Castle second review
đ° Castles of the Self: A Philosophical Excavation of Inner Architecture
By Farheen Bhuiyan Nancy
Mirpur Cantonment, Dhaka | June 2025
“There is a ‘Castle’ in all of us—Somber,
Bitter in memories and weaker in ties,
Shiny outwards but hollow inside...”
These lines do more than poeticize the human condition—they uncover a metaphysical truth: that the self is often a structure we build not for freedom, but for containment. In my poem “Castles,” I interrogate the paradox of human construction—the architectures we create within and without, designed to protect, but often ending in our own entrapment. This essay explores that interior architecture not merely as metaphor, but as philosophical reality.
đĒ I. The Castle as Illusion: Plato and the False Light
Plato’s Allegory of the Cave teaches us that most of humanity lives in the shadow of truth—confusing appearances for reality. The castle, in this view, is the glamorous prison of the soul—rich in performance, poor in essence. Like the cave, it dazzles with flickering lights, yet imprisons the inhabitants in a curated spectacle. My lines “renowned as the joyous uproar of courtiers” point to this delusion: the castle is a theater, a shadow-world, an echo chamber of falsified joy.
The one who dares to question the glamour and confront the “wall of tears” is akin to the prisoner who breaks free. Yet in both cases, freedom does not come without pain. Truth, Plato reminds us, blinds before it liberates. And the castle, with its feigned freedom, is a seductive lie.
đ II. Inner Prisons: Foucault and the Surveillance of the Self
Michel Foucault, in Discipline and Punish, describes the panopticon—a structure in which the watched internalize their watcher. The castle is not only a prison but a panopticon of the soul. We build walls not to keep others out, but to keep ourselves in—governed by invisible forces: family, nation, religion, shame, memory.
Foucault might argue that the castle is where the self disciplines itself. The “mummied and crucified” figures in the poem are not only martyrs of society—they are victims of internalized authority, trapped in inherited scripts. Our castles are haunted not only by others' expectations but by our own complicity.
đĒ III. Ruins and Remembrance: Ibn Arabi and the Infinite Interior
In the mystical philosophy of Ibn Arabi, the self is a multilayered cosmos, a microcosmic city with hidden chambers where the Divine reflects Itself. But when this divine potential is forgotten, the soul becomes a ruin—an empty palace.
The poem's line, “Imprints of ruins—ruins of great humours ever born!” echoes this Sufi notion of lost original laughter—the joy of unity with the Real. When the castle becomes a monument to ego or sorrow, rather than a dwelling of divine presence, it collapses into existential dust.
Yet, Ibn Arabi would insist that within the ruins still lies the trace of the Real. Even in our hollowed selves, the spark remains. Thus, to wander our own ruined halls is not merely despair—it is also an invitation to return.
đĒ IV. The Hollow Victory: Nietzsche and the Death of the Champion
When I wrote, “Reigning champions dead and faded while still alive,” I was imagining a soul that won every external battle but lost its inner fire. This is Nietzsche’s last man—comfortable, accomplished, but spiritually dead. Having abandoned the “will to power,” he has turned his castle into a museum, his legacy into a mausoleum.
Nietzsche would challenge us to burn the castle down. To “live dangerously,” to build not castles of safety but bridges into the unknown. “One must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star.” The castle is the anti-chaos—elegant, secure, and ultimately sterile.
đ V. The Cry Within the Walls: Simone Weil and Affliction
Simone Weil speaks of malheur—a spiritual affliction that reduces a person to a thing. In her theology, suffering that is seen, named, and endured without resistance opens the soul to divine grace. The wailing behind my castle walls is such an affliction: unrecognized, unvoiced, and therefore unmystified.
Weil would argue that the soul trapped in the castle must not seek to destroy the walls through rage, but through attention. To listen to the “echoes of laments” is already a sacred act. The soul that dares to witness its own hollowness without illusion begins the long return to the Real.
đ¯️ VI. Conclusion: Excavating Ourselves
The castle is not only a prison or ruin—it is a mirror. It reveals who we once were, what we have become, and what we fear to face. In each of us lies an echo chamber of past selves, ancestral pain, gilded lies, and possible redemption.
To live philosophically is to excavate the castle, stone by stone. To rebuild it—not as a fortress, but as a space of contemplation, permeability, and divine presence. If the poem “Castles” is mournful, it is also hopeful. For only those who hear the whispers can respond. Only those who witness the ruins can rebuild.
đ References
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Plato, Republic, Book VII.
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Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish (1975).
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Ibn Arabi, Fusus al-Hikam (“The Bezels of Wisdom”).
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Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
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Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace.
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