by Kelly Branan
The Illusion of Independence
I want to begin with a simple question. How much of your life can you honestly say you created entirely on your own?
Think about that for a moment.
We often describe ourselves as independent people. We take pride in our accomplishments, our decisions, and our ability to make our own way through life. We admire self-reliance. We encourage our children to become independent. We celebrate people who overcome adversity through determination and hard work. And there is something admirable about taking responsibility for our lives. But I wonder whether we sometimes confuse responsibility with independence.
Because when I look closely at my own life, I begin to realize how little of it I actually accomplished alone. I didn’t teach myself to speak. I didn’t invent the language I use to express my thoughts. I didn’t create the knowledge that allowed me to pursue an education or develop a career. Even the things I consider my personal achievements were made possible by teachers, family members, friends, coworkers, and countless people whose names I will never know.
Consider something as ordinary as the clothes you’re wearing. Someone produced the materials. Someone designed the fabric. Someone operated the machinery. Someone transported the finished clothing. You may have purchased those clothes with money you earned, but earning that money also depended upon an entire network of people and circumstances. The more closely we look, the harder it becomes to identify anything we have accomplished entirely by ourselves.
And yet we continue to think of ourselves as independent.
We say, “I built this life.”
“I earned everything I have.”
“I made myself who I am.”
But is that really true? Or is it simply the story we prefer to tell?
Buddhism offers a different way of understanding our lives. Rather than being independent individuals who occasionally depend upon others, we are fundamentally interdependent beings who have learned to imagine ourselves as separate. And perhaps much of our suffering begins with that misunderstanding.
Dependent Origination: Nothing Arises Alone
One of the foundational teachings of Buddhism is pratītyasamutpāda, commonly translated as dependent origination or dependent arising.
The Buddha expressed this principle through a simple formula:
“When this exists, that comes to be; with the arising of this, that arises.” [1]
And conversely:
“When this does not exist, that does not come to be; with the cessation of this, that ceases.” [1]
At first, this might sound obvious. Things happen because other things happen. But dependent origination points toward something deeper than ordinary cause and effect.
In the early Buddhist teachings, it describes the conditions through which suffering arises and ceases. In Mahayana Buddhism, it also becomes central to understanding the nature of all phenomena. Things do not exist independently of the conditions that make them possible.
The Vietnamese Zen teacher Thich Nhat Hanh illustrated this beautifully with a sheet of paper. Looking deeply into that paper, he said, we can see the cloud. Without the cloud, there would be no rain. Without rain, the tree could not grow. Without the tree, there would be no paper.
He wrote:
“The cloud and the paper inter-are.” [2]
I love that word. Inter-are. It suggests something deeper than simply being connected. The paper cannot exist independently of the cloud. And when we look deeply at ourselves, we discover something similar. Our bodies depend on food, water, air, and the care of others. Our minds depend on language, experience, memory, and relationships.
Even our beliefs and opinions, which we often consider uniquely our own, are influenced by people and circumstances we have encountered. We are not self-created. We are not self-sustaining. We are continually arising through conditions. And those conditions are continually changing. We are not separate things that happen to be connected. Our lives are possible because of relationship.
The Self We Try to Protect
This brings us to the Buddhist teaching of anatta, or non-self. For many people, non-self is one of the most difficult teachings to understand. It can sound as though Buddhism is saying we don’t exist. But that isn’t the point. We exist in a conventional, practical sense. We have names, personalities, memories, responsibilities, and relationships. What Buddhism challenges is the belief that beneath all these changing experiences there is some permanent, independent essence that constitutes who we truly are.
Think about who you were twenty years ago. You probably had different opinions, different ambitions, different fears, and different expectations. And yet, you still refer to that person as “me.” There is continuity, certainly. But is there permanence?
I find this question both fascinating and uncomfortable.
Because I spend a great deal of time behaving as though there is a very solid “me” that needs to be protected. I want to be understood. I want to be respected. I want people to recognize my good intentions. And sometimes, when someone disagrees with me or criticizes me, I feel an almost immediate need to defend myself.
Perhaps you’ve experienced that too. Someone questions your judgment, and suddenly the conversation becomes less about understanding the issue and more about defending your identity.
What exactly are we protecting in those moments? Often, it isn’t our physical safety. It’s our image of ourselves. The person we believe we are. The person we want others to see.
And perhaps one of the great freedoms of Buddhist practice is discovering that we don’t need to defend that image quite so fiercely. We can be wrong. We can change our minds. We can acknowledge our limitations. We can apologize. We can learn. And none of those things diminishes our worth.
Dōgen: Forgetting the Self
The Japanese Zen teacher Dōgen expressed this beautifully in his Genjōkōan.
He wrote:
“To study the self is to forget the self.” [3]
And then:
“To forget the self is to be actualized by myriad things.” [3]
At first, this sounds contradictory. How can studying the self lead to forgetting it? But perhaps the more carefully we examine ourselves, the more we discover that there is no isolated self to be found. We find thoughts, emotions, memories, habits, and relationships. Rather than discovering some independent essence, we discover our participation in life.
I think we occasionally experience a small taste of this in ordinary moments. When we are completely absorbed in listening to someone we love. When we become immersed in music. When we are so moved by another person’s suffering that our usual self-concerns temporarily disappear. In those moments, we aren’t constantly evaluating ourselves. We’re simply present.
These experiences are not necessarily awakening, but they can remind us that life does not always need to revolve around our self-image. Perhaps forgetting the self doesn’t mean becoming nobody. Perhaps it means no longer needing to make everything about ourselves.
Emptiness and the Possibility of Change
Interdependence also helps us understand the Buddhist teaching of emptiness, or śūnyatā. Emptiness is frequently misunderstood. It doesn’t mean nothing exists or nothing matters. It means that things lack independent, inherent existence.
Nāgārjuna, the great Mahayana philosopher, wrote:
“That which is dependently arisen is explained to be emptiness.” [4]
Because things arise through conditions, they do not possess a fixed essence independent of those conditions. And because they are not fixed, they can change.
Consider the way we describe ourselves. We say, “I’m an impatient person.” “I’m someone who worries too much.” “I’m just not naturally compassionate.”
But are these permanent identities? Or are they patterns that have developed through causes and conditions? If impatience arises because of certain habits and expectations, perhaps those conditions can change. If anger arises because of attachment, perhaps understanding attachment can change our relationship with anger.
This is one of the most hopeful implications of emptiness. We are not permanently trapped inside the person we have been. Our habits are real. Our suffering is real. Our responsibilities are real. But none of these requires an unchanging self. We can grow. We can learn. We can become more compassionate. And we can help create conditions that make growth possible for others.
Being Carried: A Pure Land Perspective
This recognition of dependence has particular meaning for me within the Pure Land tradition. In Shin Buddhism, there is an important distinction between jiriki, or self-power, and tariki, or Other Power.
Other Power refers to the working of Amida Buddha’s Primal Vow, which embraces beings who cannot achieve liberation through their own spiritual accomplishments. This is a distinctive religious teaching, not simply another word for interdependence. But recognizing interdependence helps me appreciate the humility at the heart of Other Power. Because even in spiritual practice, I can become attached to the idea that I am accomplishing something. I want to become wiser. I want to become more compassionate. I want to overcome my attachments. I want to become a better Buddhist. And before long, my spiritual practice can become another project centered on myself. Another achievement. Another identity. Another way to measure my worth.
But the Pure Land path invites me to recognize my limitations. It invites me to acknowledge that I am a foolish being, a bombu, still subject to greed, anger, and ignorance. Not as a condemnation, but as an honest recognition of my condition. I don’t need to pretend that I have mastered the Dharma. I don’t need to imagine that my practice makes me superior to others. I can recognize the life I have received and the compassion that sustains me.
The nembutsu, Namu Amida Butsu, becomes an expression of entrusting and gratitude rather than personal spiritual accomplishment. And perhaps gratitude begins to replace some of our pride. Humility begins to replace some of our certainty. We stop imagining ourselves as isolated spiritual heroes. And begin to recognize how much we have been carried.
Interdependence and the People We Find Difficult
Of course, understanding interdependence intellectually is one thing. Living it is another. It’s relatively easy to appreciate the people who support us. It’s more difficult to recognize our interdependence with people who frustrate us. Think about someone who regularly challenges your patience. Perhaps a coworker. A family member. Someone whose opinions you find difficult to understand. Our tendency is to reduce that person to a fixed identity. They’re selfish. They’re arrogant. They’re unreasonable.
But dependent origination asks us to look more carefully. What experiences shaped this person? What fears influence their behavior? What conditions contributed to the way they see the world? We may never know all the answers. And understanding causes does not mean excusing harmful behavior. Sometimes compassion requires boundaries.
But recognizing that people arise through conditions can soften our tendency to reduce them to a single characteristic. And perhaps it also invites us to examine ourselves. What am I contributing to this relationship? Am I responding with anger? Am I assuming the worst? Am I listening? Am I willing to consider that I may not understand the whole story? Am I creating conditions for greater understanding or greater conflict?
This is where interdependence becomes a practice. Not an abstract philosophy. But something we bring into the ordinary encounters of our lives.
Compassion as a Response to Reality
We often think of compassion as a moral virtue. Something good people ought to practice. But Buddhism suggests something deeper. Compassion and wisdom are intimately related. When we understand that our lives are conditioned and vulnerable, we begin to recognize that others share that same vulnerability. Everyone wants happiness. Everyone experiences fear. Everyone encounters disappointment. And everyone is shaped by conditions they did not entirely choose.
This recognition doesn’t automatically make us compassionate. But it can provide the foundation for a more compassionate response. We begin to see that another person’s suffering is not simply an isolated problem belonging to someone else. It is part of the shared human condition. And our response becomes one of the conditions that influences what happens next. A harsh word can deepen someone’s pain. A patient conversation can create understanding. A sincere apology can begin to repair a relationship. A small act of generosity can make a difficult day more bearable.
We may never know the full consequences of our actions. But we know that our actions matter. We cannot control all the conditions of life, but we can become more mindful of the conditions we create.
Closing Meditation: Receiving and Giving
I’d like to close with a brief reflection. If you’re comfortable, allow your eyes to close. Or simply lower your gaze.
Take a gentle breath.
Notice the support beneath you. The chair. The floor. The ground. You don’t have to hold yourself up entirely through your own effort. Something is supporting you.
Now bring to mind someone who has helped you. Perhaps a parent. A teacher. A friend. A stranger. Someone whose kindness made a difference. Perhaps it was something very small. A conversation. An encouraging word. A moment of patience. Simply recognize that your life has been influenced by the care of others.
Now consider someone who may be depending upon you. Perhaps someone you love. Someone you work with. Someone you encounter only briefly. You may never know how your words or actions influence that person’s life. But they do.
Notice how receiving and giving are part of the same life. We receive support. We offer support. We are shaped by others. And we shape others in return. You do not have to carry everything alone. And you do not have to solve everything for everyone else. You can simply participate. With awareness. With gratitude. With compassion.
When you’re ready, gently open your eyes.
Final Reflection: Nothing Stands Alone
I began this morning by asking how much of our lives we have truly created on our own. And perhaps the answer is very little. Not because our efforts are meaningless. But because our efforts have always depended upon the contributions of others.
We receive more than we can fully recognize. And through our actions, we contribute to lives beyond our own. Dependent origination reminds us that nothing arises alone. Non-self reminds us that we are not fixed, independent beings. Emptiness reminds us that transformation is possible. And compassion reminds us that understanding these teachings should change how we live.
Perhaps the deepest freedom of interdependence is the freedom from having to be entirely self-sufficient. We do not need to prove that we made ourselves. We do not need to pretend that we have everything figured out. We do not need to defend a permanent identity. We can acknowledge our dependence. We can recognize our limitations. We can receive help. And we can offer help. Nothing stands alone.
And perhaps the more deeply we understand that, the less alone we need to feel.
Namu Amida Butsu.
References
- The Buddha. Saṃyutta Nikāya, SN 12.21 and related discourses on dependent origination. See Bhikkhu Bodhi, trans., The Connected Discourses of the Buddha. Wisdom Publications, 2000. The conditionality formula appears in multiple early Buddhist discourses.
- Thich Nhat Hanh. Peace Is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life. Edited by Arnold Kotler. Bantam Books, 1991. Discussion of interbeing and the sheet of paper.
- Dōgen. “Genjōkōan,” in Moon in a Dewdrop: Writings of Zen Master Dogen, edited by Kazuaki Tanahashi. North Point Press, 1985. Translation of the teaching on studying and forgetting the self.
- Nāgārjuna. Mūlamadhyamakakārikā, chapter 24, verse 18. See Jay L. Garfield, trans., The Fundamental Wisdom of the Middle Way. Oxford University Press, 1995.
- Shinran. The Collected Works of Shinran. Jōdo Shinshū Hongwanji-ha, 1997. Background for the discussion of Other Power, the Primal Vow, and entrusting.
- Rev. Gyomay M. Kubose. Everyday Suchness: Buddhist Essays on Everyday Living. Background for the emphasis on everyday Buddhist practice.
- Main photo by the National Forest Foundation – https://www.nationalforests.org/article/tree-profile-aspen-so-much-more-than-a-tree/
