-Munāfiqūn there is no movement at all. The log does not walk, cannot halt, does not return. It only stands.
This difference has a meaning. The pictures in al-Baqara related a process — the taking away of the light, the interruption of the walking. The picture in al-Munāfiqūn relates a result: the place where the process ends.
Another difference: both comparisons in al-Baqara were built on light. In the comparison in al-Munāfiqūn there is no light at all. Light has to do with showing direction; for a thing that has no direction, the question of light has fallen away as well.
And a third difference, perhaps the most important: the men in al-Baqara were on their own. It was he who had kindled the fire, he who was walking in the storm. The timbers in al-Munāfiqūn have been propped up — passive. That is, al-Baqara describes an individual, al-Munāfiqūn a position.
Read together, the three comparisons yield a sequence: the one who loses his light, the one who walks intermittently, and at last the one who does not move at all. The three are like three points on one road.
يَحْسَبُونَ — root ح-س-ب: to count, to reckon; and from there "to suppose, to think". The link is this: to suppose is to make a reckoning with the data in one's hands. From the same root come ḥisāb and ḥasīb.
To look at this word's use in the Qurʾān adds a further colour to the verse. Ṣayḥa is used regularly in the Qurʾān for the cry that destroys: the punishment that annihilated Thamūd and other peoples is in most places called al-ṣayḥa (Hūd 11/67, 11/94; al-Ḥijr 15/73, 15/83). That is, in the Qurʾān's lexicon the word is a sound of ruin.
This makes the verse sharper: they take every sound for a ṣayḥa — that is, in every noise they expect ruin.
عَلَيْهِمْ — "against them". A predicate has been dropped here (maḥdhūf): "they think every cry is [something] against them". The classical grammatical sources supply it with words such as wāqiʿatun (falling) or kāʾinatun (being).
In Arabic the particle ʿalā denotes what comes from above and what is against. Had it been lahum (in their favour) the sense would have been the exact opposite. That is, every sound is perceived as something coming down upon them.
What is related is not cowardice. A coward is afraid when there is something to be afraid of. What is described here is different: making a reckoning of danger even when nothing is happening.
The reason for this is not in the verse itself but is there in the sūra as a whole: in the first verse a gap was established between word and condition; in the second verse a shield that protects that gap. That is, these people are carrying something that has to be protected.
And everyone who has a secret to protect makes the same reckoning: "Has it been found out?" Once this question settles in the mind it is applied to every stimulus. A glance, a silence, the sound of a door, a summons to a meeting — all become data for the same question.
Today this is called hypervigilance, or the state of being on the alert, and it is a condition well described in the psychological literature. The observation the verse makes agrees with it. But I draw no claim from this that "the Qurʾān knew psychology in advance" — that would be a forcing of the kind the method (Method) forbids. What can be said is this: the verse correctly describes the price of carrying a hidden contradiction, and that description agrees with observation.
Let us note what the price is: there is no ease. The punishment the sūra assigns to this type is not a punishment seen from outside. Their position is secure, their bodies impressive, their words listened to. But every sound comes down upon them.
This accords with the comparison too: for a propped-up log every tremor is a threat, because its remaining upright depends not on its own strength but on the support.
A nicety of word order: humu'l-ʿaduww — subject and predicate, both definite. In Arabic this structure denotes restriction (ḥaṣr): "they are the enemy", that is, "the real enemy is not someone else, it is they".
At al-Baqara 2/13 there was a similar structure: "they are the foolish ones." The same pattern, the same work.
الْعَدُوُّ — it comes singular, not plural (it does not say aʿdāʾ). In Arabic the word ʿaduww can be used for both singular and plural; and in its definite form (al-) it denotes the class: "the thing called enemy".
So the verse does not say "they are enemies"; it says "the enemy — this is it". A description of a category.
The root ع-د-و: to pass, to cross, to cross a boundary. From the same root come ʿadā (he ran, he passed), ʿudwān (overstepping the bound, aggression), and the uses carrying the sense of transgression. And what is interesting: ʿaduww, in the word's own logic, is "the one who crosses the boundary".
This explains why the verse chose this word. Enmity here is not a declaration of war; it is the crossing of the boundary from within. The enemy outside is already outside; the one who has crossed the boundary is inside.
It is necessary to notice what the command is not. The verse does not say "fight them", does not say "drive them out", does not say "punish them". It says "beware".
In Arabic ḥadhar denotes not fighting an enemy but being watchful against him. At the centre of the word is not attack but attention.
This accords with the sūra's whole stance, and it is an important qualification: the command given about a type that has been identified is not a command to take action but a command to pay attention. And a command to pay attention asks the one addressed to change his own condition, not the other's.
And indeed this is how it was historically: that no prosecution was begun against the persons described in this sūra, and that on the contrary they were allowed to remain within the community, is the common record of the sources.
But here the word is used idiomatically. In Arabic the expression qātalahu'llāh is a settled pattern with two functions:
1. Imprecation: "may God destroy him", "may God curse him". 2. An expression of astonishment: it is sometimes used even in a positive context, as a reaction to something surprising — as with the English "well I'll be damned", or an admiring "damn him", where the face of the phrase and its function come apart.
Here the first sense is the primary one. Some of the classical exegetes explain it as "may He curse them".
And that this pattern was chosen is meaningful. Form III requires two parties. A human being's entering into "mutual combat" with God is unthinkable. The force of the expression lies exactly in that impossibility: one of the parties is counted as having entered a fight in which he has no chance at all.
أَنَّىٰ — an interrogative particle: "how", "from where", "in what way". Here it is not a real question; it denotes astonishment.
يُؤْفَكُونَ — root أ-ف-ك: to turn a thing from its direction, to divert it from the course it ought to take.
The best-known derivative of the root is إِفْك (ifk): a great lie, a slander. The link is plain — ifk is the truth in a state of having been turned from its direction. That falsehood should be named from this root describes falsehood not as a "fabrication" but as a diversion: there is an existing truth, and it is being turned.
From the same root comes muʾtafika — used in the Qurʾān for the cities that were overturned (al-Najm 53/53, al-Tawba 9/70). That is, the root carries "being turned out of its place" in its most concrete form as well.
The verb is passive: yuʾfakūn — "they are turned away". The agent is not stated. They are not turning of themselves; they are being turned.
This passivity belongs to the same family as the musannada of the verse. Two passive forms, one at the beginning of the verse and one at its end: they are propped up, and they are turned away. Both denote a position outside their own will.
And the verse ends with a question — a question whose answer is not given. This resembles the technique in the opening of Sūrat al-Māʿūn: the question does not impose the answer, it makes one find it.
One. That the appearance is true but empty. The most useful side of the verse is that it does not count the appearance false. Their bodies really are impressive, their words really are worth listening to. The verse is not correcting an illusion; it is saying that a true impression measures nothing. This holds all the more in a period in which the management of impressions has become a profession: the bond between the quality of presentation and the quality of content grows weaker as the technical means increase.
Two. A support taking the place of belonging. The passivity of the word musannada says that standing inside an institution or a community is not the same thing as belonging to it. And this distinction is not visible from outside — because as long as the support stays in place, the log too stands upright. The distinction comes out only when the support is withdrawn.
Three. The price of a hidden contradiction. "Thinking every cry is against them" describes the bill that inconsistency presents to a person. And the bill is not visible from outside: the position secure, the standing intact. What is paid is inner ease. This is the sūra's most practical observation, and it can be verified without requiring any religious frame.
Four. The limit of the command "beware". The verse's command is fa'ḥdharhum — be watchful. It is not a command to punish. This is a binding limit for the sūra's use today: the only command given against an attribute that has been identified is attention, and attention begins with oneself.