Things fall apart, things come together 🔄

On dependent arising, impermanence, and unbinding. (The Art of Emptiness, Part 3)

Let’s start this essay with some easy questions.

What is the world really like? And how do I live a life free of suffering?

Just kidding. Not so easy, but these are questions I do find myself asking a lot these days. For one, it's hard to tell what the world is really like. Is it fundamentally benevolent or fundamentally hostile? My answer seems to change from day to day. And living a suffering-free life? If I had a quick fix to sell you, I’d probably be a billionaire by now.

If you’re like me, with a sincere and curious heart, you’ve probably also asked these questions. So did Siddhartha Gautama, the man who would become the Buddha. Of all the sincere and curious people to attempt to answer these questions, his answers have been the most useful to me, perhaps because they really do ring true.

This essay, Part 3 of The Art of Emptiness, is about one of his most significant findings: dependent arising, which sincerely answers both questions: the nature of the world, and the problem of suffering. I like that you need to have some insight into the former in order to address the latter. There are no quick fixes here. But if you’re sincere, curious, and willing to open your mind, then the profundity of dependent arising could change your entire life.

Why do we suffer?

This may seem a bit strange, but I’d like to compare the Buddha to a detective in a film noir. In any good film noir, the detective starts out looking for one thing (e.g. a missing cat), only to learn that his search goes a whole lot deeper.

I think Siddhartha had a similar search. Like many of us, he reached a point where he could no longer escape the question Why do we suffer? Even though he lived in a palace surrounded by every kind of pleasure, he was deeply troubled by the existence of sickness, old age, and death. They troubled him so much that he abandoned home, renounced earthly pleasures, and meditated for six years in order to answer it. On the night of his awakening, he found the answer.

The world is interdependent, and, being interdependent, it is impermanent. It is not inherently good or bad—the way we relate to it depends on us. We can try to insulate ourselves from the changing cosmos by clinging to a sense of separation, but that self-clinging only causes more suffering in the long run. Or we can deeply internalize the way the world really is—its interdependence and impermanence, coming not just to put up with it, but to deeply appreciate it as the only way things ever could be.

So: Let’s explore how things really are. And maybe, just maybe, we might learn to love them.

Everything depends

In order to explain the Buddha's discovery, let me start by asking you a question: Why are you reading this essay?

If you consider yourself spiritual, you might reply Because a higher power wants me to. If you’re a nihilist, you might reply For no reason. But note that neither reply is especially good at explaining the phenomenon itself.

Recall that the Buddha similarly had a why question: Why do we suffer? But why is a tricky word. It implies causality: that we suffer because...because some being out there wants us to, or because no being out there wants us to. Attempts to answer questions about causality lead to elaborate metaphysics, but those metaphysical explanations often distract us from our original goal: ending suffering.

What the Buddha discovered was that the world is not stitched together by causality, but by conditionality. When the conditions are present, a thing arises. When they are not present, it does not arise. In this way, everything exists dependent on other things. Everything is interdependent. This is his doctrine of dependent arising.

Everything exists in dependence on other things, as if suspended in a vast spiderweb.

To explain dependent arising, the Buddha encapsulated it in four simple lines:

This existing, that exists.
This arising, that arises.
This not existing, that does not exist.
This ceasing, that ceases.¹

Let me unpack this a bit. Take anything (’this’) in the universe. No matter its state (existing, not existing, arising, or passing), there is something else (’that’) which is its necessary condition. There is an often invisible, often unknowable thread of dependency running from any one thing to any number of other things in the universe.

This insight is central to our understanding of emptiness. I'll save the deeper explorations for the next essays, but briefly consider that if a thing exists dependently, then it does not exist independently. Assuming things exist independently forms the basis of our entire worldview. Dependent arising seems simple, but it's quietly revolutionary.

So, in light of dependency, I suggest we reframe our initial question. Rather than Why am I reading this essay?, we might have more luck asking What does my reading this essay depend on? Let's look for ourselves.

Reflection: what does this moment depend on?  Sincerely ask yourself this question. Let your mind generate a list of answers.  For example, this moment depends on the screen you're using, your internet connection, our shared language, me, you, our parents, their parents, the books we've read, the food we've eaten...  Without any of these conditions, this moment would not exist.  You can take this question around with you, if you like. Don't lose time trying to identify every dependency--you'll never list every single one. But if you name at least a few, a feeling of awe and gratitude is likely to arise. A feeling that, to quote one of my favorite bands, "How strange it is to be anything at all."

Things depend on parts, conditions, and the mind

Because we do not see dependency by default, it's helpful to have a list of ways in which a pair of things can be dependent on each other. Let's consider these three: dependence on parts, conditions, and on the mind.

When we examine our IKEA table, it’s clear that the table depends on its parts: its legs, base, screws, etc. The table only arises in dependence on all its parts coming together. Without any legs, there would be no table.

The table can also only exist in dependence on myriad conditions: the IKEA store where your friend bought the materials, the rainforest where IKEA harvested the wood, the vehicles which transported those materials between the rainforest, the store, and your friend’s house, etc. Though none of those conditions is visible in the end product, the table could not exist without a single one of them.

Finally, in order to be a table, it depends on a mind to perceive it. This point is subtle, but important. Do you remember the old adage If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? I would respond no, because a sound is a perception: it arises in dependence on the falling tree, an ear, and a mind. Similarly, the perception of a table can only exist in dependence on its materials, an eye, and a mind. With no perceiver, the table doesn't know it's a table. It is in no way delineated from everything that surrounds it. Only a mind can pick it out and separate it from everything else.

Existence is for the time being

If dependent arising described only existing and not existing, we could be forgiven for thinking it depicts a world in stasis. But it does not—arising and passing are given equal weight. As long as time passes, a world of interdependence is a world of flux.

A classic computer program called Conway's Game of Life perfectly illustrates this point. In the game, each cell of the grid remains white until it has three neighbors, at which point it turns black. When it ceases to have two or three neighbors, it turns white again.

Conway’s Game of Life reflects our interdependent, impermanent world.

Any thing in existence can be seen like a cell in Conway's grid: not existing, arising (when the conditions come together), abiding, and ceasing (when the conditions fall apart). Tables are like this. Chairs are like this. Cups are like this. But so are thoughts, feelings, communities, countries, lives.

Seen from the point of view of a single thing—a single cell—impermanence can seem bleak. It reminds us, as the old proverb says, that this too shall pass. But the individual point of view is not the only one. Notice how when we view the grid as a whole, we can see the larger patterns at play. What looks like death up close is, when viewed from afar, the dance of metamorphosis.

All conditioned things are impermanent. This fact is neither good nor bad—it just is. When we can see impermanence clearly, it becomes a path to joy. This is why the Dhammapada (a collection of sayings of the Buddha) advises us that:

When one perceives with wisdom that all conditioned things are impermanent, then one turns away from suffering.²

Let me offer a simple phrase, in an attempt to perceive impermanence with wisdom. Rather than saying This too shall pass (and therefore lamenting the impermanence of the individual), what if we could see all of existence as for the time being? I borrow the phrase from the Zen writer Eihei Dogen, who eloquently wrote that:

Standing atop a soaring mountain peak is for the time being
And plunging down to the floor of the ocean’s abyss is for the time being; …
Being a next-door neighbor or a man in the street is for the time being
And being the whole of the great earth and boundless space is for the time being.³

I like Dogen's perspective. Rather than seeing impermanence as something that limits our human life, he sees it as a cosmic principle which makes all metamorphosis possible. I may occupy the role of next-door neighbor for a time, mountain climber for another, and even after I am gone, the atoms that form me may end up deep in the ocean, or far across the earth, or high up in space. For the time being, that is.

Reflection: for the time being  Throughout your daily life, consider appending the phrase "for the time being" to whatever experience is happening in the present--no matter whether it's positive or negative.  For example, if you conceive of a painful or stressful experience as "for the time being," you might find some of your resistance to it drop away.  Or, with respect to loved ones, seeing your relationship with them as "for the time being" could enhance your sense of appreciation and help you cherish them more.

How to unbind from the web of suffering

So we’ve seen how the world is far more interdependent, and therefore impermanent, than it appears. The question becomes: Is that a problem?

It depends. Are you making it a problem?

I’d like to introduce the terms binding and unbinding to explain two different ways of relating to the phenomenal world. Think of the world like a spider’s web: beautiful in its interconnection, but also dangerous for those who find themselves bound in it. Like an insect flying near a spider’s web, we can choose to take actions that either bind us in its trap or unbind, and therefore liberate, us.

I’m now going to introduce the teaching of the 12 links of dependent arising, which, taken as a whole, describe the complete cycle of binding. You have to promise not to freak out, though. Yes, 12 links is a lot, but you’ve seen most of them!

The Buddhist teaching of the 12 links of dependent arising explains how we unwisely bind ourselves to a changing world, and how we can unbind in order to free ourselves.

The first two links (ignorance → fabrication) were explained in Part 1’s wobbly table analogy, in which our ignorance about the world leads to faulty fabrications that get us in trouble later on. The last seven (contact → death) were described in Part 2’s explanation of selfing, in which we form an unstable sense of identity around the object we’ve bound ourselves to.

In short, the cycle looks like this: out of ignorance, we misperceive the world, causing us to make contact (through our five senses or mind) with something which we cling to as part of our identity, and eventually have to give up. We don’t just have one of these cycles going at a time; we have innumerable, each holding our fixed identity and worldview together.

What if, like a nimble fly in a spider’s web, we could unbind from these cycles? How much lighter, more joyful, and free might we be? In order to do so, I’d like to identify three leverage points: places in the cycle where we are uniquely capable of unbinding. They are:

• Craving + clinging, through the practice of letting go I described in Part 2.

• Contact, where mindfulness of contact can help us avoid binding. For example, if I am hungry and smell freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, mindfulness makes the difference between a) losing my train of thought and obsessing over them and b) acknowledging the smell without attaching to it.

• Ignorance, which can be countered by understanding that persons are without self and that phenomena are interdependent and impermanent. The wobbly table practice in Part 1 can help us see through the ignorance (a.k.a. delusion) that misperceives things as independent.

Keep unbinding in mind, since our understanding of it will deepen as the series progresses.

Practice: unbinding in action  We can see every practice so far as one of unbinding from unwise relating to the phenomenal world. The 12 links give us a number of places to intervene in order to unbind, including:  1. Before contact. Before grasping at something (a treat, a patterned way of relating, a habit) ask yourself "Am I fully aware of the interdependent and impermanent nature of what I am grasping at?" You may well choose to grasp anyway, but with a clearer understanding of the pleasure it will or won't bring you.  2. At contact. Maintaining mindful awareness throughout your day can turn sense impressions from crazy-making temptations to light moments of beauty. Contact without mindfulness is like walking through a mall; contact with mindfulness like walking through an art museum.  3. After contact. Even if you've already grasped at something (food, an argument, a compulsion), it's never too late to unbind. Rather than chastising yourself into putting it down, can you reward yourself for having the confidence to let it go?

The world is a web of process

As we come to the end of this essay, we reach the midpoint of The Art of Emptiness. If this were a hero's journey, we'd be in a whole new world. Everything once familiar now appears inverted. How has our worldview changed?

In Part 1, we used the wobbly IKEA table analogy to understand the dependent nature of all things. We learned to identify the parts, conditions, and perceiving mind that give things their seemingly solidity. Seeing their dependence, we learned to approach them with non-attachment and flexibility, knowing that everything is subject to change.

In Part 2, we explored the dependent nature of the self. Rather than a fixed, independent self, we proposed an interdependent person consisting of various streams of process.

And in Part 3, we learned that all things bear the mark of this interdependence. For this reason, all things are for the time being.

How might we explain this new view of the world? To me, the most eloquent statement comes not from a Buddhist, but from a scientist. This is from quantum physicist Carlo Rovelli:

We can think of the world as made up of things. Of substances. Of entities. Of something that is. Or we can think of it as made up of events. Of happenings. Of processes. Of something that occurs. The world is not a collection of things. It is a network of events.⁴

Rovelli’s passage is a teaser for the view of the world we’ll uncover in Part 4. In the process, we might come to discover that our original view was the inverted one, and that the view afforded by emptiness is actually the clearer one.

---

Resources

Two free books greatly enhanced my understanding of dependent arising.

Bhikkhu Bodhi’s The Shape of Suffering comes from a Theravada perspective and helped me understand the relationship between dependent arising, the 12 links, and unbinding.

Leigh Brasington’s Dependent Origination and Emptiness introduces helpful analogies around process and helps segue into an understanding of emptiness.

Thank you for reading, and as always, feel free to comment, share, or reach out to me directly. See you soon for Part 4!

---

Read Part 4 here:

1. Ud 1.3

2. Dhp 277

3. Eihei Dōgen, “Uji (For the Time Being),” trans. Rev. Hubert Nearman.

4. The Order of Time, Carlo Rovelli