Surah An-Nisāʾ (The Women)
Introduction
Surah al-Nisāʾ appears in the muṣḥaf order as the fourth surah, following Surah Āl ʿImrān. It is among the Medinan surahs revealed during a phase in which the Muslim community was reshaping itself politically and socially after profound military transformations. The discourse was no longer directed toward a persecuted group in the stage of foundational doctrinal formation as in Mecca, but toward an emerging society confronting questions of family organization, distribution of wealth, regulation of guardianship, and management of internal and external conflict.
Within this transformation, the surah intensifies rulings related to inheritance, orphans, marriage, qiwāmah (authority/maintenance), and fighting. Yet these rulings do not appear as separate issues; rather, they are situated within a gradual legislative movement that reorders an entire social structure.
Surah al-Nisāʾ is frequently read through isolated verses, from which a complete conception of the relationship between man and woman—or of the structure of authority within the family—is extracted. However, tracing the surah in its internal sequence reveals a trajectory that begins with the establishment of the shared human origin, then moves to the protection of vulnerable groups, and to the regulation of wealth and the body, before arriving at the treatment of authority within the family and the community.
This reading approaches Surah al-Nisāʾ through a structural reading that follows the internal movement of the surahrather than isolating individual rulings. When read in sequence, the discourse appears to unfold through expanding circles of justice: beginning with the affirmation of shared human origin, moving through the protection of vulnerable groups and regulation of wealth within the family, and eventually extending to the governance of the community and its defense. In this progression, legal rulings do not appear as isolated commands but as components of a broader moral architecture aimed at preserving equity within a society undergoing transformation.
From this perspective emerges the need for a structural reading of the surah—one that does not suffice with pausing at an isolated ruling, but rather considers the network of relationships within which the rulings are organized.
From Unity of Origin to the Reordering of Reality
The formation of the image of woman in the Qur’an begins as early as Surah al-Baqarah, within a broader reordering of the concept of responsibility and justice. In the story of creation, the text states:
“But Satan caused them both to slip from it” (al-Baqarah 2:36),
using the dual verb form, which assigns responsibility for the fall to both parties together, not to the female alone. Then comes:
“Then Adam received from his Lord words…” (2:37),
so that the event moves from a moment of error to a horizon of repentance, without establishing a permanent feminine stigma.
If this construction is placed alongside the biblical narrative in the Book of Genesis (3:16), a difference in the point of departure becomes visible. There, the incident of the fall is coupled with the phrase, “and he shall rule over you,” such that an extended relationship of dominance is derived from the foundational event. By contrast, in Surah al-Baqarah no system of authority is derived from the event of creation, nor does the moment of error become a historical rule establishing an essential hierarchy. The error does not generate a permanent structure, and the relationship between man and woman is not constructed as the effect of an original punishment.
In the legislative section of the same surah, the marital relationship is organized within a reciprocal framework:
“And for them is similar to what is upon them according to what is customary” (2:228).
The phrase “and men have a degree over them” follows, but it appears within the context of regulating responsibility inside the family, not of declaring superiority in the essence of creation. Even in the matter of retribution, it is stated:
“The free for the free… and the female for the female” (2:178),
which affirms the woman’s full legal capacity within the system of justice. The woman in al-Baqarah was not an independent focal point, yet she was no longer a silent margin; her moral responsibility was affirmed and her legal personality recognized.
Then Surah Āl ʿImrān advances the image from the level of capacity to the level of divine election. Mary is addressed directly:
“Indeed, God has chosen you and purified you” (3:42),
and the general principle is declared:
“Indeed, I do not allow the work of any worker among you to be lost, whether male or female” (3:195).
Here, action becomes the criterion of distinction, and gender disappears as a measure in the scale of reward. If Surah al-Baqarah established legal capacity, Āl ʿImrān affirmed equality in the spiritual domain.
Through this progression we arrive at Surah al-Nisāʾ, which opens with a universal address:
“O humankind, be mindful of your Lord, who created you from a single soul…” (4:1).
Before any detail concerning inheritance or marriage, the origin is settled: a single soul. From this shared origin, men and women branch forth together.
The importance of this foundation becomes clearer when placed within a broader intellectual horizon. In Aristotelian thought, the relationship between man and woman is understood within a natural structure of ruler and ruled. The male, according to Aristotle, is more complete in his rational form, while the female possesses deliberative capacity but lacks decisive authority; the difference between them is traced to the very nature of the soul itself. As for Plato, despite acknowledging the distribution of capacities between the sexes and permitting women a place within his guardian class, he did not establish an explicit ontological unity that would preclude the derivation of hierarchy from nature.
In contrast, Surah al-Nisāʾ does not enter into direct philosophical debate, yet it begins from a point that renders the derivation of essential superiority from creation inconsistent with its declared origin. If the origin is “a single soul,” then any subsequent structure of authority cannot be derived from deficiency in formation, but from the organization of a particular social reality.
However, the surah does not remain at the level of ontological foundation. It was revealed in a Medinan context marked by deep military and social transformations: a community that had lost a number of its men in battle, in which a wide category of widows and orphans had emerged, and in which balances of ownership and guardianship had shifted. The discourse was no longer addressed to a stable society, but to a familial structure undergoing reorganization.
From here, the transition following the first verse becomes intelligible. In the biblical tradition (Numbers 27), inheritance is opened to daughters only in the absence of a male son; the woman’s entitlement thus becomes conditional upon the absence of the male origin. In Surah al-Nisāʾ, however, it is stated:
“For men is a share… and for women is a share” (4:7).
The transformation here lies not in the quantity of the share, but in the principle of entitlement itself. The woman does not inherit because a man is absent, but as an original party within the network of kinship.
From this foundation the surah moves directly to orphans:
“And give the orphans their property” (4:2).
Justice here is not presented as abstract equality, but as protection for vulnerable categories in a society that is reorganizing itself.
If the surah is read vertically according to the order of revelation, care for the orphan preceded the Medinan phase. In Surah al-Ḍuḥā: “So as for the orphan, do not oppress”; in al-Māʿūn: “That is the one who repels the orphan.” In Mecca, the orphan was a criterion of faith, a general moral directive. In Medina, this principle becomes precise legal regulation:
“And do not consume their wealth into your own” (4:2).
The surah continues:
“And test the orphans… then deliver to them their property” (4:6).
Guardianship is temporary, and the aim is to enable the individual to regain full legal capacity.
Within this context appears the verse of polygamy:
“And if you fear that you will not deal justly with the orphans, then marry…” (4:3).
It comes conditioned upon fear of failing in equity and is immediately restricted by the condition of justice. Polygamy is not presented as an open privilege, but as an organizational option within a disturbed social situation, governed by clear constraints.
The following verse states:
“And give the women their dowries graciously” (4:4),
establishing for the woman an independent financial entitlement. The legislation here does not proceed from deficiency in creation, but from the management of concrete vulnerability within a shared origin.
Thus it becomes apparent that the opening of the surah with the unity of origin was not a rhetorical preface, but a foundation upon which the rest of the rulings are built. The value that was established in the Meccan phase becomes in Medina a precise legal structure. The origin is one, but the tools for preserving it change according to the phase, while equity remains the standard around which the details are organized.
Polygamy Between Crisis Management and the Formation of Interpretation
After Surah al-Nisāʾ opened by affirming the unity of origin in the verse:
“He created you from a single soul” (4:1),
it moved immediately to the matter of orphans and their property:
“And give the orphans their property” (4:2).
Within this context comes the third verse:
“And if you fear that you will not deal justly with the orphans, then marry what seems good to you of women—two, three, or four…” (4:3).
The conditional structure of the verse is central to its interpretation. The mention of polygamy does not appear independently, but as a response to the fear of failing in equity toward orphans. The point of departure, therefore, is not desire but threatened justice. The surah addresses a society emerging from war and social disruption, in which a considerable number of widows and children without protectors had appeared. In such circumstances, the transition from the question of orphans to the permissibility of polygamy appears as part of responding to a fractured familial structure.
The wording of the verse is also notable. The discourse shifts from “orphans” to “women,” expanding the scope of the address. Orphanhood itself is clarified later in the surah:
“And test the orphans until they reach marriageable age; then if you perceive in them sound judgment, deliver to them their property” (4:6).
Orphanhood is therefore a temporary legal condition ending with maturity and sound judgment. For this reason, restricting verse 4:3 exclusively to the case of a guardian marrying a minor orphan girl—although supported by certain reports—does not exhaust the range of meaning that the textual context may sustain.
The complexity of the situation becomes clearer later in the surah:
“They ask you for a ruling concerning women… and what is recited to you in the Book concerning the orphan women to whom you do not give what has been prescribed for them, and you desire to marry them…” (4:127).
Here it becomes clear that the matter of “orphan women” is not a single case, but a field in which guardianship rights might become entangled with the desire for marriage, alongside the possibility of withholding due rights. This deepens the axis of equity with which the surah opened and indicates that polygamy was introduced within a network of overlapping social problems, not within a legislative vacuum.
The moral restriction is reintroduced within the same verse:
“But if you fear that you will not be just, then one…” (4:3).
Later the surah adds a further reminder:
The distance between the permission and the recognition of the limits of justice is striking. Polygamy is not detached from ethical constraint; it is permitted under the condition of justice, while the text simultaneously acknowledges the difficulty of fully realizing that condition.
In the history of interpretation, however, the verse came to be read primarily as a general basis for the permissibility of polygamy. A well-known explanation attributed to ʿĀʾishah (may God be pleased with her) states that if a guardian feared dealing unjustly with an orphan girl in his care, he should marry another woman instead. This understanding became influential within the exegetical tradition. The point here is not to challenge that interpretive effort, but to note how a particular reading, once established within the tradition, can gradually become the dominant lens through which the verse itself is approached.
The historical practice of the Prophet’s marriages after the death of Khadījah also occurred largely within social circumstances marked by widowhood, protection, or reconciliation between communities. This observation does not function as a restrictive interpretation of the verse, but it illustrates how polygamy in the early community often intersected with concrete social needs.
The interpretive question that remains, therefore, concerns the position of this permission within the movement of the surah. If the discourse begins with the protection of vulnerable groups, conditions polygamy upon justice, and repeatedly warns of human inclination, the verse may be understood less as a declaration of unrestricted privilege than as a regulatory response to a disrupted social reality. Within the broader trajectory of Surah al-Nisāʾ, it appears as part of managing equity under the pressures of circumstance rather than establishing an unconditional expansion of marital authority.
Inheritance: Affirming Entitlement Before Distribution
After emphasizing the protection of the property of orphans and prohibiting its unjust consumption, Surah al-Nisāʾ turns to the regulation of inheritance itself. Verse seven marks a decisive moment:
“For men is a share of what parents and close relatives leave, and for women is a share of what parents and close relatives leave—whether it be little or much—a determined share.” (4:7)
What is striking about this verse is that it begins not with numerical proportions, but with the affirmation of entitlement. The formulation is deliberately parallel: for men, a share; and for women, a share. The woman is not mentioned as an exception, nor in the absence of a male heir, but as a participant in a balanced declarative structure. It is as though the principle of entitlement must first be established before the details of distribution are specified.
The significance of this declaration becomes clearer when viewed within a broader legislative horizon. In the Book of Numbers (27), the daughters of Zelophehad claim their father’s inheritance because “he had no son.” The ruling granted their request:
“If a man dies and has no son, you shall transfer his inheritance to his daughter. And if he has no daughter, you shall give his inheritance to his brothers.”
Here, inheritance passes to the daughter only when the male line is absent. The norm remains the continuity of the paternal line, while the daughter’s entitlement arises as a secondary solution.
This logic is reinforced elsewhere in biblical legislation. Deuteronomy (21:17), for example, grants the firstborn son a double portion, further emphasizing the centrality of male lineage within the inheritance structure.
Against this background, the formulation of verse 4:7 introduces a different starting point. The verse declares that women possess a prescribed share of inheritance without conditioning that right upon the absence of a male heir. The difference between the two systems therefore lies less in the numerical distribution of shares than in the principle from which the distribution proceeds.
Only after this principle has been established does the surah move to specify the shares:
“God instructs you concerning your children: for the male is the share of two females…” (4:11).
Within this framework, the numerical differentiation does not introduce the woman into the system reluctantly or conditionally. Rather, it distributes shares within a structure that has already affirmed her independent financial entitlement. The text first secures the woman’s presence within the network of ownership, then organizes the proportions within that network.
The sequence of verses reflects this logic. After affirming entitlement, the surah proceeds to detail specific shares and repeatedly warns against consuming wealth unjustly or manipulating distribution. Inheritance thus appears not merely as a financial procedure but as part of safeguarding justice within the family structure.
In this sense, Surah al-Nisāʾ does more than assign portions of wealth. It redefines the woman’s position within the network of kinship. She is neither an object to be inherited—as verse 19 explicitly prohibits—nor an exceptional claimant activated only in the absence of a male heir. Rather, she emerges as an original party within the structure of ownership.
Seen in light of the surah’s opening declaration—
“He created you from a single soul” (4:1)—
The affirmation that “for women is a share” appears as a practical extension of that ontological foundation. Unity of origin becomes translated into recognition within the sphere of economic entitlement, while the detailed distribution of shares reflects the social responsibilities embedded in the familial system.
The surah ultimately returns to this matter at its close with the verse of kalālah (4:176), where inheritance is regulated in the most structurally fragile case: the absence of both ascendants and descendants. Between the initial declaration of entitlement and this final clarification, the surah moves from principle to detailed application, seeking to close the gaps through which injustice might enter the system.
Reconstructing the Laws: From Deconstruction to Mediation
If we contemplate the legislative trajectory in Surah al-Nisāʾ, it becomes evident that the surah does not merely present scattered rulings; rather, it enters into details touching wealth, the body, marriage, prohibited degrees of kinship, guardianship, and authority, as though it were reordering the social structure from within. This detailing does not appear as incidental codification, but as an implicit dialogue with prior legal systems and customs present in the Medinan environment, whether in the pre-Islamic Arabian heritage or in the scriptural tradition.
In the Book of Leviticus (chapters 18 and 20), a detailed list of prohibited sexual relationships is presented:
“You shall not uncover the nakedness of your father or your mother… the nakedness of your sister… the nakedness of your father’s wife… the nakedness of your brother’s wife…”
These prohibitions are connected to the idea that such acts “defile the land” (Leviticus 18:27). The violation is therefore not only personal but collective: it threatens the sanctity of the community and the moral purity of the land itself. For this reason, several of these acts are accompanied by severe penalties in chapter twenty, since they are understood as violations of the communal order.
A similar concern appears in biblical legislation on inheritance. In the Book of Numbers (27 and 36), the daughters of Zelophehad are granted inheritance only because their father left no son. Even then, they are required to marry within their tribe so that property does not pass from one tribal group to another. Likewise, Deuteronomy (21:17) grants the firstborn son a double portion of inheritance, reinforcing the centrality of male lineage in preserving the continuity of the family line.
In these examples, the regulation of the body and the distribution of wealth operate within a common logic: protecting lineage, preserving tribal continuity, and safeguarding the collective purity of the community.
Surah al-Nisāʾ also addresses these same domains—sexual boundaries, inheritance, marriage, and guardianship—but the center of gravity appears different. The surah enumerates prohibited degrees of marriage:
“Forbidden to you are your mothers…” (4:23)
abolishes the pre-Islamic practice of inheriting women:
“O you who believe, it is not lawful for you to inherit women against their will” (4:19),
and affirms the dowry as the exclusive financial right of the woman:
“And give the women their dowries graciously” (4:4).
At the same time, accusations of sexual misconduct are restricted by strict evidentiary conditions, and guardianship over orphans is repeatedly surrounded by warnings against injustice (4:2–3, 4:127).
In this legislative framework, the concern does not appear primarily as the preservation of ritual purity or tribal property. Rather, the emphasis shifts toward regulating relationships within the family in accordance with justice. The sexual act is not described as a defilement of the land but as a violation of rights and responsibilities within a relational structure. Likewise, inheritance is not framed as a mechanism for preserving tribal territory but as a means of organizing financial entitlement within a broader network of kinship.
In this sense, the surah engages with domains already addressed by earlier legal traditions—prohibited degrees, inheritance, guardianship—but repositions their underlying rationale. If earlier systems often emphasized the preservation of lineage and collective purity, Surah al-Nisāʾ places justice within the family at the center of its legislative vision.
This shift becomes more understandable within the Medinan context. Medina was not a homogeneous social environment but a complex space in which different legal and cultural traditions intersected: pre-Islamic customs concerning marriage and inheritance, alongside established scriptural traditions among Jewish communities. Within this environment, the surah does not simply abolish what preceded it nor fully reproduce existing systems. Rather, it reorganizes the relationship between wealth, body, and authority according to a new ethical reference centered on justice.
The sequencing of the surah reflects this reordering. It begins by regulating wealth—protecting the property of orphans—then affirms women’s entitlement to inheritance, proceeds to define marital boundaries and prohibited relationships, and only afterward addresses authority within the family through the concept of qiwāmah. Authority is therefore introduced only after the economic and contractual foundations of the family have been reconstructed.
Seen in this light, the legal rulings of Surah al-Nisāʾ appear less as isolated commands than as stages in the reconfiguration of a social system. Existing practices are neither simply preserved nor entirely rejected; they are dismantled, re-evaluated, and reassembled within a framework that places equity at the center of familial and social relations.
Within this reconstructed structure, the later verse—
“Men are qawwāmūn over women…” (4:34)
no longer appears as the starting point of authority, but as one element within a broader legal architecture that has already affirmed women’s financial rights, protected their autonomy in marriage, and regulated the distribution of wealth within the family.
Thus the surah does not reproduce an earlier legal order, nor does it create a complete rupture with it. Rather, it performs a movement of mediation: dismantling inherited structures where they produce injustice, while reconstructing them within a framework oriented toward relational equity.
Qiwāmah Within a Reconstructed Structure
Among the verses of Surah al-Nisāʾ, the statement:
“Men are qawwāmūn over women…” (4:34)
has often been read as the foundation of a permanent hierarchy between the sexes. Yet the position of the verse within the unfolding structure of the surah invites a more layered interpretation. The verse does not introduce the subject of authority at the beginning of the discourse; rather, it appears after a sequence of rulings that have already reorganized key elements of the family structure.
Before the mention of qiwāmah, the surah had affirmed women’s entitlement to inheritance (4:7–12), recognized their right to receive dowry as independent property (4:4), and prohibited the practice of inheriting women against their will (4:19). These rulings establish the woman as a legal and financial agent within the familial system. Read in this context, verse 4:34 appears not as a declaration of ownership or ontological superiority, but as part of regulating responsibility within a structure whose economic foundations have already been defined.
The wording of the verse itself also links qiwāmah to specific causes:
“because God has given some of them over others
and because they spend of their wealth” (4:34).
Notably, the verse does not state that men are superior to women in essence. The phrase “some of them over others” leaves the formulation relational rather than absolute. The second clause then ties qiwāmah explicitly to financial responsibility. In this sense, qiwāmah appears closer to a functional role within a particular social arrangement than to a fixed metaphysical distinction grounded in creation itself.
This distinction becomes clearer when compared with the formulation found in Genesis (3:16):
“and he shall rule over you.”
In the biblical narrative, the hierarchical relationship between man and woman is connected to the moment of the fall and appears as an enduring consequence of the primordial transgression. Surah al-Nisāʾ, by contrast, does not derive male authority from the story of creation or from a foundational cosmic event. The surah opened instead with the affirmation:
“He created you from a single soul” (4:1),
establishing a shared human origin before introducing any structure of authority within the family.
After establishing qiwāmah, the verse turns immediately to a specific case of marital discord:
“And those from whom you fear nushūz…”(4:34).
The text then outlines a graduated sequence intended to contain conflict before it escalates: admonition, separation in bed, and finally striking. The verse that follows introduces an additional mechanism:
“If you fear a breach between them, appoint an arbiter from his family and an arbiter from her family…” (4:35).
The presence of this arbitration procedure indicates that the authority implied in qiwāmah is not absolute or unchecked. Rather, it is situated within a framework designed to limit conflict and restore balance within the marital relationship.
At the same time, the surah does not confine the possibility of relational imbalance to the wife alone. Later it acknowledges the opposite situation:
“And if a woman fears from her husband nushūz or aversion…”(4:128).
Here the text recognizes the vulnerability of the woman within the marital structure and proposes reconciliation as a legitimate course of action. The recognition of nushūz on both sides suggests that the discourse addresses a relational dynamic rather than a one-sided moral failing.
The ethical tension surrounding authority in marriage is further reinforced later in the surah:
“And you will never be able to be completely just between women, even if you strive…” (4:129).
Even where authority exists, the text reminds the reader of the limits of human justice. The one entrusted with responsibility is simultaneously warned of the difficulty of fulfilling it perfectly.
Seen within the broader trajectory of Surah al-Nisāʾ, qiwāmah therefore appears not as the starting point of the family structure but as one element within a wider legislative reconstruction. The surah first regulates wealth, affirms the woman’s financial rights, protects her autonomy in marriage, and establishes mechanisms of arbitration before addressing authority within the household. In this context, qiwāmah functions less as a declaration of inherent dominance than as a responsibility situated within a carefully regulated legal and ethical framework.
From Regulating the Family to Regulating the Community: Testing Justice Beyond the Household
After Surah al-Nisāʾ reorganizes the internal structure of the family—affirming the unity of human origin, protecting the wealth of orphans, regulating inheritance, structuring marriage, and addressing marital discord—the discourse does not remain confined to the domestic sphere. Beginning with verse 36, the horizon widens toward the broader structure of the believing community.
The transition opens with the command:
“Worship God and associate nothing with Him, and show excellence to parents…” (4:36).
At first glance, this verse may appear as a return to general moral exhortation. Yet its placement immediately after the regulation of family relations suggests a broader movement. The principle of tawḥīd here does not function merely as a theological declaration; it becomes the ethical foundation upon which social relationships are constructed. Likewise, the command to show excellence toward parents, relatives, neighbors, and travelers expands the field of responsibility beyond the household into the wider network of social relations within the community.
Through this shift, the surah moves from addressing imbalance within the family to confronting forms of fragmentation that threaten the cohesion of the emerging community. If marital discord represented a disturbance within the smallest social unit, hypocrisy represents a deeper fracture within the collective body itself.
For this reason, the surah repeatedly refers to behaviors that undermine communal trust: miserliness and encouraging others toward miserliness (4:37), the distortion of words from their proper places (4:46), belief in jibt and ṭāghūt (4:51), and the condition of those who waver between belief and disbelief (4:143). The disorder here is no longer confined to the sphere of private relations but becomes structural, affecting the stability of the community being formed.
The Medinan context sheds light on this transition. Unlike the earlier Meccan phase, Medina was not merely a setting for preaching faith but a complex social environment composed of believers, Jewish tribes, allied groups, and individuals whose allegiance to the emerging Muslim polity remained uncertain. In such circumstances, hypocrisy represented not only a spiritual weakness but a potential political danger, since divided loyalty could undermine the trust upon which communal stability depended.
Within this expanding horizon appears one of the central ethical declarations of the surah:
“Indeed, God commands you to render trusts to whom they are due, and when you judge between people, to judge with justice” (4:58).
Justice here extends beyond family matters such as inheritance or marital dispute. It becomes the governing principle for adjudication among people as a whole. In this way, the surah trains the reader to recognize equity first within the household and then to extend that standard into the broader sphere of public life.
Seen from this perspective, the discussions of hypocrisy and of the People of the Book do not appear as digressions from the surah’s theme. Rather, they represent an expansion of the same ethical concern. Just as wealth and the body were sites for testing justice within the family, loyalty and judgment become the arenas in which justice is tested within the community.
If the surah began with the affirmation of a shared human origin—
“He created you from a single soul…” (4:1),
—it now moves toward establishing unity of reference. Between origin and reference runs a single concern: preventing the fragmentation of the social order. The stability of the family is secured through equity, while the stability of the community is secured through justice and fidelity to covenant.
Fighting and Ṭāghūt: Protecting Justice in a Cosmic Horizon
After Surah al-Nisāʾ rebuilt the family from within, organized wealth, regulated the marital relationship, affirmed justice as the standard of judgment and reference (4:36–59), it moves in verses 69–77 to the subject of fighting. Yet this transition does not appear as a leap into a separate domain, but as an extension of a trajectory already established within the surah.
This stage begins by linking obedience to the moral destiny of the believer:
“And whoever obeys God and the Messenger—those will be with the ones upon whom God has bestowed favor…” (4:69)
The discourse then moves from moral alignment to the arena of action:
“So let those fight in the cause of God who sell the life of this world for the Hereafter…” (4:74)
“And what is with you that you do not fight in the cause of God and for the oppressed among men, women, and children…” (4:75)
Here fighting is explicitly associated with the defense of the oppressed—the very categories that appeared at the beginning of the surah: the vulnerable, the marginalized, and those lacking the power to protect themselves. In this sense, the theme of fighting appears not as an expression of expansion or domination, but as an extension of the surah’s earlier concern with protecting vulnerability from exploitation.
Within this context appears the concept of ṭāghūt:
“Those who believe fight in the cause of God, and those who disbelieve fight in the cause of ṭāghūt…”(4:76)
The term ṭāghūt is not defined abstractly within the verse, yet the broader discourse of the surah provides a framework for understanding it. Earlier, the surah established justice as the governing principle of authority:
“Indeed, God commands you to render trusts to whom they are due, and when you judge between people, to judge with justice.” (4:58)
In this light, the confrontation described here may be understood as a conflict between two forms of authority: one that binds power to justice, and another that releases power from the restraint of equity. The opposition between “the cause of God” and “the cause of ṭāghūt” thus reflects not merely a military distinction but a moral contrast between two ways of organizing force.
It is also notable that the surah did not begin with fighting. Its opening declaration established a different starting point:
“He created you from a single soul…” (4:1)
From that foundation, the discourse moved gradually through regulating wealth, protecting the vulnerable, organizing inheritance, structuring family authority, and establishing justice as the standard of judgment within the community. Only after this moral and social framework had been articulated does the question of fighting appear.
Seen within this progression, fighting functions not as the origin of the social order but as a means of defending it when justice is threatened.
The surah also acknowledges the psychological difficulty of this responsibility:
“Have you not seen those to whom it was said, ‘Restrain your hands…’ but when fighting was prescribed for them, suddenly a group of them feared the people as they fear God, or with greater fear…” (4:77).
This fear may reflect more than anxiety about death. It may also express the difficulty of translating moral conviction into costly action. Once justice has been affirmed as a principle, the question becomes whether it will remain a declaration or whether it will be defended when threatened.
Within the broader movement of Surah al-Nisāʾ, a clear progression can be observed: affirmation of shared human origin, protection of vulnerable groups, regulation of wealth and inheritance, organization of family authority, establishment of justice in communal judgment, and finally the defense of that structure when it faces collapse.
For this reason the qualifier “in the cause of God” remains essential. The use of force is not left without criterion; it is bound to the ethical reference already established through trust, justice, and fidelity to covenant.
In this way, the presence of fighting within Surah al-Nisāʾ does not signal a shift toward militarization. Rather, it reflects the recognition that a structure of justice—if left undefended—may remain only a principle without power to sustain itself in reality.
Returning to Women After Testing the Community (4:126–130)
After addressing matters of fighting, migration, loyalty, and adjudication—and after establishing justice as the governing reference of communal life—the discourse of Surah al-Nisāʾ returns once more to the question of women. This return, beginning in verse 126, does not appear as a digression from the surah’s central themes. Rather, it completes a circle that began at the opening of the surah and remained present throughout its development.
The verse states:
“They ask you for a ruling concerning women. Say: God gives you a ruling concerning them and what is recited to you in the Book concerning orphan women to whom you do not give what has been prescribed for them, while you desire to marry them, and concerning the oppressed among children…” (4:127).
The inquiry about women is thus repeated, suggesting that the matter had not been resolved simply through earlier legislation. The verse reconnects the question of women with the protection of orphans and vulnerable children—the same categories with which the surah began. The concern is therefore not marriage as such, but the possibility that guardianship and personal interest might intersect in ways that produce injustice.
The discourse then presents another form of imbalance within the marital relationship:
“And if a woman fears from her husband nushūz or aversion, there is no blame upon them if they reconcile between themselves a reconciliation; and reconciliation is better…” (4:128).
Earlier in the surah, the fear of nushūz had been presented from the perspective of the husband (4:34). Here the perspective is reversed: the possibility of nushūz or aversion from the husband is acknowledged. The text thus reveals that instability within the marital relationship may arise from either side, and that the vulnerability of the woman within the structure of the family requires mechanisms for restoring balance.
Notably, the response proposed in this verse is not escalation but reconciliation. Rather than introducing a sequence of disciplinary measures, the verse leaves space for negotiated settlement between the spouses. It then adds an observation about human nature:
“And souls are prone to selfishness”( 4:128)
In this brief remark the discussion moves from outward conduct to inward disposition. The difficulty in maintaining justice within the family does not lie solely in the distribution of rights, but also in the inclinations of the human self—fear of loss, possessiveness, and competing interests.
The surah then returns to the question of justice in polygamous marriage:
“And you will never be able to be completely just between women, even if you strive; so do not incline completely, leaving her suspended…” (4:129).
This reminder appears after a long sequence of legal regulation. Its placement suggests that even when legal frameworks are established, perfect justice remains beyond human capacity. The warning therefore addresses the danger of excessive inclination, which may leave a woman in a state of suspension—neither fully secure in marriage nor clearly released from it.
The section concludes with a statement that opens another horizon:
“And if they separate, God will enrich each of them from His abundance.” (4:130).
Marriage is thus not presented as an irreversible fate. While reconciliation is preferred, separation remains a legitimate outcome within a system that seeks to preserve dignity and stability for both parties.
Seen within the larger structure of the surah, this return to women after the discussion of communal justice is not incidental. It reintroduces the axis with which the surah began: the protection of vulnerable spaces in which power, responsibility, and human inclination intersect. If the earlier verses addressed threats to justice at the level of the community, these verses test the same principle once again within the intimacy of the household.
What Does This Return Reveal?
Verses 126–130 reveal that the question of women in Surah al-Nisāʾ is not a passing legislative detail but a recurring axis within the structure of the surah. After addressing fighting, loyalty, adjudication, and the organization of the community, the discourse returns once again to the household, as though justice were being tested anew in its most intimate setting.
This return should therefore not be understood as simple repetition. Rather, it functions as a recalibration of the surah’s central concern. A society is not measured only by its ability to defend its external order or regulate public authority; it is also measured by the fairness of the relationships that exist within its smallest social unit. The household thus becomes a decisive space in which the ethical principles proclaimed at the communal level must prove their reality.
If the earlier passages addressed visible threats to justice—hypocrisy, distorted judgment, or the abuse of political authority—these verses expose a more subtle form of imbalance. Aversion, emotional inclination, selfishness, and the misuse of guardianship within the family represent quieter but equally significant disruptions of equity. The danger here does not appear as open tyranny but as gradual erosion of balance within everyday relationships.
In this sense, the return to women is inseparable from the broader logic of the surah. From its opening verse, the discourse moves from the affirmation of shared human origin to the protection of vulnerable groups, the regulation of wealth, the organization of authority, and the establishment of justice as the governing standard of the community. At each stage, the same principle reappears wherever imbalance threatens to emerge.
Within this framework, the position of the woman becomes a particularly sensitive indicator of the health of the social structure as a whole. When she is treated as an object of possession or when the equilibrium of the marital relationship is disturbed, the disruption reflects not only a private conflict but a deeper disorder in the conception of authority itself.
Thus the return to women near the close of the surah echoes its opening declaration:
“He created you from a single soul…” (4:1).
The surah begins with unity of origin and repeatedly tests whether that unity can be preserved within the realities of social life—realities shaped by human inclination, self-interest, and asymmetries of power. In this way, the treatment of women becomes a measure of whether the principle of justice established at the beginning can endure the pressures of lived experience.
Affirming the Cosmic Reference Before Closing the Surah (4:131–176)
After Surah al-Nisāʾ addresses matters of family structure, wealth, guardianship, marital authority, and communal justice, the discourse returns in verse 131 to a comprehensive declaration:
“And to God belongs whatever is in the heavens and whatever is on the earth.” (4:131)
This statement does not function merely as a devotional reminder. Rather, it reasserts the ultimate reference within which all the preceding rulings must be understood. Authority within the family, guardianship over orphans, and ownership of wealth do not exist independently; they remain bounded by a higher sovereignty that encompasses the entire order of creation.
Within this framework, the surah repeatedly addresses the believers:
“O you who believe…” (4:134, 135, 136, 144).
These repeated calls serve as a renewed ethical summons, directing the community back toward the principles that must govern its conduct. At the center of these exhortations stands one of the most comprehensive declarations of justice in the Qur’an:
“O you who believe, be persistently standing firm for justice, witnesses for God, even against yourselves or parents and relatives…” (4:135).
Here the notion of responsibility expands beyond the household. If qiwāmah in verse 34 described a form of responsibility within the family, this verse transforms the idea into a broader collective duty: the entire community is called to stand as witnesses for justice, even when such testimony challenges personal interest or familial loyalty.
The surah then reveals the fragility of communal belonging:
“Indeed, those who believed, then disbelieved, then believed, then disbelieved…” (4:137).
Faith is presented not as a socially guaranteed status but as a commitment vulnerable to fluctuation. Likewise, the condition of those who waver between belief and disbelief (4:143) illustrates how divided loyalties can threaten the moral cohesion of the community.
The warning that follows—
“Do not take the disbelievers as allies…” (4:144)
—must therefore be read within the same ethical framework. Loyalty here concerns the preservation of a shared reference for justice. When allegiance shifts away from that reference, the structure of judgment itself becomes unstable.
Within this widening horizon, the surah recalls episodes from the history of earlier communities: the distortion of words from their proper places, the slander directed against Mary, and the claim of killing the Messiah (4:153–158). These references are not presented merely as historical narrative. Rather, they illustrate how communities may deviate when covenant becomes subordinated to power or when religious authority is used to justify injustice.
The discourse then situates the Qur’anic message within the broader continuity of revelation:
“Indeed, We have revealed to you as We revealed to Noah…” (4:163).
Revelation is thus presented as part of an extended historical chain connecting successive communities through a shared call to justice and accountability before God.
The address then widens further:
“O humankind…” (4:170)
“O People of the Book…” (4:171).
The discourse now moves beyond the immediate community of believers toward a broader human horizon. Yet despite this expansion, the ethical standard remains constant: faith joined with righteous action, and justice anchored in divine reference.
After this cosmic widening, the surah closes with the detailed ruling concerning kalālah (4:176). At first glance, the transition from universal address to a precise legal ruling may seem abrupt. Yet within the internal structure of the surah, it carries a clear significance. After affirming that all authority ultimately belongs to God and that justice must guide human judgment, the discourse returns to the careful distribution of wealth within the family.
In this way, the cosmic horizon meets the smallest legal detail. Justice is not tested only in declarations of faith or in large political conflicts; it is equally tested in the precise division of inheritance for one who leaves neither parent nor child.
The surah thus ends where its ethical logic began. It opened with the declaration:
“He created you from a single soul…” (4:1),
and concludes by regulating the distribution of wealth in one of the most structurally fragile cases of inheritance. Between these two points—the unity of human origin and the detailed apportioning of wealth—the thread that binds the entire surah together is the pursuit of justice.
Kalālah at the Close of the Surah: Between Inquiry and Structural Resolution
Surah al-Nisāʾ concludes with the verse concerning kalālah:
“They ask you for a ruling. Say: God gives you a ruling concerning kalālah…” (4:176).
At first glance, the placement of this ruling at the end of the surah may seem unexpected, particularly since kalālah had already been mentioned earlier within the inheritance verses (4:12). Yet this apparent repetition does not necessarily indicate structural disruption. Rather, it may be understood as a movement from a general mention within the system of inheritance to a more precise clarification of a complex and exceptional case.
Kalālah refers to a person who dies without leaving either ascendants (parents) or descendants (children). In other words, the direct line of inheritance—normally organized around origin and branch—is absent. Because of this absence, inheritance must be distributed through more distant kinship relations, which makes the situation legally more intricate.
Earlier in the surah, the subject of inheritance was introduced within a broader framework that affirmed the entitlement of both men and women to shares of family wealth (4:7) and then detailed the distribution of those shares (4:11–12). Within that earlier context, kalālah appeared as part of the general system of inheritance.
The final verse of the surah, however, presents the issue in the form of a direct inquiry:
“They ask you for a ruling…”
This formulation suggests that the practical application of inheritance law generated questions that required further clarification. The verse therefore functions as a final specification addressing a case where the ordinary structure of inheritance becomes uncertain.
Yet the placement of this ruling at the end of the surah also carries structural significance. Surah al-Nisāʾ began with the protection of wealth—particularly the wealth of orphans—and then moved to regulate inheritance, marriage, and authority within the family before expanding its horizon to address justice within the community and the cosmic sovereignty of God:
“And to God belongs whatever is in the heavens and whatever is on the earth.” (4:131).
After this widening of perspective, the surah returns once more to the precise regulation of wealth within the family. In this sense, the closing verse brings the discourse back to one of the most delicate points within the system of kinship: a situation in which both the origin and the continuation of the family line are absent.
Comparison with biblical legislation highlights a difference in emphasis. In the Book of Numbers (27 and 36), inheritance is organized primarily to preserve tribal property and ensure the continuity of paternal lineage. The daughters of Zelophehad inherit only because no male heir exists, and they are required to marry within their tribe so that land does not pass from one tribe to another.
In Surah al-Nisāʾ, however, the regulation of inheritance does not center on preserving tribal territory. Instead, it seeks to organize entitlement within a broader network of kinship relations. The closing verse concerning kalālah therefore completes the legal structure by addressing the most structurally fragile inheritance case within the family system.
Seen in light of the surah’s opening declaration—
“He created you from a single soul…” (4:1),
—the closing verse acquires additional significance. The surah begins with the affirmation of a shared human origin and ends by regulating inheritance in a situation where both origin and branch are absent. Between these two poles, the discourse has repeatedly sought to protect vulnerable relationships, regulate authority, and establish justice within the structure of the family and the community.
The final clarification of kalālah therefore functions as a closing act of legal precision. After expanding the horizon of the surah to encompass cosmic sovereignty and communal justice, the text returns once more to the careful distribution of wealth within the family. In doing so, it demonstrates that justice must be realized not only in grand principles but also in the most detailed and fragile situations of social life.
Final Reflection
Engaging with Surah al-Nisāʾ required more time and reflection than my work on the two preceding surahs—al-Baqarah and Āl ʿImrān. Perhaps this difference arises from the particular nature of its subject matter. Perhaps it is also because several of its verses address issues that touch me directly as a woman, making it difficult to approach the text from a position of complete distance.
In the earlier surahs, it was easier to maintain a calm analytical posture: to move between historical context and the moment of revelation, and to follow the internal structure of the discourse with relative detachment. With Surah al-Nisāʾ, however, the relationship between reader and text felt more immediate. The verses seemed closer to lived experience, and that proximity inevitably influenced the process of reflection.
From a methodological perspective, the verses themselves were not more obscure than others. They could be approached using the same tools employed in reading the earlier surahs: attention to context, the sequence of legislation, and the structural connections within the text. The difficulty did not lie in the Qur’anic discourse itself, but rather in the interpretive history that surrounds it.
The reader rarely encounters the text in isolation. Long before opening the page, one carries inherited explanations, juristic conclusions, and cultural assumptions that have accumulated over centuries. These prior readings often shape the expectations with which the text is approached. As a result, the verse is sometimes read less through its own internal structure than through the interpretive frameworks that have already been established around it.
The real challenge, therefore, was to attempt—however imperfectly—to distinguish between the text and its long history of interpretation. This does not mean dismissing the interpretive tradition, but recognizing that it represents one layer of engagement with the text rather than its final boundary.
Such an effort inevitably involves a second form of inquiry: an examination not only of the verse but also of the reader. What touches us personally is rarely easy to observe with complete detachment. Yet this tension between proximity and analysis may itself be part of the interpretive process.
Perhaps this is why Surah al-Nisāʾ, more than many other chapters of the Qur’an, invites a double interrogation: an examination of the text within its context and an examination of the assumptions that accompany us as readers. Within that tension, the vitality of its interpretation may reside.
References
- The Qur’an.
- The Holy Bible, Old Testament.
- Al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī.
- Muslim ibn al-Ḥajjāj, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim.
- Abū Dāwūd, Sunan Abī Dāwūd.
- Al-Ṭabarānī, Al-Muʿjam al-Awsaṭ.
- Muḥammad Mutawallī al-Shaʿrāwī, Reflections on the Interpretation of the Qur’an.
- Al-Mukhtaṣar fī Tafsīr al-Qurʾān al-Karīm, Markaz Tafsīr, Riyadh.
- Harhash, Nadia. Debating Gender: A Study of Medieval and Contemporary Discussion in Islam.