This sentence is a half-truth.

This sentence is a half-truth. 

A Second Epistemological Nightmare

I was insane. I believed I was an enlightened being. I eventually came back to reality. I began studying Zen meditation due to my initial spiritual yearnings. I heard that everyone was Buddha, so I said to the Zen master:

"I think I had Dai Kensho.” That meant enlightenment. I described my experience.

"What you just described has NOTHING to do with Dai Kensho!”

"I think I’m Buddha."

"A Buddha never says, “I am Buddha.” He said.

"I’m special,” I said.

"No."

"It’s good to try to be special”

“No.”

By "enlightened" I meant unconditionally acceptable and so forth, so I said:

"By enlightened I mean unconditionally acceptable."

"You are that, but leave Buddha out of it," he said.

It was very distressing. I came to hate the whole process, and the teacher. I saw a psychologist about it.

"I think I'm the best."

"It's OK to think that," said the psychologist.

"My Zen teacher won't say I'm the best,"

“It’s more important to trust yourself,” she said.

"The Zen teacher is 100% certain, and said that it's a fact that I'm not the best."

"The Zen teacher's being true to himself," said the psychologist.

I used every kind of logic to figure this out, just as the empirical epistemologist did. Then upon reading his account for the 10th time, I emailed Raymond Smullyan, the 95 year old author, magician, pianist, Taoist, logician who wrote the story. He responded with silence. He was basically a wizard. But then I realized.

I didn't really believe I was enlightened. Last time I believed that, I was insane. Then I was doubtful about own beliefs. I didn’t even believe that I had beliefs about it. I didn't even believe that I was happy, even when I said I was happy, which the Zen master also pointed out.

He told me not to follow him. Still, however, I trusted the Zen master. This led to the empirical epistemologist’s nightmare. I listened to him saying not to listen to him, so I was still listening to him.

The voice in my head lingered. I kept saying, “I’m enlightened,” followed by the echoes of the Zen master saying, “just saying that means you’re far from enlightenment.” This haunted me for years, until one day my “I’m enlightened” voice got fed up with the “Zen master” voice and stopped talking to him. Both voices remained but they weren’t on speaking terms, and so I was cured. Stephen Wright had an old joke with the same wording as this, but it suddenly rang true for me.  

The Zen master was a good and reliable Zen master. The problem came when I used him to prove my own existence. It turned into Smullyan’s “cybernetic wobble.” The Zen master never said he wasn’t a good teacher.  He  only said I shouldn’t listen to him, and he was right.