What If the Crisis We Face Is Not Out There, But Within Us?
A Reminder from Surah Humazah to Ma’arij: Shifting Timescales and Transforming Perspectives
What causes man to lose his balance and disrupt the harmony of the world? Is it the wars that rage across nations, the inequalities that widen the chasm between rich and poor, or the environmental collapse that threatens life as we know it? Or is it something far more insidious—an unseen rot that begins within the human heart, spreading outwards into every corner of existence?
Picture this: the skies over California burn a searing orange as wildfires consume entire towns, leaving behind ash and despair. Across the Atlantic, the streets of Valencia transform into torrents of water, submerging lives and livelihoods in an instant. Floods devastate Mecca, a city steeped in sacred history, as cars and buses flow down its streets like paper boats. These are not isolated events—they are the echoes of a world out of balance, a planet groaning under the weight of humanity’s unchecked greed, arrogance, and neglect.
The Qur’an, in its timeless wisdom, begins Surah Al-Humazah with a piercing statement that lays bare the root of this global malaise:
وَيْلٌ لِكُلِّ هُمَزَةٍ لُّمَزَةٍ
"Woe to every slanderer and backbiter." (104:1)
The word وَيْلٌ (wayl) reverberates with an almost tangible weight. It is not merely a warning but an existential indictment—a pronouncement of doom so profound that it captures both physical destruction and spiritual obliteration. This curse is not confined to individuals but extends to the very systems and societies shaped by the traits of humazah and lumazah.
But who are the humazah and lumazah? The Qur’an directs this condemnation at those who belittle and mock—behind closed doors or in the public square. The humazah strikes in whispers, a dagger of ridicule plunged into the back, while the lumazah confronts openly, exposing faults to diminish others. Together, they embody a mindset of corrosive arrogance—a heart that finds satisfaction not in creating, but in destroying.
And so the Qur’an challenges us: are the wildfires and floods we witness today mere accidents of nature, or are they the outward reflections of a deeper corruption within man? Do the mockery, greed, and exploitation of humazah and lumazah not ripple outward, eroding trust, destabilizing communities, and fracturing the earth itself?
وَيْلٌ, then, is not just a curse—it is a mirror. It forces us to confront the cracks within ourselves and the systems we have built. From the exploitation of labor to the commodification of nature, the arrogance of humazah and lumazah has metastasized into crises that now threaten the very foundation of life. The question is: will we recognize these signs before it is too late?
Let us look closely at what the Qur’an reveals about these corrosive traits.
The terms هُمَزَةٍ (humazah) and لُمَزَةٍ (lumazah) may seem straightforward, but their layered meanings uncover a profound anatomy of human arrogance. These are not mere acts of mockery or slander—they are manifestations of a heart consumed by insecurity, envy, and malice.
Humazah, derived from the root ه-م-ز, signifies covert slander, the whispered mockery or hidden gestures that strike from the shadows. It is the smirk, the raised eyebrow, the subtle but cutting word spoken behind someone’s back. It thrives in secrecy, leaving behind wounds that often remain unseen but fester in their absence.
Lumazah, stemming from ل-م-ز, complements this with brazen fault-finding—mockery delivered openly, cutting down others to assert superiority. It is the sharp critique, the public ridicule designed to humiliate. Together, humazah and lumazah represent a spectrum of harm, from the veiled insult to the direct attack, and they expose a diseased soul that derives satisfaction from belittling others.
Zamakhshari, in his Tafsir, explains that these traits are not momentary lapses but deeply ingrained tendencies. They reveal a heart so entangled in arrogance that it can neither uplift others nor accept its own vulnerability. Al-Raghib Al-Isfahani takes this further, describing these behaviors as symptoms of a spiritual imbalance—a soul unable to find fulfillment except in the degradation of others.
In today’s world, we see their echoes everywhere. Social media amplifies humazah and lumazah on an unprecedented scale, rewarding ridicule with likes and shares. Public discourse, in politics and beyond, is often reduced to the mockery of opponents rather than meaningful dialogue. These traits have metastasized into cultural norms, shaping systems that exploit the weak and silence the vulnerable.
And here lies the connection to something deeper. The Qur’an ties these corrosive traits not only to arrogance but to an insatiable greed that defines entire systems—a greed that amasses wealth, commodifies relationships, and reduces the world to a series of transactions.
Is Our World Shaped by the Anatomy of Greed and Humazah?
The traits of humazah and lumazah do not exist in isolation. They are the roots of a broader corruption, one that feeds on arrogance and blossoms into greed. The Qur’an vividly captures this progression in the very next verse:
الَّذِي جَمَعَ مَالًا وَعَدَّدَهُ
"The one who amasses wealth and continuously counts it." (104:2)
This is the portrait of a person consumed by possessions. They are not content to simply gather wealth; they live in constant fear of its loss, compulsively counting and recounting their treasures as though the act itself could shield them from the inevitability of life’s trials.
The next verse exposes the delusion that lies at the heart of this obsession:
يَحْسَبُ أَنَّ مَالَهُ أَخْلَدَهُ
"He thinks that his wealth will make him immortal." (104:3)
In his Tafsir, Al-Tabari explains that this verse reveals the mindset of those who place their trust not in Allah but in the false security of material possessions. Wealth, which should be a tool for good, becomes an idol. It blinds the heart, fostering a sense of arrogance and invincibility. This delusion is not strength—it is fear masquerading as power, a desperate attempt to escape mortality and accountability.
But the Qur’an warns of the ultimate consequence of this path:
كَلَّا ۖ لَيُنبَذَنَّ فِي الْحُطَمَةِ
"No! He will surely be thrown into the Crusher." (104:4)
The حُطَمَةِ (hutamah), described as a fire that crushes, is not merely physical punishment—it is the destruction of everything that wealth was meant to preserve. The arrogance that humazah and lumazah foster, the greed that hoards resources, the false sense of security that wealth promises—all of it will be dismantled in the face of divine justice.
This isn’t just a personal failing; it is the seed of societal corruption. The mindset of humazah and lumazah, driven by greed, spills over into systems and institutions. Economies built on exploitation, corporations that commodify human lives, and governments that prioritize profit over justice—all are manifestations of this deeper sickness.
The Qur’an connects these behaviors to the breakdown of societal compassion in Surah Al-Ma’un:
فَذَٰلِكَ الَّذِي يَدُعُّ الْيَتِيمَ
وَلَا يَحُضُّ عَلَىٰ طَعَامِ الْمِسْكِينِ
"For that is the one who drives away the orphan, and does not encourage the feeding of the poor." (107:2-3)
The arrogance of humazah and lumazah gives rise to neglect and exploitation. The vulnerable—orphans, the poor, and the marginalized—are dismissed, their cries for help drowned out by the endless clinking of gold. This neglect is not just an act of omission; it is a deliberate choice to prioritize self-interest over collective well-being.
And the consequences? The Qur’an makes them painfully clear:
ظَهَرَ الْفَسَادُ فِي الْبَرِّ وَالْبَحْرِ بِمَا كَسَبَتْ أَيْدِي النَّاسِ
"Corruption has appeared throughout the land and sea by reason of what the hands of people have earned." (30:41)
The same greed that fractures relationships destabilizes ecosystems. Overconsumption, deforestation, pollution—these are not merely environmental issues. They are moral issues, reflections of the arrogance and short-sightedness of humazah and lumazah. The earth, once abundant and balanced, now bears the scars of humanity’s insatiable appetite for more.
But the Qur’an does not leave us in despair. It presents a path forward, a way to heal the heart and the earth alike.
And it begins with a single, transformative shift:
from arrogance to gratitude.
Amidst the despair of greed and corruption, the Qur’an offers a profound antidote—one that not only purifies the heart but also restores the balance of the world.
That antidote is gratitude.
In Surah Ibrahim, Allah declares:
لَئِن شَكَرْتُمْ لَأَزِيدَنَّكُمْ
"If you are grateful, I will surely increase you." (14:7)
This promise is as comprehensive as it is transformative. Gratitude, as Alusi explains, is not merely a verbal acknowledgment of blessings. It is a state of being—a deep recognition of one’s position as a beneficiary of divine mercy. Gratitude aligns the heart with reality, fostering humility and a sense of responsibility to use blessings for good.
Gratitude shifts the perspective from scarcity to abundance. Where greed hoards and hoards, fearing there will never be enough, gratitude sees wealth as a trust to be shared, a tool to uplift and regenerate. It moves man from selfishness to stewardship, from consuming to creating.
Consider the example of Zakariyya (AS). In the twilight of his life, his body weakened and his wife barren, he called upon Allah not with despair but with humility and trust:
رَبِّ إِنِّي وَهَنَ الْعَظْمُ مِنِّي وَاشْتَعَلَ الرَّأْسُ شَيْبًا
"My Lord, indeed my bones have weakened, and my head has filled with white hair." (19:4)
His gratitude transformed barrenness into fruitfulness, his trust turning the impossible into a miracle. Similarly, Ibrahim’s wife, upon hearing the promise of a child in her old age, responded not with disbelief but with laughter—a laughter born of awe and joy:
فَضَحِكَتْ
"So she laughed." (11:71)
These stories are not merely historical anecdotes. They are divine parables. Just as barren land can be rejuvenated through divine mercy, so too can barren hearts—and barren societies—be transformed through gratitude.
But why is gratitude so powerful?
Because it forces man to lift his gaze beyond the immediate, to see challenges not as barriers but as opportunities. The Qur’an continuously shifts our focus from the fleeting to the eternal, reminding us that wealth, trials, and even life itself are temporary:
فِي يَوْمٍ كَانَ مِقْدَارُهُ خَمْسِينَ أَلْفَ سَنَةٍ
"In a Day the measure of which is fifty thousand years." (70:4)
Against this eternal horizon, the obsession with material gain reveals itself as a profound folly. Wealth cannot buy immortality. It cannot forestall accountability. The Qur’an states with clarity:
يَوْمَ لَا يَنفَعُ مَالٌ وَلَا بَنُونَ
إِلَّا مَنْ أَتَى اللَّهَ بِقَلْبٍ سَلِيمٍ
"The Day when neither wealth nor children will benefit, but only one who comes to Allah with a sound heart." (26:88-89)
This is the eternal truth: man’s ultimate worth is not measured by what he owns but by the state of his heart. A heart steeped in greed, arrogance, and mockery leads only to ruin. But a heart softened by gratitude becomes a force of regeneration.
So , what are the Ripple Effects of Gratitude?
Gratitude, when practiced collectively, transforms not just individuals but societies. It breaks the chains of scarcity and fear, replacing them with systems of trust and abundance. The Qur’an envisions a society where wealth flows rather than stagnates, where generosity heals fractures:
وَيُطْعِمُونَ الطَّعَامَ عَلَىٰ حُبِّهِ مِسْكِينًا وَيَتِيمًا وَأَسِيرًا
"And they give food, in spite of love for it, to the needy, the orphan, and the captive." (76:8)
This act of selflessness—giving not out of surplus but out of love—creates a society rooted in compassion. The hoarding that destroys communities is replaced by sharing that strengthens them. Gratitude fosters abundance because it aligns human actions with divine principles, making justice, mercy, and sustainability the cornerstones of existence.
Even modern science echoes these truths. Studies in psychology reveal that practicing gratitude reduces stress, enhances well-being, and fosters resilience. Communities built on generosity and trust are more cohesive, innovative, and adaptive. Gratitude, it seems, is not just a moral virtue—it is a survival strategy for individuals and societies alike.
The Qur’an, in its profound wisdom, ties the regeneration of the heart to the regeneration of the earth. Just as barren hearts can be healed through gratitude, so too can barren lands. Man’s role as خَلِيفَة (khalifah)—a steward of creation—begins with this transformation.
The question then is not
"Why should man be grateful?"
but, "How can we afford not to be?"
For in gratitude lies the power to restore balance, heal fractures, and build a world that reflects the mercy of its Creator.
The Qur'an calls man to a role that transcends individual, familial, or even racial concerns. It envisions him as the خَلِيفَة (khalifah), the steward entrusted with nurturing balance—both within himself and in the world he inhabits. This divine appointment is not just a title; it is a responsibility, a reminder that every choice ripples outward, affecting not only his immediate surroundings but the entire tapestry of creation.
In Surah Rahman, Allah reminds us:
وَالسَّمَاءَ رَفَعَهَا وَوَضَعَ الْمِيزَانَ
"And the heaven He raised, and He set the balance." (55:7)
This balance (مِيزَانَ) is not merely physical—it is moral, ecological, and spiritual. It reflects a harmony woven into every aspect of creation, from the stars above to the smallest living creature. Yet, this delicate balance is not self-sustaining. It requires care, vigilance, and humility—qualities that man, as the khalifah, must embody to preserve the equilibrium Allah has set.
The Qur'an shifts our perspective to eternal timescales to emphasize this stewardship. The fleeting wealth and power man chases are insignificant against the backdrop of a Day spanning fifty thousand years:
فِي يَوْمٍ كَانَ مِقْدَارُهُ خَمْسِينَ أَلْفَ سَنَةٍ
"In a Day the measure of which is fifty thousand years." (70:4)
This eternal vision urges man to think beyond himself, beyond his family, and even beyond his species. To be a khalifah is to act as a custodian of all creation—protecting ecosystems, safeguarding species, and ensuring that every creature’s place in the balance is honored.
Gratitude lies at the heart of this vision. When man views life through the lens of gratitude, he sees the world not as a resource to be exploited but as a trust to be nurtured. Wealth is no longer a tool for hoarding; it becomes a means to uplift the vulnerable, regenerate the earth, and ensure abundance for all. This is the antithesis of the humazah-lumazah mentality, which mocks, hoards, and destroys.
The Qur’an envisions a society where man’s role as the khalifah restores the balance that arrogance has shattered:
وَلَا تُفْسِدُوا فِي الْأَرْضِ بَعْدَ إِصْلَاحِهَا
"And do not cause corruption on the earth after its reformation." (7:56)
This corruption (فَسَاد) is not limited to physical destruction—it includes the moral decay that drives greed, exploitation, and inequality. The khalifah’s task is to reverse this decay, to heal what has been broken, and to uplift what has been diminished.
To care for the earth is to fulfill a sacred duty. Allah reminds us in Surah Rahman:
وَكُلُّ شَيْءٍ عِندَهُ بِمِقْدَارٍ
"And everything with Him is in due measure." (13:8)
Every creature, every ecosystem, every element of creation operates within a divine measure, a balance that reflects Allah’s wisdom. When man disrupts this measure, he disrupts not just the earth but the very order of existence. The wildfires in California, the floods in Valencia, and the melting ice caps are not merely environmental phenomena—they are signs (آيَات) of a balance undone by human hands.
To restore this balance, man must adopt a mindset of شُكر (shukr), gratitude that leads to action. He must see himself not as the owner of creation but as its caretaker. This shift in perspective requires long-term thinking, a willingness to prioritize the well-being of future generations and the planet over immediate gains.
The role of khalifah (vice reagent) demands that man transcend boundaries—of time, of self-interest, and of species. He must think not only of his family or community but of all creatures that share this earth. In doing so, he aligns himself with the eternal vision of the Qur'an, a vision that sees every problem as an opportunity for growth and every trial as a chance to rise.
Just as Zakariyya (AS) saw his barrenness not as a curse but as a moment to turn to Allah, man must see the barren landscapes of today as a call to action. Gratitude and humility have the power to transform barren hearts and barren lands alike, turning scarcity into abundance and fear into hope.
The Qur’an’s call to balance is not just a spiritual mandate—it is an ecological necessity. To be a khalifah is to embrace the interconnectedness of all creation, to act with foresight and compassion, and to leave behind a legacy of regeneration.
Man’s role as the key balancer is his highest calling. The question is: will he rise to fulfill it?