Emptiness: A Different Way of Understanding

Buddhism loves a list: the Three Jewels, the Four Noble Truths, the Six Pāramitās, the Noble Eightfold Path. If you've ever spent much time reading Buddhist sutras, you know that brevity was not always a priority. The Buddhist tradition has an extraordinary capacity for classification, repetition, and detail. A seemingly simple teaching can be examined from six different directions, divided into several categories, and then explained all over again just to make sure nobody missed anything.

I say this with affection, as someone who considers himself a Buddhist. Something about the tradition's determination to understand the human experience so thoroughly is admirable. But for all its love of systematic explanation, Buddhism also has a habit of making things profoundly confusing, sometimes even uncomfortable.

Everything is empty. There is no self.

Excuse me?

When I first encountered these teachings, I found them genuinely shocking. What does it mean to say that everything is empty? That seems a little nihilistic, or at least depressed. Empty of what? And how can there be no self? I'm quite certain that I exist (pokes self). I'm sitting here thinking about this, after all. Who exactly is doing the thinking if there is nobody here? These aren't particularly reassuring propositions, especially coming from a philosophy concerned with understanding suffering and cultivating well-being.

Part of the problem is the language itself. In English, emptiness usually describes something missing. An empty glass contains nothing to drink. An empty room contains nothing. An empty life suggests an absence of purpose, connection, or meaning. We generally think of emptiness as something undesirable, a condition we would prefer to remedy rather than cultivate. And yet, in Buddhist philosophy, emptiness (śūnyatā) is a central insight into the nature of existence. It doesn't mean that nothing exists, that our experiences are imaginary, or that life is meaningless. Rather, it challenges our assumptions about how things exist.

In the Madhyamaka tradition, particularly the philosophy of Nāgārjuna, emptiness refers to the absence of inherent, independent existence. Nothing exists entirely on its own, separate from the causes, conditions, relationships, and processes through which it arises (Nāgārjuna, 1987; Inada, 2000). I'm looking out my office window at a tree (I think it's a sycamore). It seems like a distinct object, but its existence depends on sunlight, water, soil, and countless biological processes. Remove those conditions, and the tree cannot exist. Even the tree itself is a collection of changing parts and processes. The tree is not imaginary, nor is it meaningless. It simply lacks an independent, unchanging essence. The tree exists, but not independently.

In my head, whenever I see the word emptiness in the Buddhist context, I add the word of at the end, and that helps. Empty of - what? Of an independent, permanent essence. Not empty of existence, not empty of meaning, just empty of the kind of self-contained existence we tend to assume things have.

Buddhist philosophy extends this reasoning to everything, including ourselves. Our identities, beliefs, emotions, and experiences arise through changing conditions. What we ordinarily think of as a stable, independent self is instead understood as an ongoing process. This is where a seemingly abstract and rather unsettling philosophical proposition begins to have practical significance. If our identities are not fixed, perhaps we are not permanently defined by our failures, fears, or circumstances. If suffering arises through conditions, understanding those conditions may help us respond to suffering and sometimes change what produces it. And if our existence is fundamentally relational, perhaps we cannot understand well-being entirely as an individual achievement. What initially sounds like a philosophy of absence may actually offer a way to understand change, connection, compassion, and the possibility of living well.

The Self Is a Work in Progress

Let's return to the idea that there is no self. Buddhism isn't claiming that I don't exist in any meaningful sense. I have a body, memories, relationships, responsibilities, and a reasonably consistent collection of habits. Some of those habits are even useful … some are less so (puts away the bag of feelings I was eating). Buddhism challenges the assumption that, underneath all these changing characteristics, exists a permanent, independent me or I.

Think about how much you've changed over your lifetime. Your body is different. Your beliefs have evolved. Your relationships have shaped you. Experiences you never anticipated have influenced how you think, what you value, and how you behave. We recognize these changes while still telling ourselves a relatively coherent story about who we are. That's useful. We need some continuity to navigate life, maintain relationships, and take responsibility for our actions. But problems arise when we begin treating that story as an immutable fact.

I am an anxious person. I am a failure. I am successful. I am intelligent. I am someone who always gets things wrong. These descriptions may reflect experiences or recurring patterns, but none fully captures a human being. More importantly, they can become self-reinforcing. Once we've decided what kind of person we are, we may begin interpreting new experiences through that assumption.

The Buddhist concept of emptiness invites us to hold these identities more loosely. We can acknowledge our characteristics without assuming they constitute an unchanging essence and contemporary psychology offers interesting parallels. One is decentering, the ability to recognize thoughts and feelings as mental events rather than automatically identifying with them. Instead of assuming that every thought accurately describes reality, we can notice that we're having a thought and consider whether it's useful, accurate, or relevant. A related concept is psychological flexibility, which involves remaining responsive to our experiences while choosing actions consistent with our values.

Wang et al. (2023) examined relationships among mindfulness, decentering, cognitive reappraisal, and well-being in a randomized experiment. They found evidence that mindfulness training could influence positive reappraisal. This is not scientific confirmation of Buddhist emptiness. Decentering is a measurable psychological process, whereas emptiness is a philosophical claim about the nature of existence. They are related ideas, not interchangeable ones. Nevertheless, if I can recognize that my thoughts about myself are interpretations rather than permanent truths, I may have more freedom in how I respond. I can acknowledge having failed without concluding that I am a failure. I can experience anxiety without treating anxiety as my identity. The absence of a fixed self doesn't eliminate responsibility or identity. It creates room for growth, adaptation, and change.

Suffering Is Real, but So Is Our Relationship With It

Buddhism is famously interested in suffering. We even have a list about it. The Four Noble Truths begin by acknowledging dukkha, often translated as suffering or dissatisfaction. This isn't necessarily the claim that life is uniformly miserable. Rather, it recognizes that discomfort, loss, instability, and dissatisfaction are unavoidable features of human experience. We get sick. People die. Relationships change. Things don't always go as planned. Even the experiences we enjoy are temporary. There's no particularly cheerful way to explain all of that. But the Buddhist response isn't simply to eliminate every unpleasant experience. It involves investigating how suffering arises and how our relationship with experience can intensify or diminish it.

We are all familiar with disappointment. Something happens that we didn't want. Perhaps we lose an opportunity, experience rejection, or discover that a carefully constructed plan is no longer possible. There's a genuine loss involved. But we may also begin constructing a larger story around it. Things should have happened differently. This isn't fair. My future is ruined. I cannot be happy unless things return to the way they were. Some of these thoughts may express legitimate concerns. Others may deepen suffering by insisting that reality conform to expectations it can no longer satisfy.

The concept of emptiness challenges the assumption that any particular condition or experience must remain fixed. Siderits (2003) explores how recognizing the absence of inherent existence might loosen our tendency to treat objects of desire and the meanings we assign them as intrinsically fixed. This connects closely with the Buddhist concept of nonattachment. Unfortunately, nonattachment is another word that creates problems. It can sound like we're supposed to stop caring about things, avoid relationships, or become emotionally indifferent. But caring about something and insisting that it must remain unchanged are not the same thing. We can love people while recognizing that relationships change. We can pursue meaningful goals without making our entire identity dependent on achieving them. We can appreciate pleasurable experiences without demanding that they last forever. Nonattachment does not have to mean loving less. It may mean allowing ourselves to love without treating permanence as a requirement.

Psychological research supports this idea. Ho et al. (2022) examined 41 datasets involving more than 24,000 people and found that nonattachment was associated with greater well-being and lower psychological distress. Nonattachment also accounted for part of the relationship between mindfulness and these outcomes. We cannot conclude that adopting nonattachment necessarily causes improved well-being. Still, the philosophical implication is worth considering. Perhaps well-being depends not only on the circumstances we experience, but also on how rigidly we insist those circumstances must conform to our expectations. I’m not saying pain is imaginary. I’m saying pain and our response to pain are not always the same thing.

Acceptance Is Not Resignation

There is a potential problem with applying Buddhist ideas to well-being. It would be easy to turn emptiness, impermanence, and acceptance into an argument that people should simply make peace with whatever happens to them. Lost your job? Practice acceptance. Can't afford housing? Let go of attachment. Experiencing discrimination or exploitation? Perhaps you should meditate more. That would be a rather convenient philosophy for anyone benefiting from the conditions causing someone else's suffering. Acceptance is not the same thing as approval, and recognizing reality does not mean abandoning the possibility of changing it. In fact, the Buddhist idea of dependent origination suggests something important about change. If phenomena arise through causes and conditions, then changing those conditions can change what follows. Sometimes that means changing our relationship with an experience. Other times it means changing the circumstances producing it.

Acceptance is a valuable psychological skill. Lindsay et al. (2018) conducted a randomized experiment comparing mindfulness training that combined attention monitoring with acceptance, monitoring alone, and an active coping intervention. Participants receiving the combined training showed lower physiological stress responses on certain measures during a laboratory stress task. Learning to acknowledge difficult experiences without immediately struggling against them can be useful. This does not mean acceptance eliminates distress or resolves the circumstances causing it. We begin by acknowledging what is happening, including the parts we dislike. That acknowledgment may help us respond more effectively, whether through emotional regulation, problem-solving, seeking support, or taking action. We can accept that something is happening without accepting that it should continue.

We Are Not Separate From One Another

Remember that tree outside my office window? We can extend the same reasoning to people. I exist through an extraordinary collection of relationships and conditions. My parents, teachers, friends, communities, and the culture in which I grew up have all influenced who I am. Additionally, the food I eat, the institutions I interact with, and the countless people whose work makes my daily life possible. Even something as personal as writing this essay depends on language I didn't invent, ideas developed by people I've never met, and experiences shaped by other people. None of this makes me less of an individual. It simply challenges the idea that individuality requires independence.

Thích Nhất Hạnh used the term interbeing to describe this relational understanding of existence. In a 2006 teaching, he explored how suffering and happiness are connected rather than entirely separate experiences. His example of flowers and compost illustrates how something we ordinarily regard as undesirable can become part of the conditions supporting something beautiful. I find that an interesting way of thinking about suffering. Even the muck of our life can be a part of a meaningful existence. Still, not every tragedy produces some compensating benefit, and people shouldn't be required to manufacture one. The more important insight is that our experiences are not isolated. They influence one another, and they influence the people around us.

Kenneth Inada (2000) argues that Buddhist emptiness and non-self can support an understanding of ethics grounded in relationships, wisdom, and compassion. If our lives are deeply interconnected, our actions cannot be understood entirely in terms of their consequences for ourselves. Our well-being is connected to the well-being of others.

Modern research supports the importance of human relationships, although through an entirely different method. Holt-Lunstad (2024) reviews extensive evidence connecting social relationships with mental and physical health. The quality of our relationships, the support we receive, and our sense of connection all matter. There is, however, an important distinction between recognizing interdependence and behaving compassionately. Understanding that we are connected doesn't automatically make us kinder. Even meditation research shows mixed results when examining actual prosocial behavior (Kreplin et al., 2018). Compassion requires more than an abstract understanding of our relationships. It involves attention, intention, and action.

Nevertheless, emptiness challenges the assumption that well-being is something we achieve entirely on our own. Perhaps the question isn't simply how I can live a better life. Perhaps we should also ask what kinds of relationships and communities allow people to live better lives together.

If Everything Is Conditional, Change Is Possible

There's another implication of emptiness that I find particularly compelling. If things lack fixed, independent essences, then the conditions shaping them matter. This is as relevant to our social circumstances as it is to our psychological experiences. Consider someone struggling with chronic stress. We might encourage mindfulness, exercise, better sleep, or cognitive reframing. These can be useful strategies, and there's research supporting several of them. But what if the person is working multiple jobs, struggling to afford housing, or living in an unsafe environment? Their suffering isn't simply the product of an unhelpful attitude. It arises within a set of material and social conditions.

We can help people develop psychological flexibility while also acknowledging that their circumstances may need to change. This connects with the capability approach developed in contemporary philosophy and economics. Rather than evaluating well-being solely through subjective happiness or available resources, the capability approach asks whether people possess genuine opportunities to live lives they have reason to value (Robeyns & Byskov, 2025). Having the freedom to choose matters. But so does having realistic options from which to choose.

Similarly, Albert Bandura (2000) distinguishes individual agency from collective efficacy, emphasizing our capacity to influence circumstances through coordinated action with others. These ideas are not derived from Buddhist metaphysics. They are distinct philosophical and social-scientific approaches. But they complement a relational understanding of human life. If our circumstances emerge through relationships and institutions, then improving well-being may require changing those relationships and institutions. That could mean supporting someone through a difficult experience. It could also mean organizing a community, improving access to resources, challenging an unjust policy, or creating conditions in which people have greater control over their lives.

This doesn't mean everything is easy to change. Some circumstances are extraordinarily difficult to influence, and recognizing their conditional nature doesn't magically provide the power to alter them. But there is an important difference between acknowledging that change may be difficult and assuming that things must remain as they are. Acceptance helps us recognize the conditions of our lives. Agency allows us to participate, when possible, in changing them. And collective agency reminds us that we don't always have to do that alone.

Does Impermanence Make Life Meaningless?

There's one final tension I want to revisit. If everything lacks inherent existence, and everything we care about is subject to change, does that make life less meaningful? Kinda sounds like it. We often associate meaning with permanence. We want our relationships to last, our accomplishments to endure, and our identities to remain coherent. We build lives around things we hope will continue. The idea that none of these things possesses an independent, unchanging essence can feel unsettling. But perhaps we're making an assumption.

Why should something need to last forever to matter? A conversation can be meaningful even though it ends. A friendship can shape our lives even if circumstances eventually separate us. A moment of happiness doesn't become worthless because it passes. In fact, some experiences may be precious precisely because they are temporary.

I’m not saying loss is painless. Losing someone we love can be devastating. Recognizing that relationships change doesn't remove grief, nor should it. But perhaps meaningful existence has never required permanence. Meaning can emerge through participation, relationship, commitment, and care. We contribute to other people's lives, and they contribute to ours. We influence circumstances, learn from experience, and create things that matter to us and to others. Those activities are real even though they are conditional.

There is also something hopeful about recognizing that our identities and circumstances are not fixed. Our past matters, but it does not contain our entire future. Our present limitations matter, but they need not define every possibility. And the relationships through which we exist can also become sources of support, transformation, and growth. None of this guarantees happiness. Buddhism doesn't offer a particularly persuasive argument that life will always work out the way we want it to. Quite the opposite. What it offers is a way of questioning the assumptions that can make suffering more rigid and our possibilities seem smaller than they are.

Empty of Essence, Not of Possibility

When I first encountered the Buddhist teachings on emptiness and non-self, they seemed to suggest that something essential was being taken away. There was no permanent self. Nothing possessed an independent essence. Everything was subject to change. It sounded like a fairly depressing assessment of existence. But the more I examine these ideas, the more I wonder whether I had misunderstood what was being lost. Emptiness doesn't remove the tree outside my window. It helps me recognize the conditions that make the tree possible. It doesn't eliminate my identity. It challenges the assumption that my identity must remain fixed. It doesn't make suffering irrelevant. It encourages me to examine the causes of suffering and consider how I might respond. And it doesn't diminish my relationships with other people. It suggests those relationships are fundamental to understanding who I am and how I live.

I still find the language of emptiness a little strange. I suspect I always will. But whenever I encounter it, I return to that small addition. Empty of. Empty of independent existence. Empty of permanent essence. Not empty of meaning, compassion, or connection. Perhaps that's what makes emptiness such an interesting way of understanding well-being. It asks us to loosen our grip on the idea that things must be permanent and independent to matter. And in doing so, it leaves room for the ways we might continue to grow, connect, and create something worthwhile together.

References

Bandura, A. (2000). Exercise of human agency through collective efficacy. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 9(3), 75–78.

Grossmann, I., Weststrate, N. M., Ardelt, M., Brienza, J. P., Dong, M., Ferrari, M., Fournier, M. A., Hu, C. S., Nusbaum, H. C., & Vervaeke, J. (2020). The science of wisdom in a polarized world: Knowns and unknowns. Psychological Inquiry, 31(2), 103–133. https://doi.org/10.1080/1047840X.2020.1750917

Ho, C. Y. Y., Yu, B. C. L., & Mak, W. W. S. (2022). Nonattachment mediates the associations between mindfulness, well-being, and psychological distress: A meta-analytic structural equation modeling approach. Clinical Psychology Review, 95, 102175. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cpr.2022.102175

Holt-Lunstad, J. (2024). Social connection as a critical factor for mental and physical health: Evidence, trends, challenges, and future implications. World Psychiatry, 23(3), 312–332. https://doi.org/10.1002/wps.21224

Inada, K. K. (2000). The nature of emptiness and Buddhist ethics. Chung-Hwa Buddhist Journal, 13(2), 255–275.

Kreplin, U., Farias, M., & Brazil, I. A. (2018). The limited prosocial effects of meditation: A systematic review and meta-analysis. Scientific Reports, 8, 2403. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-018-20299-z

Lindsay, E. K., Young, S., Smyth, J. M., Brown, K. W., & Creswell, J. D. (2018). Acceptance lowers stress reactivity: Dismantling mindfulness training in a randomized controlled trial. Psychoneuroendocrinology, 87, 63–73. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.psyneuen.2017.09.015

Nāgārjuna. (1987). Nāgārjuna's seventy stanzas: A Buddhist psychology of emptiness (D. R. Komito & Tenzin Dorjee, Trans.; Geshe Sonam Rinchen, Commentary). Snow Lion Publications.

Robeyns, I., & Byskov, M. F. (2025). The capability approach. In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2025 ed.).

Siderits, M. (2003). On the soteriological significance of emptiness. Contemporary Buddhism, 4(1).

Thích Nhất Hạnh. (2006, September 28). Happiness and suffering inter-are [Dharma talk]. Plum Village.

Wang, Y., Garland, E. L., & Farb, N. A. S. (2023). An experimental test of the mindfulness-to-meaning theory: Causal pathways between decentering, reappraisal, and well-being. Emotion. https://doi.org/10.1037/emo0001252