我们经常说“世事无常”，世间万事万物都处在不停变化之中，而且常常是在我们的计划之外、意料之外，这就是“无常”。无常是一个佛教概念，指一切事物都处在不断变化之中，没有任何事物是永恒不变的。因为事事无常，我们的人生便会起伏跌宕，充满了各种不可预知的变化和挑战。
可是仔细想一想，无常并没有那么简单。当我们感叹世事无常时，其实是用自己内在的“有常”作对比的。我们内心渴望“有常”，于是才会感到世事的“无常”。而外在的世界本身，无所谓“无常”还是“有常”——世界本来就是世界的样子。
每个人在人生的不同阶段会有不同的追求。上学的时候想有个好成绩，长大之后想找个好伴侣、有份好工作，成家立业之后，希望拥有一份幸福的生活。我们自己的追求在不断变化。世俗的逻辑好像有一套约定俗成的“标配”：不同阶段有不同的任务。这些套路和章法给人带来某种确定感，好像有章可循。这在很大程度上减轻了世事无常所带来的不确定性。
然而，如果我们深入观察，就会发现每一个阶段，甚至每一天、每一个刹那，我们的想法都是不同的，我们的要求也是不同的。人类进化发展出了理性能力，我们遇到任何事情总希望给出理性的解释。可惜理性是有限的，在很多情况下，理性是无能为力的。这时候我们就会感觉到“无常”，感受到不确定性所带来的困惑、恐慌、新鲜、期盼和各种刺激。
我们内在的世界与外在的世界始终都不那么协调，而这种“不协调”才是一种常态。
现在有很多人练习冥想，他们觉得“什么都不想”就可以了。其实不然，人的头脑、意识及潜意识不可能“什么都不想”，除非彻底停机。否则，总是一刻不停地，有意或者无意地想些什么事情。彻底做到“什么都不想”是不可能的。冥想真正的意义，是不去想其他的事情，而专注于只想一件事——就是那种不容易引起思想、情绪、感觉太大变化的事，比如在心中默念“一、二、三、四”，或者专注于自己的呼吸。
冥想是一种对内在无常的对抗。可是，只要人还活着，这种内在的无常就一直存在。无常，才是生命的常态，才是活着的证明。可能大部分人的冥想修炼到这种状态之后，就难以再向前推进了，因为无法与生命本身的力量进行对抗。
冥想若想向前推进一步，就需要“自觉”。通俗地说，就是冥想的时候知道自己正在冥想。比如我们在想一件事情的时候，我们知道我们正在想这件事情，而且我们知道“我们知道正在想这件事情”。这种意识对自身的感知能力，就是心灵哲学上著名的“困难问题”（Hard Problem），是澳大利亚哲学家查尔默斯（Chalmers）提出的。
现在神经科学、计算机科学和生物科学的结合，已经把意识哲学问题向前推进了一大步。我们已经比较清楚，大脑的每种活动在某个区域会出现反应。现在剩下的这个“困难问题”就是：我们仍然不清楚为什么我们会有“自我意识”这种感知。
这种意识的自我感知能力，就好比——我知道我正在思考问题，以及我知道“我知道我正在思考问题”。如此循环递归上去——那个最初知道这一切的“我”是谁？
现在人工智能可以做很复杂的工作，甚至看上去“会思考”。可是当它思考一个问题的时候，它知道自己正在思考吗？这就是意识的自我感知。
如此深究下去，不得不承认：我们对自身的了解太少了，我们自己的内心，就是无常的。
人类发展出了理性，对确定性有一种天然的依赖。可是人类的理性非常有限，于是便充满了无常。也许无常就是人生的常态，就是世界本来的样子。
On Impermanence
We often say, “The world is impermanent.” Everything in this world is constantly changing, often beyond our plans and expectations. This is what we call impermanence. Impermanence is a Buddhist concept—it refers to the idea that all things are in a state of continuous flux, and that nothing remains eternal or unchanging. Because everything is impermanent, our lives rise and fall with countless unforeseen changes and challenges.
However, if we think more carefully, impermanence is not that simple. When we lament the impermanence of the world, we are in fact comparing it to something constant within ourselves. It is because we yearn for constancy that we become aware of impermanence. The external world, in itself, is neither “impermanent” nor “permanent”—it simply is the way it is.
At different stages of life, everyone has different aspirations. As students, we want good grades; when we grow up, we seek a good partner and a stable job; after establishing a family, we hope for a happy life. Our desires are constantly shifting. Social conventions seem to offer a default template: each stage comes with its own set of tasks. These familiar patterns bring a sense of order, as if life follows certain rules. To a large extent, they help ease the anxiety brought about by life’s unpredictability.
Yet, upon deeper observation, we realize that at every stage, even every single day or moment, our thoughts are different, and so are our desires. Humans have developed the ability to reason, and we tend to seek rational explanations for everything we encounter. Unfortunately, reason is limited. In many cases, reason fails us. At such moments, we begin to feel impermanence—we experience the confusion, fear, novelty, anticipation, and stimulation that come with uncertainty.
Our inner world and the outer world are never quite in sync. And this lack of harmony is, in fact, the normal state of existence.
Nowadays, many people practice meditation, believing that “thinking of nothing” is the goal. But that’s not quite right. The human mind, consciousness, and subconsciousness can never truly stop thinking—unless the system shuts down completely. Otherwise, we are always thinking, consciously or unconsciously. Achieving a state of complete thoughtlessness is impossible. The real aim of meditation is not to think about nothing, but to focus the mind on one single thing—something that does not easily stir thoughts, emotions, or sensations. For example, silently counting “one, two, three, four” in your mind, or focusing on your breath.
Meditation is a way to confront inner impermanence. But as long as we are alive, this inner impermanence persists. It is, in fact, the normal state of life—proof that we are alive. Many people may find that once they reach a certain meditative state, it becomes difficult to progress further, because they cannot oppose the fundamental force of life itself.
To take meditation a step further requires self-awareness. Put simply, it means knowing that you are meditating while you meditate. For instance, when we are thinking about something, we become aware that we are thinking about it—and we know that we know we are thinking about it. This kind of meta-awareness is what philosophy of mind calls the “Hard Problem,” a term coined by Australian philosopher David Chalmers.
With the integration of neuroscience, computer science, and biology, the philosophical study of consciousness has advanced significantly. We now understand that different mental activities correspond to responses in specific regions of the brain. What remains, however, is the hard problem: why do we have this capacity for self-aware consciousness?
This recursive awareness—“I know I’m thinking,” and “I know that I know I’m thinking”—leads to the ultimate question: who is the “I” that knows all of this?
Today, artificial intelligence can perform highly complex tasks and may even appear to “think.” But when it processes a problem, does it know that it is thinking? That is the crux of conscious self-awareness.
Delving this deeply, we are compelled to admit: we know too little about ourselves. Our own minds are impermanent.
Human beings have developed rationality and, with it, a natural dependence on certainty. Yet our rationality is extremely limited, and thus, our lives are full of impermanence. Perhaps impermanence is the true nature of life, the way the world really is.
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