The Prophets Were Visionaries, Not Scholars: Why Religious Fundamentalism Is Holding Us Back

 

The Prophets Were Visionaries, Not Scholars: Why Religious Fundamentalism Is Holding Us Back

 

Adis Duderija

In an era of rapid scientific advancement and global interconnectedness, it's tempting to view ancient religious figures through a modern lens—as profound philosophers or rigorous theologians whose words form the bedrock of eternal truths. But this is a profound misunderstanding. The prophets of traditional religions, from Moses and Isaiah in Judaism to Muhammad in Islam and the seers of Hinduism's Vedas, were not scholars poring over texts in ivory towers. They were visionary preachers and mystics, speaking in kerygmatic bursts of proclamation and theopoetic flourishes of divine poetry. They weren't constructing systematic theologies or debating metaphysics (e.g. like Plato or Aquinas). This fundamental truth is what religious fundamentalism and traditionalism stubbornly refuse to acknowledge, ensuring their role as regressive forces in our contemporary world. Until we reckon with the ecstatic, non-academic nature of prophetic revelation, these ideologies will continue to stifle progress, foster division, and alienate the very societies they claim to uplift.

Consider the essence of a prophet. In the Abrahamic traditions, prophets like Elijah or Jeremiah didn't engage in dialectical reasoning or empirical analysis. They were conduits for divine messages, often delivered amid personal turmoil or societal upheaval. Elijah's confrontation with the priests of Baal on Mount Carmel wasn't a scholarly debate; it was a dramatic, fiery spectacle of faith triumphing over idolatry. Similarly, in Eastern traditions, figures like the Buddha or the Sufi mystics Rumi and Kabir spoke in parables, poems, and visions that evoked the ineffable rather than dissecting it. Kerygma, the Greek term for proclamation, captures this: it's not about logical proofs but bold announcements of truth, often laced with theopoetic language—metaphors, hymns, and imagery that paint God or the divine in vivid, emotional strokes. Think of Isaiah's visions of a suffering servant or the Quranic surahs that rhythmically unfold like cosmic poetry. These weren't treatises on ontology; they were calls to action, born from mystical experiences that transcended rational discourse.

This distinction matters because fundamentalism insists on treating prophetic words as infallible, literal blueprints for all time, akin to scientific laws or philosophical axioms. Fundamentalists—whether Christian evangelicals decrying evolution, Islamic extremists enforcing archaic interpretations of Sharia, or Hindu nationalists weaponizing ancient texts against modernity—elevate prophets to the status of omniscient scholars. They ignore the historical and cultural contexts: prophets operated in oral traditions, their messages shaped by the immediacy of revelation rather than scholarly refinement. The Bible, for instance, is a compilation of texts edited over centuries, not a monolithic thesis. By refusing to see prophets as visionaries—flawed humans channeling divine inspiration—fundamentalism ossifies religion into dogma, resistant to adaptation.

Traditionalism, often intertwined with fundamentalism, exacerbates this backwardness. Thinkers like René Guénon or Julius Evola romanticized a "perennial philosophy" in ancient wisdom, but they too miscast prophets as timeless sages rather than contextual mystics. In doing so, they reject the dynamism of human progress. This refusal manifests in myriad ways that hinder contemporary society. In education, fundamentalist curricula in places like parts of the U.S. Bible Belt or Saudi Arabia prioritize rote memorization of "sacred" texts over critical thinking, producing generations ill-equipped for a world demanding innovation and empathy. Scientifically, it fuels denialism: climate change skeptics invoking biblical dominion over earth, or anti-vaccine movements citing divine providence, echo a prophetic literalism that dismisses evidence-based inquiry.

Moreover, this mindset perpetuates social injustices. Prophets often challenged the status quo—Jesus overturning tables in the temple, or prophet Muhammad advocating for women's rights in a patriarchal Arabia. Yet fundamentalists twist these visions into rigid hierarchies, justifying gender inequality, homophobia, or caste systems under the guise of "traditional" values. In India, for example, Hindutva ideology invokes Vedic seers to promote nationalism, ignoring how those mystics spoke poetically of unity beyond divisions. Globally, this leads to violence: terrorist groups like ISIS claim prophetic authority for atrocities, refusing to see Muhammad as a 7th-century visionary whose messages were contextual calls for justice, not eternal mandates for conquest.

The backward force of this denial is evident in geopolitics too. Nations gripped by religious fundamentalism, from Iran to Afghanistan under the Taliban, lag in human development indices. Women's rights, LGBTQ+ inclusion, and scientific research suffer when societies cling to literalist interpretations. Even in secular democracies, traditionalist lobbies obstruct progress—think of debates over abortion or stem-cell research framed as assaults on "God's word." By contrast, progressive religious movements, like Reform Judaism , liberal Christianity or progressive Islam , thrive by embracing prophets as inspirational mystics, not infallible legislators. They interpret kerygmatic calls theopoetically, adapting them to modern ethics without losing spiritual depth.

To move forward, we must demystify the prophets—not to diminish their impact, but to humanize them. Education should highlight their visionary roles: teach the poetic power of the Psalms alongside historical criticism, or the mystical ecstasy of Sufi whirling dervishes as emotional expressions rather than doctrinal absolutes. Policymakers must counter fundamentalist influences by promoting pluralism, ensuring that religious freedom doesn't equate to imposing archaic views on others. Individuals, too, can reclaim spirituality by engaging with prophetic texts as artful invitations to wonder, not rigid rulebooks.

We can't afford the intellectual stagnation of fundamentalism. By recognising prophets as visionary preachers and mystics—speakers of kerygma and theopoetry, not scholars—we liberate religion from its chains.  Fundamentalism's refusal to adapt ensures it remains a major backward force, pulling society toward division and ignorance. But if we embrace the true nature of prophecy—as inspired, poetic calls to transcendence—we can harness its power for a more enlightened, compassionate future. The prophets didn't seek to freeze time; they urged us to dream beyond it. It's time we listened.