أَيَحْسَبُ أَن لَّمْ يَرَهُۥٓ أَحَدٌ
Two verses apart, the same structure: a yaḥsabu an… aḥad. The same verb, the same question form, the same word to end with.
This repetition binds the two suppositions together and establishes the logical relation between them:
The fifth verse: no one has power over me. → This is a supposition about power. The seventh verse: no one has seen me. → This is a supposition about knowledge.
The sixth verse in between is the bridge between the two: "I have spent wealth in heaps." The man, that is, trusts in both his power and his concealment, and builds both with wealth.
The order is itself a structure: the supposition of power first, the supposition of not being seen after. The reason may be this — the next step for one who supposes that others cannot reach him is to suppose that he will not be called to account. Not to be seen is the deeper state of not being reachable. The first says "I cannot be caught", the second says "no one even knows".
Root: ر-ء-ي. To see. In Sūrat al-Fīl it was treated that this verb takes in both seeing with the eye and knowing; here both senses are plain.
The verb's being in the past tense is striking. Not "that no one will see him", but "that no one has seen him". The matter, that is, is not being caught in the future but what was done in the past not having been entered into the record.
Joined with the context of the sūra this comes to mean: the man supposes that no one knows where he spent his wealth, how he earned it, what he did to whom. What lies behind the figure he boasts of.
The verse says "no one saw him" but does not say what it was that was not seen. This gap is deliberate: every reader fills in his own gap.
And the next verse closes this gap from an unexpected place. The answer given to one who says "no one saw" is not "of course you were seen"; it is "did We not give you two eyes?"
The answer, that is, turns the question of being seen back onto the man's own body. I take up this transition in the next section.