This article was converted by SimpRead; the original source is www.zhihu.com
Because neuroplasticity dictates that “gaining anything requires付出 (effort or cost),” achieving comprehensive remodeling of the nervous system (neuroplasticity) rapidly demands extreme stimulation—namely, massive loss or catastrophe. Ordinary people, living comfortably, would never willingly subject themselves to such extremes—and indeed, there’s absolutely no need to walk a tightrope without reason. Deadlines are largely useless; only irreversible consequences beyond the deadline can genuinely stimulate your nervous system. Don’t dismiss this as pseudoscience: for an adult brain to regain infant-level plasticity, near-death states may be the sole viable pathway (immersive virtual reality technology might someday assist).
Neuroscientists have reached consensus that at least 90% of our behavior is governed by the subconscious. Yet we often harbor the illusion that the subconscious originates solely in the peripheral nervous system—especially the autonomic nervous system—when in fact it likely extends beyond neural systems altogether. Current scientific methods simply haven’t detected it yet—but phenomena like premonitions of misfortune are objectively real.
Nonetheless, the autonomic nervous system remains critically important. The fundamental operating principle of our nervous system is homeostasis: colloquially, “why bother if you don’t have to?”—laziness is the default. That’s why I’ve walked one hour daily for decades—but even so, I still feel resistance every time I prepare to step out the door. Yet each return home brings exceptional lightness. Thus, I trust the Buddha’s words: all worldly existence is suffering (dukkha). Rather than fleeing suffering, accept it—resisting it wastes precious neural resources.
Currently, Americans seem enamored with spiritual practice; a “five-minute daily meditation” method has gone viral, allegedly yielding boundless benefits. It looks deceptively simple—but in reality, almost nobody sustains it daily. We cannot even endure five minutes of boredom. Hence, claims that five minutes of meditation yields miraculous effects remain highly questionable.
So abandon fantasies of enlightenment. Your nervous system cannot suddenly remodel itself overnight. For adults, the only feasible path is “diligently wiping dust away, lest it settle”—a phrase from the Platform Sutra. As for how to wipe diligently? There is no technique or method whatsoever: just do it. If you fail, resolve to try again next time—and if you fail again, resolve once more. Yes, “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow”—seemingly squandering all time—but purpose matters; whether time is “squandered” is secondary. Thus Huineng’s insight holds truth: “Originally there is not a single thing”—so what is there to “squander” or “not squander,” to “aspire grandly” or “not aspire”? Purpose serves merely to keep you engaged and prevent boredom.
Moreover, your executive function is closely tied to the functional state of your gastrointestinal tract—and organs including the heart and liver. Don’t foolishly assume it relates only to skeletal muscle. Muscle mass itself does not determine executive capacity. Skeletal muscle houses primarily voluntary motor neurons—not autonomic ones. Therefore, stimulating muscle is essentially active training of the motor nervous system. Thus, the true objective of anaerobic training is your nervous system; muscular hypertrophy is merely a side effect. Obsessively consuming creatine and protein powder confuses primary and secondary goals. Be clear: once muscle mass increases, the metabolic cost of stimulating the nervous system via muscle activity rises sharply—making it counterproductive. As for attractiveness to the opposite sex—it’s not a primary metric. Recall experiments where female chimpanzees refused to trade juice for viewing attractive males; they’d only watch for free, just like males—indicating low value.
The foundation of homeostasis is energy—specifically, ATP production by mitochondria. Training targeting mitochondria therefore does enhance executive function. But note: quality matters more than quantity. I do not believe increased muscle mass drastically boosts energy levels—though mitochondrial number rises, their density declines. Aerobic training proves superior, promoting simultaneous improvements in both mitochondrial quality and quantity—albeit at higher metabolic cost. This easily breeds the illusion of “forcing growth.” So modest Zone 2 training may be safer. Moreover, with severe air pollution today, VO₂ max training poses health risks—you’re trading high respiratory-system wear-and-tear for marginal mitochondrial gains.
Yet we face a bizarre chicken-and-egg paradox: poor physical condition makes you reluctant to move—but improving your condition requires movement. Chronic poor sleep perpetuates itself; only after sleeping well once can the cycle of good sleep begin. So don’t fantasize about sudden transformation—you can only change gradually, incrementally.
Our era often evokes a time-travel illusion—back to pre-Opium War China. Yes, the nation’s collective head-down smartphone addiction parallels historical opium abuse. Most misunderstand platform-based entertainment as dopamine-driven addiction—but it’s actually mediated by the brain’s opioid system, not dopamine. It doesn’t excite or stimulate; it induces relaxation and lethargy—visible clearly on fMRI scans. It’s something we enjoy doing, not something we desire to do. You must feel this crisis: we inhabit an environment where collective executive function is collapsing—we’re being slowly destroyed by what we love. Platforms are now essential infrastructure; reviving external “anti-smoking campaigns” is impossible. Getting “ashore” depends solely on individual cultivation.
But hold firm: all worldly existence is suffering (dukkha). You have no heaven in this life—only less suffering. You resolve to change yourself and boost actionability—but overlook the inherent contradiction: your resolution serves future comfort, while boosting actionability means enduring present discomfort. The future holds zero relevance for your nervous system—you’re trying to lift yourself by your own hair. All motivation for change serves present relief. So if scrolling short videos feels genuinely good—don’t stop. Only pause when scrolling ceases to feel good.
I propose a peculiar theory: if needle-prick pain frightens you, then slash deeply instead—suddenly, the needle prick feels comfortable. Don’t laugh; it’s practical. For example, after one hour of video scrolling, I take a 15-minute “class break”—usually meditation. The unbearable craving to scroll resembles needle pain; sitting motionless for 15 minutes is even harder—akin to the “slash.” Its benefit? It dramatically dilutes scrolling’s agony. Progressing to 30-minute meditation merely makes 15 minutes less agonizing: yes, 5 minutes feels harder than 15; 15 feels harder than 30. Eventually, you stop scrolling entirely—not for virtue, but to escape its pain. Doing “proper tasks” is equally painful—just less so.
Those who embrace “lying flat” will never grasp this logic—they choose chronic pain over acute pain. One day of lying flat equals chronic pain; working several hours then resting several hours converts it to acute pain. Working continuously transforms lying flat into joy—imbuing pain with hope. Buddhist liberation works precisely this way. Buddhist vows aren’t about conjuring visions—they’re about despair: surrendering the war against desire. Only then arises mindfulness: bluntly put, giving up entirely—no heaven or bliss awaits in this life. Rebirth? Pure speculation—logically unverifiable, lying beyond language.
Every elite you admire merely chooses self-inflicted suffering—but elitism is incidental. Suffering is life’s eternal truth; evolution demands it—and permits no alternative. Otherwise, you drown in escalating pain as sunk cost. Your greatest fortune is merely dying peacefully at life’s natural end. To date, science has observed zero cases of natural human death—excluding accidents, everyone dies of disease; no one passes the final exam. Isn’t this sufficiently tragic and terrifying? Perhaps across billions of Homo sapiens spanning millennia, not a single individual will ever die well. God—tell me why!
Puritans grasped this only partially. Their fear of pleasure betrayed equal fear of suffering—not serene acceptance of divine fate. Thus, prolonged indecision led to collapse—and they embraced superstition: love and hedonism. Love is merely hedonism’s pretext.