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On my morning bus into town， teenagers and grown-ups alike sit there staring into their little infinity machine： a pocket-sized window into more words than any of us could ever read， more music than we could ever listen to， more pictures of people getting naked than we could ever get off to. Until a few years ago， it was unthinkable， this 1）cornucopia of information. Those of us who were already more or less adults when it arrived wonder how different it must be to be young now. “How can any kid be bored when they have Google？” I remember hearing someone ask.
The question came back to me recently when I read about a 23-year-old British woman sent to prison for sending rape threats to a feminist campaigner over Twitter. Her explanation for her actions was that she was “off her face” and“bored”. It was an ugly case， but not an isolated one. 2）Internet trolling has started to receive scholarly attention—in such places as the Journal of Politeness Research and its counterpart， the Journal of Language Aggression and Conflict—and “boredom” is a frequently cited motive for such behaviour.
It is not only among the 3）antisocial creatures who 4）lurk under the bridges of the Internet that boredom persists. We might no longer have the excuse of a lack of stimulation， but the vocabulary of 5）tedium is not passing into history： the experience remains familiar to most of us. This leads to a question that goes deep into Internet culture and the assumptions with which our infinity machines are packaged： exactly what is it that we are looking for？
“Information wants to be free” declared 6）Stewart Brand， 30 years ago now. Cut loose from its original context， this phrase became one of the defining 7）slogans of Internet politics. With idealism and 8）dedication， the partisans of the network seek to liberate information from governments and corporations， who of course have their own ideas about the opportunities its collection and control might afford.
But before there was a web for search engines to index， Brand had co-founded the WELL （the“Whole Earth Lectronic Link”）， a bulletin board launched from the Whole Earth offices in 1985. Its members pushed through the limitations of the available technology to discover something resembling a 9）virtual community. At the core of this group were veterans of 10）the Farm， one of the few hippie communes to outlast the early years of idealism and chaos.
Journalist John Markoff， himself an early contributor to the WELL， gave a broader history of how the counterculture shaped personal computing in his book What the Dormouse Said （2005）. The Internet needed a story that would make sense to those who would never be interested in the 11）TCP/IP， and the counterculture survivors gave it one： turn on， tune in， drop out. In this new version of the fable， information took the place of 12）LSD， the magic substance whose consumption could transform the world.
The trouble is that information doesn’t nourish us. Worse， in the end， it turns out to be boring. Though， however boring， knowledge can give rise to meaning. And if there is an antidote to boredom， it is not information but meaning.
Information is perhaps the rawest material in the process out of which we arrive at meaning. But the journey from information to meaning involves more than simply 13）filtering the signal from the noise. And boredom is not an 14）inherent quality of the human condition， but rather it has a history， which began around the 18th century and embraced the whole Western world， and which presents an evolution from the 18th to the 21st century.
When the Internet arrived， it seemed to promise a liberation from the boredom of industrial society， a 15）psychedelic jet-spray of information into every otherwise tedious corner of our lives. In fact， at its best， it is something else： a remarkable helper in the search for meaningful connections. But if the deep roots of boredom are in a lack of meaning， rather than a shortage of stimuli， and if there is a subtle， multilayered process by which information can give rise to meaning， then the constant flow of information to which we are becoming habituated cannot deliver on such a promise. At best， it allows us to distract ourselves with the potentially endless 16）deferral of clicking from one link to another. Yet sooner or later we wash up downstream in some far corner of the web， wondering where the time went. The experience of being carried on these currents is quite different to the patient， unpredictable process that leads towards meaning.
The latter requires， among other things， space for reflection—allowing what we have already absorbed to settle， waiting to see what patterns emerge. Find the corners of our lives in which we can unplug， the days on which it is possible to refuse the urgency of the inbox， the activities that will not be rushed. Switch off the infinity machine， not forever， nor because there is anything bad about it， but out of recognition of our own 17）finitude： there is only so much information any of us can bear， and we cannot go fishing in the stream if we are drowning in it. As any survivor of the 1960s counterculture could tell us， it is best to treat magic substances with respect—and to be careful about the 18）dosage.
每天上午乘坐公共汽车进城，我都会看到，坐在车上的大人小孩都盯着手中那无远弗届的小设备：一个口袋大小的窗口，潜藏着多不胜读的信息，多不胜听的音乐，还有目不暇接的裸露照片。直到几年前，能获得这么庞大的信息量简直不可思议。我们这些在信息时代到来时已然长大的人会想，有了这些科技，孩子们的生活肯定是大不相同了。“有了谷歌，哪有小孩还会无聊？”我记得听谁这么问过。
这个问题在我最近读到某个报道时又引起一番反思。一名23岁的英国女子因通过推特微博向一位女权主义活动家发送强奸威胁而被捕入狱。她对自己此种行为的解释是自己“喝醉了”，觉得“穷极无聊”。这是个恶劣的案子，但却并不鲜见。网络黑子这种现象已经开始受到学者们的注意——在诸如《礼貌研究期刊》和与之相似的《语言攻击与冲突期刊》中，“无聊”是一个频繁被引用来解释此类行为的动机。
其实不仅仅是潜伏在互联网桥底下伺机出击的反社会群体闷喊无聊。我们或许不能再以缺乏刺激为借口，但是单调乏味这个词却并未遁入历史：我们大多数人还是常感生活乏闷。由此产生了一个疑问，其涉及网络文化的深层意义，直指这些无界电子设备捆绑并存的概念思维：我们到底在寻找什么？
“资讯渴望自由”——30年前斯图尔特·布兰德曾这么说道。抽离其原文本背景，这句话已俨然成为网络政治的典型口号之一。秉承着理想主义和奉献精神，网络上各门各派试图把信息从政府和企业的桎梏中解放出来，当然，政府和企业对于信息收集和信息控制所能提供的机遇有着自己的见解。
而在供搜索引擎索引信息的万维网出现前，布兰德就跟其他人共同创建了“WELL”（“全球电子链接”简称）——一个由全球电子链接办事处于1985年发布的电子论坛。其成员打破可用技术的局限性，发掘出类似虚拟社区的空间。这个组群的核心成员是美国嬉皮士聚落“The Farm”的元老人物，那是经历过早期的理想主义和骚动乱象后剩下的嬉皮士团体之一。
新闻记者约翰·马尔可夫是“WELL”早期的贡献者，他在2005年出版的《睡鼠说了什么》一书中广泛阐释了逆主流文化是如何塑造个人电脑发展的历史背景。互联网需要借用一个故事以此向那些对什么是“传输控制协议/网际协议”毫无兴趣的人展现自身，而逆主流文化的幸存者为此提供了素材：开启、收看、退出。在这个新版的寓言中，信息取代了LSD致幻剂，对这种神奇物质的消费足以改变世界。
不幸的是，信息并没有滋养我们。更糟的是，其最终显现自身无趣的一面。但是，无论怎么无趣，知识能产生意义。所以，如果“闷乏无聊”有药可解，那就非意义莫属，而不是信息本身。
在我们获取意义的过程中，信息或许是最原始的材料。但是从信息到意义的过程中包含的不仅仅是简单地将噪音从信号中过滤掉。而闷乏无聊也并不是人类固有的生活状态，而是有着久远的历史，约始于18世纪，然后贯穿整个西方世界，从18世纪到21世纪以来，一直不断地在演变。
互联网诞生时似乎就许诺了解放无聊的工业社会，信息如七彩迷幻喷漆喷射到我们生活的每个单调乏味角落。事实上，信息的最佳状态是另一种存在：在寻觅意义关联时的一个非凡助手。但是如果无趣的深层根源在于缺乏意义，而不是缺少刺激，如果信息产生意义是一个微妙的、多层次的过程，那么我们现在所习惯的信息持续流动则无法兑现这样的承诺。其充其量也就是用可能是无穷无尽的递延点击来分散我们的注意力。然而，我们迟早会被冲到互联网下游的偏远角落，疑惑时间都到哪儿去了。被这些网络水流所承载的体验与走向获取意义那种需要耐心而不可预测的过程相比，两者大相径庭。
后者在其他方面之外还要求具备反思的空间——让我们所吸收的东西有足够的空间沉淀，看看最后会涌现什么模式。寻找那些生活中我们不需要插电的角落吧，还有那些我们可以对收件箱中紧急事态视若无睹的日子，那些我们可以不紧不慢进行的活动。关闭那无界终端，并不是永远关机，也不是因为这有什么坏处，而是出于知道我们自身的有限性：我们所能承受的信息只有这么多，如果我们“溺水”了，我们便不能在河流中“垂钓”。任何一个20世纪60年代逆主流文化的幸存者都可以告诉我们，对神奇物质要心存敬畏——还要仔细掂量好剂量。
The question came back to me recently when I read about a 23-year-old British woman sent to prison for sending rape threats to a feminist campaigner over Twitter. Her explanation for her actions was that she was “off her face” and“bored”. It was an ugly case， but not an isolated one. 2）Internet trolling has started to receive scholarly attention—in such places as the Journal of Politeness Research and its counterpart， the Journal of Language Aggression and Conflict—and “boredom” is a frequently cited motive for such behaviour.
It is not only among the 3）antisocial creatures who 4）lurk under the bridges of the Internet that boredom persists. We might no longer have the excuse of a lack of stimulation， but the vocabulary of 5）tedium is not passing into history： the experience remains familiar to most of us. This leads to a question that goes deep into Internet culture and the assumptions with which our infinity machines are packaged： exactly what is it that we are looking for？
“Information wants to be free” declared 6）Stewart Brand， 30 years ago now. Cut loose from its original context， this phrase became one of the defining 7）slogans of Internet politics. With idealism and 8）dedication， the partisans of the network seek to liberate information from governments and corporations， who of course have their own ideas about the opportunities its collection and control might afford.
But before there was a web for search engines to index， Brand had co-founded the WELL （the“Whole Earth Lectronic Link”）， a bulletin board launched from the Whole Earth offices in 1985. Its members pushed through the limitations of the available technology to discover something resembling a 9）virtual community. At the core of this group were veterans of 10）the Farm， one of the few hippie communes to outlast the early years of idealism and chaos.
Journalist John Markoff， himself an early contributor to the WELL， gave a broader history of how the counterculture shaped personal computing in his book What the Dormouse Said （2005）. The Internet needed a story that would make sense to those who would never be interested in the 11）TCP/IP， and the counterculture survivors gave it one： turn on， tune in， drop out. In this new version of the fable， information took the place of 12）LSD， the magic substance whose consumption could transform the world.
The trouble is that information doesn’t nourish us. Worse， in the end， it turns out to be boring. Though， however boring， knowledge can give rise to meaning. And if there is an antidote to boredom， it is not information but meaning.
Information is perhaps the rawest material in the process out of which we arrive at meaning. But the journey from information to meaning involves more than simply 13）filtering the signal from the noise. And boredom is not an 14）inherent quality of the human condition， but rather it has a history， which began around the 18th century and embraced the whole Western world， and which presents an evolution from the 18th to the 21st century.
When the Internet arrived， it seemed to promise a liberation from the boredom of industrial society， a 15）psychedelic jet-spray of information into every otherwise tedious corner of our lives. In fact， at its best， it is something else： a remarkable helper in the search for meaningful connections. But if the deep roots of boredom are in a lack of meaning， rather than a shortage of stimuli， and if there is a subtle， multilayered process by which information can give rise to meaning， then the constant flow of information to which we are becoming habituated cannot deliver on such a promise. At best， it allows us to distract ourselves with the potentially endless 16）deferral of clicking from one link to another. Yet sooner or later we wash up downstream in some far corner of the web， wondering where the time went. The experience of being carried on these currents is quite different to the patient， unpredictable process that leads towards meaning.
The latter requires， among other things， space for reflection—allowing what we have already absorbed to settle， waiting to see what patterns emerge. Find the corners of our lives in which we can unplug， the days on which it is possible to refuse the urgency of the inbox， the activities that will not be rushed. Switch off the infinity machine， not forever， nor because there is anything bad about it， but out of recognition of our own 17）finitude： there is only so much information any of us can bear， and we cannot go fishing in the stream if we are drowning in it. As any survivor of the 1960s counterculture could tell us， it is best to treat magic substances with respect—and to be careful about the 18）dosage.
每天上午乘坐公共汽车进城，我都会看到，坐在车上的大人小孩都盯着手中那无远弗届的小设备：一个口袋大小的窗口，潜藏着多不胜读的信息，多不胜听的音乐，还有目不暇接的裸露照片。直到几年前，能获得这么庞大的信息量简直不可思议。我们这些在信息时代到来时已然长大的人会想，有了这些科技，孩子们的生活肯定是大不相同了。“有了谷歌，哪有小孩还会无聊？”我记得听谁这么问过。
这个问题在我最近读到某个报道时又引起一番反思。一名23岁的英国女子因通过推特微博向一位女权主义活动家发送强奸威胁而被捕入狱。她对自己此种行为的解释是自己“喝醉了”，觉得“穷极无聊”。这是个恶劣的案子，但却并不鲜见。网络黑子这种现象已经开始受到学者们的注意——在诸如《礼貌研究期刊》和与之相似的《语言攻击与冲突期刊》中，“无聊”是一个频繁被引用来解释此类行为的动机。
其实不仅仅是潜伏在互联网桥底下伺机出击的反社会群体闷喊无聊。我们或许不能再以缺乏刺激为借口，但是单调乏味这个词却并未遁入历史：我们大多数人还是常感生活乏闷。由此产生了一个疑问，其涉及网络文化的深层意义，直指这些无界电子设备捆绑并存的概念思维：我们到底在寻找什么？
“资讯渴望自由”——30年前斯图尔特·布兰德曾这么说道。抽离其原文本背景，这句话已俨然成为网络政治的典型口号之一。秉承着理想主义和奉献精神，网络上各门各派试图把信息从政府和企业的桎梏中解放出来，当然，政府和企业对于信息收集和信息控制所能提供的机遇有着自己的见解。
而在供搜索引擎索引信息的万维网出现前，布兰德就跟其他人共同创建了“WELL”（“全球电子链接”简称）——一个由全球电子链接办事处于1985年发布的电子论坛。其成员打破可用技术的局限性，发掘出类似虚拟社区的空间。这个组群的核心成员是美国嬉皮士聚落“The Farm”的元老人物，那是经历过早期的理想主义和骚动乱象后剩下的嬉皮士团体之一。
新闻记者约翰·马尔可夫是“WELL”早期的贡献者，他在2005年出版的《睡鼠说了什么》一书中广泛阐释了逆主流文化是如何塑造个人电脑发展的历史背景。互联网需要借用一个故事以此向那些对什么是“传输控制协议/网际协议”毫无兴趣的人展现自身，而逆主流文化的幸存者为此提供了素材：开启、收看、退出。在这个新版的寓言中，信息取代了LSD致幻剂，对这种神奇物质的消费足以改变世界。
不幸的是，信息并没有滋养我们。更糟的是，其最终显现自身无趣的一面。但是，无论怎么无趣，知识能产生意义。所以，如果“闷乏无聊”有药可解，那就非意义莫属，而不是信息本身。
在我们获取意义的过程中，信息或许是最原始的材料。但是从信息到意义的过程中包含的不仅仅是简单地将噪音从信号中过滤掉。而闷乏无聊也并不是人类固有的生活状态，而是有着久远的历史，约始于18世纪，然后贯穿整个西方世界，从18世纪到21世纪以来，一直不断地在演变。
互联网诞生时似乎就许诺了解放无聊的工业社会，信息如七彩迷幻喷漆喷射到我们生活的每个单调乏味角落。事实上，信息的最佳状态是另一种存在：在寻觅意义关联时的一个非凡助手。但是如果无趣的深层根源在于缺乏意义，而不是缺少刺激，如果信息产生意义是一个微妙的、多层次的过程，那么我们现在所习惯的信息持续流动则无法兑现这样的承诺。其充其量也就是用可能是无穷无尽的递延点击来分散我们的注意力。然而，我们迟早会被冲到互联网下游的偏远角落，疑惑时间都到哪儿去了。被这些网络水流所承载的体验与走向获取意义那种需要耐心而不可预测的过程相比，两者大相径庭。
后者在其他方面之外还要求具备反思的空间——让我们所吸收的东西有足够的空间沉淀，看看最后会涌现什么模式。寻找那些生活中我们不需要插电的角落吧，还有那些我们可以对收件箱中紧急事态视若无睹的日子，那些我们可以不紧不慢进行的活动。关闭那无界终端，并不是永远关机，也不是因为这有什么坏处，而是出于知道我们自身的有限性：我们所能承受的信息只有这么多，如果我们“溺水”了，我们便不能在河流中“垂钓”。任何一个20世纪60年代逆主流文化的幸存者都可以告诉我们，对神奇物质要心存敬畏——还要仔细掂量好剂量。