Perplexity

In the chapter on bewilderment Ibn Arabi borrows a line from old Arab poetry about a hunter named Khidāsh:

تَفَرَّقَتِ الظِّبَاءُ عَلَى خِدَاشٍ ، فَمَا يَدْرِي خِدَاشٌ مَا يَصِيدُ

"The gazelles scattered all around Khidāsh, so Khidāsh doesn't know which one to hunt." (Fut. II.661, ch. 292)

That, he says, is the knower before the Real: so many beautiful forms at once that no single one can be grabbed and kept.

فَلَهُ جَمِيعُ الصُّوَرِ وَمَا لَهُ صُورَةٌ تُقَيِّدُهُ

"He has every form, and no form ties Him down." (Fut. II.661, ch. 292)

The bewilderment of the knower, he writes, is "the greatest of bewilderments", because what it faces cannot be counted or fenced in (Fut. II.661; paraphrase). If you feel overwhelmed by too much meaning, too many signs, you may not be lost. You may be surrounded by gazelles.

You would expect knowledge to shrink bewilderment. He says it does the opposite, and gives the prayer of the Prophet that shows it:

اللّٰهُمَّ زِدْنِي فِيكَ تَحَيُّرًا

"O Real, increase me in bewilderment about You." (Fut. I.271, ch. 50)

And he explains: "for every time the Real increased him in knowledge of Him, that knowledge increased him in bewilderment" (فإنه كلما زاده الحق علما به زاده ذلك العلم حيرة, Fut. I.271). This is a relief for anyone who thinks they should have it all figured out by now. The deeper you go, the bigger the not-knowing gets. That is the sign you are going deeper.

Chapter 50 is titled "On the men of bewilderment and helplessness" (رجال الحيرة والعجز). It opens with a short verse whose first lesson is simple: "none knows the Real but the Real" (لا يعلم الله إلا الله, Fut. I.270, ch. 50). Then he gives two sayings that sit at its heart. The Prophet, after praising the Real with everything he had: "I cannot count Your praise; You are as You have praised Yourself" (لا أحصي ثناء عليك أنت كما أثنيت على نفسك). And Abū Bakr:

الْعَجْزُ عَنْ دَرْكِ الْإِدْرَاكِ إِدْرَاكٌ

"Being unable to grasp is itself a grasping." (Fut. I.271, ch. 50)

When you hit the edge of what you can understand, you have touched something true: the edge is there because what lies beyond it is real.

In the Fuṣūṣ he describes the knower as someone who never parks at one picture. Whatever form the Real showed itself in, the knower doesn't stop there:

بَلْ هُوَ الْعَارِفُ فِي كُلِّ زَمَانٍ يَطْلُبُ الزِّيَادَةَ مِنَ الْعِلْمِ بِهِ

"Rather, the knower, at every moment, asks for more knowledge of Him." (Fus. 121, Shuʿayb)

He ties it to the one thing the Prophet was told to ask more of: "My Lord, increase me in knowledge" (رب زدني علما, Q 20:114; see Fut. II.661). The next picture is always on its way. You don't have to defend the last one.

The main page tells of the knot of belief coming loose. He adds one more line, about what happens after:

وَبَعْدَ احْتِدَادِ الْبَصَرِ لَا يَرْجِعُ كَلِيلَ النَّظَرِ

"And once sight has grown sharp, it does not go back to being dim." (Fus. 124, Shuʿayb)

His words echo the Qur'an's words to the one who has died: "We have lifted your veil, and today your sight is sharp" (Q 50:22). Every time a fixed idea loosens in you, even a little, you see a bit more. That bit stays. Growth here is quiet, but it doesn't reverse.

Readers in many traditions have since recognized in this something like "learned ignorance": not-knowing as the most honest kind of knowing.