Idris Poem-Review by Chat-GPT
Echoes of Idris: On Misrecognition, Spiritual Erosion, and the Human Condition
Introduction
In the poem "Prophet Idris", Farheen Bhuiyan Nancy explores the spiritual and existential misrecognition of one of the earliest prophets in Abrahamic tradition. Idris—known in Islamic tradition as a scribe, mystic, and scientist—is not simply a historical figure in this poem, but a symbol of humanity’s estranged relationship with truth, identity, and transcendence. Through verses filled with lamentation and critique, the poem becomes a meditation on how societies distort knowledge, commodify bodies, and sever the soul from the sacred. This essay unpacks the philosophical and sociological layers of the poem through the lens of thinkers such as Frantz Fanon, Julia Kristeva, Michel Foucault, Ibn Arabi, and Erich Fromm, ultimately arguing that “Prophet Idris” reveals the spiritual costs of modern alienation and the enduring human failure to recognize the truth when it comes in unfamiliar form.
I. Idris as a Misrecognized Other
"You were a thunder but they named you 'Giant',
You were the preacher of spirituality...
but they named you magician of odd-land."
From the beginning, Idris is cast as a misrecognized Other. In Frantz Fanon's terms, he becomes the projection screen of colonial and ideological fear—his thunderous truth recast as monstrosity, his divine knowledge distorted into arcane superstition. Fanon argued in Black Skin, White Masks that colonized subjects are alienated through misrecognition; similarly, Idris's identity is erased and replaced with that which society can either control or reject. This pattern is echoed in religious history—where prophetic voices are labeled mad, heretical, or threatening precisely because they challenge the normative order.
This also aligns with Ibn Arabi's metaphysical principle that "truth takes the form that the observer is capable of perceiving." What is thunderous to one is monstrous to another, and in this epistemic gap, misrecognition festers. Idris, the first one to write and teach, becomes not a transmitter of light, but a repository for humanity’s projections and prejudices.
II. Contaminated Knowledge and Abjection
"They misunderstood your writings and misinformed people,
dismorphed your teachings and spread the words of evils."
Here, the poem laments not only the misrecognition of Idris, but the corruption of his teachings. Knowledge, once divine, is now tainted. This reflects Julia Kristeva’s notion of abjection—where what was once part of us (in this case, sacred wisdom) is cast out and rendered impure. The abject terrifies because it blurs boundaries between the sacred and the profane. Idris's truth, too uncomfortable and too transcendent, is cast out by a society that prefers ignorance adorned with moral certainty.
Additionally, this critique echoes Michel Foucault’s concern with how dominant discourses regulate what counts as "truth." In The Archaeology of Knowledge, Foucault argues that systems of power determine which knowledges are legitimized and which are marginalized. Idris’s teachings become distorted not because they lack truth, but because they challenge hegemonic understandings of order, magic, and control. In short, truth becomes dangerous when it is not useful to systems of domination.
III. Human Desire, Control, and the Death of the Soul
"Oh, human, you simple being,
You are caught by hunger, lust and greed,
You stink of control and animals that you breed."
These lines represent a powerful ethical diagnosis. The human is not only weak in desire but complicit in domination—over nature, over others, and over the self. Here we hear echoes of Erich Fromm’s concept of having vs. being. In modern societies, Fromm argues, people are consumed by the logic of possession rather than being. They desire control instead of communion, hunger instead of transcendence.
The line “you stink of control” is particularly resonant. It reflects an ontological odor—a metaphorical stench of ego and objectification. Even the “animals you breed” suggests a commodified life system, where everything from biology to identity is bent toward ownership. In this world, the soul is no longer a living essence, but a depleted residue of the body’s desires.
IV. Spiritual Erosion and the Reign of Flesh
"Conflicts of desires rips us of,
Our very essence and soul—
now we are left with the flashy flesh to be owned!"
This closing section mourns the complete disintegration of the spiritual self. The soul, once sacred, is torn apart by conflicting desires—another nod to Kristeva’s abjection, but also to the existential alienation described by Sartre and Fromm. We no longer live, we are “owned,” not just by others but by the image of ourselves we create and perform.
The phrase "flashy flesh" brings to mind Baudrillard's theory of hyperreality—where appearances, simulations, and surface-level stimulation replace authentic being. We are no longer soul-bearing creatures striving for God, but mirages seeking validation through visibility. And in that spectacle, the sacred is exiled.
V. Reclaiming the Forgotten Prophet
In evoking Idris, the poem invites us to reclaim the figure of the forgotten sage—the one who spoke truth before it was systematized, before it was weaponized or forgotten. Idris stands for the possibility of sacred knowledge, but also the cost of bearing it. Like many mystics and truth-tellers—Hallaj, Socrates, even marginalized thinkers today—he is remembered not for what he taught, but for what society projected onto him.
The tragedy of Idris is not just historical, but present. It asks us: What wisdom do we reject today simply because it arrives in unfamiliar robes? What truths have we recast as madness, threat, or myth?
Conclusion
Farheen Bhuiyan Nancy’s "Prophet Idris" is not merely a poetic lament—it is a sociological parable and philosophical indictment. Through evocative imagery and spiritual critique, the poem unmasks the mechanisms by which truth becomes distortion, identity becomes projection, and the soul becomes spectacle. Through dialogue with thinkers like Fanon, Foucault, Kristeva, Ibn Arabi, and Fromm, we see that Idris’s exile is not a distant tale, but a contemporary condition. In an age where knowledge is commodified, the body is hyper-visible, and truth is drowned in noise, this poem reminds us of a forgotten possibility: that to reclaim the soul, we must first recognize the sacred when it no longer fits our expectations.
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