那些不堪回首的“網(wǎng)”事

Jacob+Brogan

人的記憶有限，這樣的設(shè)定必然有其道理，畢竟有許多事我們不愿想起，寧愿它們隨風(fēng)而逝。然而，互聯(lián)網(wǎng)的出現(xiàn)打破了這一默契，在幫助我們記錄美好過(guò)往的同時(shí)，也將那些不堪回首的經(jīng)歷一并記錄了下來(lái)。在搜索引擎不斷進(jìn)化的時(shí)代，一不小心，過(guò)去的自己可能就會(huì)出現(xiàn)在你的面前。這場(chǎng)毫無(wú)防備的邂逅帶來(lái)的也許是甜蜜，但更多時(shí)候，則可能是尷尬、窘迫甚至麻煩。

My first week of grad school， a few of my new peers already knew me by my publication record. I wasnt a prodigy1）： My writing hadnt appeared in some prestigious scholarly journal. Instead， theyd Googled their way to an essay Id written almost a decade before， one in which I enthusiastically declared my love for playing Dungeons & Dragons2） in the young adult section of my local public library. （And no， Im not linking to it for you.）

I dont think theyd looked hard： It was easy to find at the time， a bright beacon of shame on the first page of my Google results. But imagine my embarrassment when I realized that this was their first impression of me. As future English professors， they read it with care， calling out adolescent quirks3） of word choice and syntax4） that I would have rather left behind. I never quite lived it down5）， if only because6） I imagined that my colleagues never forgot.

To be clear， though， Dungeons & Dragons itself wasnt the problem. I still play， I still love libraries， and I dont care who knows. To the contrary， it was my youthful sincerity that ate at7） me. Free of cynicism and guile， my prose read like the work of another writer. It marked me as a fraud， a wholly different creature from the urbane8） sophisticate I wanted so badly to be. Think of that moment when your parents insist on showing baby pictures to your latest partner. Even as they coo9）， you can feel your face flush， unable to reconcile this hapless10） earlier version of yourself with the mature facade youve long since erected. This is why the telltale11） traces of all our pasts sometimes fill us with shame， even when theyre not particularly shameful.

In the age of Google， intrusions of personal history into present reality have become more common—and more unpredictable—than ever before. Once upon a time， this mostly played out within families： Children paging through their parents yearbooks or siblings telling embarrassing stories about one another. But now， anyone can expose us to our earlier selves at any time. For me it was my long-since-forgotten adventures in the library. For you it might be a wild night on the town12）， a failed Ultimate Fighting13） career， or something else—anything else—that youd rather not recall. At the mercy of14） algorithms few of us understand， we live with pasts that are always on the verge of bubbling up anew. Evidence that we were once entirely different is never more than a few keystrokes15） away.

This is， of course， a different kind of shame than the sort we normally encounter online. In his much-discussed So Youve Been Publicly Shamed， Jon Ronson describes case after case in which individuals were exposed to widespread public ridicule， often for crimes16） they had considered harmless. He examines the example of Lindsey Stone17）， who received death threats after posting a photo from the Arlington National Cemetery that many considered disrespectful. And， of course， theres Justine Sacco18）， who destroyed her life when a single impolitic—and arguably racist—tweet went viral.

Singled out in every way， Ronsons subjects—and people like them—become the prisoners of others contempt. As Ive argued before， shame involves fragmentation. Its not just that were cut off from our communities， but that we are divided against ourselves19）. When， like Stone or Sacco， we do something shameful， that act comes to stand in20） for our whole person， and were brought low by the elevation of a single， isolated incident.

Today， the very structure of the Internet ensures that well stumble over the rubble of our pasts. Indeed， the more of our lives we document online， the more common such accidents will become. Unlike chronological social media timelines， the vagaries21） of search engine optimization leave us with a multiplicity of personal histories， all of them competing for primacy22）. Even when they speak faintly， they can tell compelling stories about us—whether or not anyone else is listening.

Over coffee， an acquaintance told me hed been a public social conservative during his college years， and that those beliefs had continued to haunt him long after his opinions had shifted to the left. More damning was his internship with a notoriously misogynistic23） senator， a fact that he now feels compelled to conceal. “I think people who see that must assume that Im some dyed-in-the-wool24） conservative，” he told me. Aware that new colleagues， prospective employers， and others may have come across this information， he constantly finds himself wondering whether he needs to overcompensate to prove that hes “not that person anymore.” This may be the quintessence25） of private shame， a knowledge that informs—and deforms—our behavior. Under its spell， we limit ourselves in response to the mere possibility that others might discover our old truths.

Many of those Ive spoken to tell me that theyve taken elaborate steps to escape their digital pasts. My formerly conservative friend explained that hes cautious about even revisiting embarrassing search results in private， fearful that he might inadvertently26） increase their page rank. Another friend， who was once profiled in a widely circulated article about a soft drink， has tried to pile numerous new results on top of old ones to keep people from thinking hes a doofus27）. （He asked me to be circumspect in telling his story， lest years of work go to waste.） While he wasnt really that humiliated by anything hed said in the interview， he worried that it would challenge the image he was trying to convey.

Similar fears animate right to be forgotten regulations in Europe—and campaigns for them elsewhere. Advocates of such laws claim that theyre not trying to get offending—or even embarrassing—content removed from the Internet altogether， just attempting to make it harder to find. As Mark Joseph Stern has argued， these demands nevertheless verge on28） censorship， which helps explain why Google is pushing back against them. Living in an open-access world means living with our histories.

Under ordinary circumstances， our pasts always shape present actions. But when they reappear without warning they do far more. Even in the most benign cases—like my Dungeons & Dragons essay—they can give the lie to29） our attempts at self-reinvention， suggesting that were playing roles rather than simply being. But when our ghosts are more malevolent30） they threaten to reshape every aspect of our lives. Where public shaming entails alienation from our communities， these smaller shames involve alienation from our selves. On the Internet， we are never far from becoming puppets of the people we were.

在我進(jìn)入研究生院的第一周，幾個(gè)新同事就已經(jīng)通過(guò)我的發(fā)表記錄了解了我。我不是天才，我的文章沒(méi)有發(fā)表在什么知名的學(xué)術(shù)期刊上。事實(shí)上，他們是在谷歌上搜到了我在將近十年前寫(xiě)的一篇文章。在那篇文章中，我滿腔熱情地表達(dá)了我對(duì)在我們當(dāng)?shù)毓矆D書(shū)館的青年區(qū)玩《龍與地下城》的熱愛(ài)。（不，我是不會(huì)給你們發(fā)那篇文章的鏈接的。）

我想他們沒(méi)費(fèi)多大勁就看到了那篇文章：當(dāng)時(shí)那篇文章很容易發(fā)現(xiàn)，就在關(guān)于我的谷歌搜索結(jié)果的首頁(yè)，像一盞明亮的信號(hào)燈散發(fā)出羞愧的光。但當(dāng)我意識(shí)到這就是他們對(duì)我的第一印象時(shí)，想想我有多尷尬吧。這些未來(lái)的英語(yǔ)教授們把文章讀得那叫一個(gè)仔細(xì)，一邊還大聲吆喝著文中所用的那種青少年特有的怪異措辭，這些措辭我真想棄之腦后不再想起。我一直沒(méi)有真正放下這件事，哪怕僅僅是因?yàn)橄氲轿业耐聜儾粫?huì)忘記。

不過(guò)，需要說(shuō)明的是，問(wèn)題并不在《龍與地下城》本身。我依然玩這款游戲，依然熱愛(ài)圖書(shū)館，我并不在乎有誰(shuí)知道。相反，令我煩惱的是我年少時(shí)的真誠(chéng)。沒(méi)有憤世嫉俗，也沒(méi)有狡詐?；?，那篇文章讀起來(lái)就像是另一個(gè)人寫(xiě)的。它表明我是個(gè)冒牌貨，是個(gè)與我一心想成為的斯文而老道的人全然不同的人。想想你的父母堅(jiān)持把你嬰兒時(shí)期的照片拿給你的新伴侶看的情景。即便他們低聲細(xì)語(yǔ)，你仍然會(huì)感到臉紅，無(wú)法將自己早年那副可憐相與你長(zhǎng)久以來(lái)樹(shù)立的成熟形象調(diào)和起來(lái)。這就是為什么暴露內(nèi)情的往日痕跡有時(shí)會(huì)令我們滿心羞愧，即便它們并沒(méi)有什么特別可羞愧之處。

在谷歌時(shí)代，個(gè)人歷史闖入當(dāng)前現(xiàn)實(shí)的狀況已經(jīng)變得比以往任何時(shí)候都更加普遍，也更加難以預(yù)測(cè)。以前，這種情況主要是在家庭內(nèi)部上演：孩子們翻看父母的畢業(yè)紀(jì)念冊(cè)，或是兄弟姐妹之間互道對(duì)方的糗事?？墒侨缃瘢魏稳嗽谌魏螘r(shí)候都可以把我們昔日的模樣擺在我們面前。就我而言，那是我早已忘記的在圖書(shū)館里的探險(xiǎn)經(jīng)歷。對(duì)你來(lái)說(shuō)，那也許是一個(gè)在城里尋歡作樂(lè)的不羈之夜，一段不成功的終極格斗職業(yè)生涯，或者別的什么你不愿想起的事—任何事。在沒(méi)有多少人明白的演算規(guī)則的擺布下，我們得忍受隨時(shí)可能再次冒出來(lái)的往事。只消敲幾下鍵盤(pán)，就能找到我們?cè)?jīng)與現(xiàn)在截然不同的證據(jù)。

當(dāng)然，這種羞愧感與我們通常在網(wǎng)絡(luò)上遇到的情況不同。在引發(fā)熱議的《你被當(dāng)眾羞辱了》一書(shū)中，作者喬恩·龍森講述了個(gè)人遭受大眾普遍奚落的一個(gè)個(gè)事例，事件的起因常常是他們做出了自以為無(wú)妨的不當(dāng)之舉。他剖析了琳賽·斯通的案例：斯通上傳了一張?jiān)诎㈧`頓國(guó)家公墓內(nèi)拍的照片，這張照片被許多人視為不敬，此后她收到了死亡威脅。當(dāng)然，還有賈絲廷·薩科：在她發(fā)布的一條欠考慮的—也可以說(shuō)是種族主義的—推文迅速傳開(kāi)后，她斷送了自己的人生。

龍森的書(shū)中涉及的人物—以及像他們一樣的人—在各個(gè)方面都被人區(qū)別對(duì)待，成了受困于他人的鄙視之中的囚徒。正如我以前論述過(guò)的，羞恥會(huì)帶來(lái)分裂。我們不僅從所在的群體被隔絕開(kāi)，我們的自我也會(huì)分裂。當(dāng)我們像斯通或薩科那樣做了不光彩的事，那一個(gè)行為就代替了我們整個(gè)人，抬高某個(gè)單一、孤立事件的重要性使我們的整體形象惡化。

當(dāng)今，網(wǎng)絡(luò)特有的結(jié)構(gòu)注定了我們會(huì)因自己的過(guò)去而栽跟頭。事實(shí)上，我們?cè)诰W(wǎng)上記錄的個(gè)人生活越多，這類事件就會(huì)變得越加普遍。與社交媒體上按照時(shí)間順序排列的記錄不同，難以捉摸的搜索引擎優(yōu)化操作將各式各樣的個(gè)人歷史信息展現(xiàn)在我們面前，所有這些信息都在爭(zhēng)奪最重要的位置。它們即使只發(fā)出微弱的聲音，也能講述一些與我們有關(guān)的吸引人的 故事—無(wú)論是否有人聽(tīng)。

一個(gè)熟人在喝咖啡時(shí)告訴我，他在大學(xué)時(shí)代是個(gè)公開(kāi)的社會(huì)保守派，在他的觀點(diǎn)業(yè)已轉(zhuǎn)左許久之后，過(guò)去的信仰仍令他困擾不已。更糟糕的是，他曾經(jīng)在一位歧視女性出了名的參議員手下當(dāng)過(guò)實(shí)習(xí)生，對(duì)于這一事實(shí)，他現(xiàn)在感到不得不加以隱瞞。他對(duì)我說(shuō)：“我想，得知這件事的人一定會(huì)想當(dāng)然地認(rèn)為我是個(gè)十足的保守分子?！彼佬峦?、潛在雇主和其他人可能已經(jīng)偶然獲悉了這一信息，因此一直困惑不安，不知是否需要做一些過(guò)度補(bǔ)償?shù)男袨?，以證明他“不再是從前那個(gè)人”了。這可能就是個(gè)人廉恥心的本質(zhì)，一種指引—并扭曲——人們行為的認(rèn)識(shí)。在它的“魔咒”下，僅僅是因?yàn)閯e人有可能發(fā)現(xiàn)我們過(guò)去的真相，我們就過(guò)得束手束腳。

許多和我交談過(guò)的人告訴我，他們采取了精心設(shè)計(jì)的措施來(lái)逃脫個(gè)人的數(shù)字化歷史。那位曾經(jīng)觀念保守的友人解釋說(shuō)，他甚至在私下里重新訪問(wèn)那些令他難堪的搜索結(jié)果時(shí)都非常謹(jǐn)慎，生怕會(huì)無(wú)意中提高它們的網(wǎng)頁(yè)排名。還有一位朋友，曾在一篇廣為流傳的關(guān)于某軟飲料的文章中露面，為了不讓別人把他當(dāng)成蠢貨，他設(shè)法在先前的搜索結(jié)果之上添加了大量新的搜索結(jié)果。（他叮囑我在講到他的事時(shí)要謹(jǐn)慎些，以免他好幾年的心血全都白費(fèi)。）雖然他在采訪中并沒(méi)有說(shuō)過(guò)什么特別讓他感到丟臉的話，但他還是擔(dān)心那會(huì)讓他努力塑造的形象受到質(zhì)疑。

類似的憂慮促進(jìn)了歐洲關(guān)于被遺忘權(quán)的立法，其他一些地區(qū)也發(fā)起了推動(dòng)這一立法的運(yùn)動(dòng)。呼吁制定這類法律的人宣稱，他們并非試圖把具有冒犯性—甚至令人尷尬——的內(nèi)容從網(wǎng)上全部移除，只是想讓這些內(nèi)容更難被人發(fā)現(xiàn)。然而，正如馬克·約瑟夫·斯特恩所言，這些要求近乎審查制度，這也就部分解釋了為什么谷歌會(huì)對(duì)此發(fā)起反擊。生活在一個(gè)可開(kāi)放獲取信息的世界就意味著與我們的歷史共存。

通常情況下，我們的過(guò)去總是塑造我們今天的行為。然而，當(dāng)它們毫無(wú)預(yù)警地再度浮現(xiàn)時(shí)，其影響遠(yuǎn)不止于此。即使在最沒(méi)有傷害的情況下—例如我那篇關(guān)于《龍與地下城》的文章—它們也能使我們重塑自我的努力顯得像個(gè)謊言，讓人們覺(jué)得我們是在演戲而不是在做真實(shí)的自己。但是，當(dāng)我們無(wú)法擺脫的往事帶有更多惡意時(shí)，它們就可能會(huì)改變我們生活的各個(gè)方面。公開(kāi)的羞辱使我們和群體疏遠(yuǎn)，而這些小的羞恥感使我們與自己疏離。在網(wǎng)絡(luò)世界里，舊時(shí)的自己對(duì)我們的操控從來(lái)沒(méi)有遠(yuǎn)離。

1. prodigy [?pr?d?d?i] n. 奇才，天才（尤指神童）

2. Dungeons & Dragons：《龍與地下城》，一款桌上角色扮演游戲，最初發(fā)行于1974年。

3. quirk [kw??（r）k] n. 古怪舉動(dòng)；怪癖

4. syntax [?s?nt?ks] n. [語(yǔ)]句法；語(yǔ)法；句子結(jié)構(gòu)（分析）

5. live down：使人們忘記（錯(cuò)誤、失敗、惡名等）

6. if only because：即使僅僅因?yàn)?/p>

7. eat at：煩擾，困擾

8. urbane [??（r）?be?n] adj. 有禮貌的，彬彬有禮的；溫文爾雅的

9. coo [ku?] vi. 柔情地說(shuō)話，低語(yǔ)

10. hapless [?h?pl?s] adj. 運(yùn)氣不好的；不幸的

11. telltale [?tel?te?l] adj. 泄露秘密的，暴露內(nèi)情的

12. on the town：在城里尋歡作樂(lè)

13. Ultimate Fighting：即終極格斗冠軍賽（Ultimate Fighting Championship），是目前世界上頂級(jí)和規(guī)模最龐大的職業(yè)綜合格斗賽事。

14. at the mercy of：任憑……的擺布，完全受……的支配

15. keystroke [?ki??str??k] n. 按鍵

16. crime [kra?m] n.〈口〉令人不能接受的行為；使人羞愧的事

17. Lindsey Stone：琳賽·斯通，她曾在美國(guó)阿靈頓國(guó)家公墓中拍攝了一張豎起中指的照片并發(fā)布在Facebook上，在網(wǎng)絡(luò)上引發(fā)了輿論討伐。

18. Justine Sacco：賈絲廷·薩科，她曾在推特上發(fā)布了如下一條推文：“Going to Africa. Hope I dont get AIDS. Just kidding. Im white！”隨后，她丟掉了工作，并受到廣泛的抨擊。

19. be divided against oneself/itself：分裂成派系而自我削弱

20. stand in：替代，充當(dāng)替身

21. vagary [ve?ɡ?r?] n. 奇特行為；難以預(yù)測(cè)的行為（或情況）

22. primacy [?pra?m?si] n. 第一位，首位；卓越

23. misogynistic [m?s??d??n??st?k] adj. （態(tài)度、行為）厭惡女性的

24. dyed-in-the-wool：徹頭徹尾的，十足的；根深蒂固的

25. quintessence [kw?n?tes（?）ns] n. 精華，精髓；本質(zhì)

26. inadvertently [??n?d?v??（r）t（?）ntli] adv. 無(wú)意地；非故意地

27. doofus [?du?f?s] n.〈美〉蠢人，呆子

28. verge on：接近

29. give the lie to：證明……不實(shí)，證明……是假的

30. malevolent [m??lev?l?nt] adj. 含有惡意的；惡毒的