村上春樹 我永遠站在「雞蛋」的那方

http://big5.ce.cn/gate/big5/blog.ce.cn/html/95/101095-229399.html
與卵共存：村上春樹耶路撒冷文學獎獲獎辭
譯：李華芳

　　今天，我以小說家的身份，也就是作為一個職業的說謊者，來到耶路撒冷。
　　
　　當然，不是只有小說家說謊。眾所周知，政客也說謊。外交官和軍人有時也被迫說謊，二手車推銷員、屠夫和建築工人概莫能外。儘管如此，沒有人會用道德標準去苛責小說家，因為小說家說的謊與其他人不同。事實上，小說家的謊言越大、越好、越有匠心，就越有可能受到公眾和評論家的讚揚。這是為什麼呢？
　　
　　我的答案是：通過高明的謊言——也就是說，創作看似真實的小說——小說家能夠把真相帶到新的地方並賦予它新的光彩。在大多數情況下，不太可能掌握真相的原型並進行精確描繪。因此把真相從其藏身之處引出來，轉移到幻境，用幻象取而代之，意在抓住真相的尾巴。然而，要達此目的，必須首先明晰真相的藏身之處。這是編造優秀謊言的重要資質。
　　
　　不過，今天我無心撒謊。我將盡力坦誠相告。一年之中有幾天我不說謊，今天恰好是其中之一。
　　
　　所以讓我實話實說。很多人勸我不要來領耶路撒冷文學獎。甚至有人警告我說如果敢來就杯葛我的書。
　　
　　個中緣由，自是肆虐加沙地帶的激戰。根據聯合國的調查，超過1000人葬身於被封鎖的加沙城內，不少是手無寸鐵的平民——孩子和老人。
　　
　　收到獲獎通知後，我再三思量，在這樣一個時候到以色列來領取一個文學獎是否合適，會不會給人造成一種印象，就是我支持衝突中的某一方、或者我支持一個選擇釋放壓倒性武力的國家政策。當然，我並不想給人造成這種印象。我不認同任何戰爭，我也不支持任何一方。當然我也不想我的書遭到抵制。
　　
　　然而最終經過慎重考慮，我決定來到這裏。我這樣做的一個原因是有太多人告訴我不要這麼做。也許，與其他眾多小說家一樣，常常反其道而行之。如果人們告訴我 ——尤其是當他們警告我——“不要去那裏”，“不要那麼做”，我傾向於“要去那裏”、“就那麼做”。你或許可以說，這是我作為小說家的天性。小說家是異類。他們無法相信任何沒有親身經歷過的事物。
　　
　　而這就是為什麼我在這裏的原因。我選擇親臨現場，而非避而遠之。我寧願親眼來看，而非視而不見。我寧願向你們演講，而非沉默不語。
　　
　　這並不是說我來這裏是傳達政治訊息的。當然，判斷是非是小說家的最重要的職責之一。
　　
　　不過，如果把他或她的判斷傳達給其他人，要留給每一個作家自己決定。我自己傾向於把它們轉化為故事——趨於超現實的故事。這就是為什麼今天我不打算站在你們面前傳達直接的政治訊息。
　　
　　但請允許我傳達一條非常私人的訊息。這是我寫小說時始終銘記在心的東西。我竟然從未將它形諸文字裱於牆上：而是將它銘刻在我內心的牆上，它大致如下：
　　
　　“以卵擊牆，我願與卵共存亡。”
　　
　　是的，不管高牆多麼“偉光正”，卵多麼咎由自取，我都會與卵共存。別人將抉擇對錯；也許時間或歷史會來裁決。但無論如何，如果一個小說家，所寫的作品站在牆的那一邊，這樣的作品又有什麼價值呢？
　　
　　這個隱喻的含義是什麼？某些情形下，它太簡單明瞭了。轟炸機、坦克、火箭和白磷彈就是那堅硬的高牆。那些被碾碎、被燒焦、被射殺的手無寸鐵的平民就是卵。這是隱喻的一種含義。
　　
　　可這並非全部。它帶有更深的含義。仔細想想，我們每個人或多或少都是一個卵。每一個人都有一個獨一無二的、無法取代的裹在脆弱外殼裏的靈魂。對我來說如此，對諸位而言也是一樣。我們每個人也或多或少必須面對一堵高牆。這高牆名叫“體制”（The System）。體制本該庇護我們，但有時候體制不在受制於人，然後它開始殘殺我們，甚至讓我們冷血地、有效地、系統地殘殺別人。
　　
　　我寫小說只有一個理由。那就是使個人靈魂的尊嚴彰顯，使它呈現光彩。故事的用意是敲響警鐘，用光明使體制透亮，以免它網羅和貶低我們的靈魂。我堅信，小說家的任務是通過寫作故事來不斷追求厘清每一個靈魂的獨特性——用生與死的故事，用愛的故事，用讓人潸然淚下的故事，用讓人不寒而慄的故事，用讓人笑顏逐開的故事。這才是我們日復一日一絲不苟寫作小說的理由。
　　
　　先父去歲仙逝享年九十。他是一位退休教師，也是一位兼職佛教徒。讀研究生時，他應徵入伍並被派往中國參戰。我生於戰後，常見他每日早餐前在家中佛壇前長時間的虔誠祈禱。有一次我忍不住問他為什麼這樣做，他告訴我他是在為那些在戰爭中死於非命的人們祈禱。
　　
　　他為所有死去的人祈禱，不論敵友。凝視著他跪在佛壇前的背影，我仿佛感到死亡的陰影包圍了他。
　　
　　父親走了，帶走了他的記憶，我永遠不可能知道的記憶。但那被死亡包圍的陰影留在了我的記憶裏。這是我從他那裏繼承的少數幾樣東西之一，也是最重要的東西。
　　
　　今天我只希望向你們傳達一件事情。我們都是人，都是超越國籍、種族、信仰的個體，都是面對著叫做“體制”的銅牆鐵壁的危卵。顯而易見，我們沒有獲勝的希望。這堵牆太高、太強大，也太冰冷。假如有任何獲勝的希望，那一定來自我們對自身和他人靈魂的絕對的獨一無二和不可替代的信任，來自於我們靈魂相聚所獲得的溫暖。
　　
　　請仔細想一想吧。我們每個人都擁有一個真實的、活生生的靈魂。而體制沒有靈魂。我們不能讓體制來踐踏我們。我們不能讓體制自行其是。體制並沒有創造我們：是我們創造了體制。
　　
　　這就是我要告訴諸位的一切。
　　
　　我很榮幸獲得耶路撒冷文學獎。我很榮幸世上有許多國家的讀者正在閱讀我的書。我也很高興今天有機會能向諸位作演講。
　　
　(END)

轉載自李華芳‧小李匪盜網站
http://big5.ce.cn/gate/big5/blog.ce.cn/html/95/101095-229399.html


==================
Always on the side of the egg
By Haruki Murakami
Last update - 22:56 17/02/2009

I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner of lies.

Of course, novelists are not the only ones who tell lies. Politicians do it, too, as we all know. Diplomats and military men tell their own kinds of lies on occasion, as do used car salesmen, butchers and builders. The lies of novelists differ from others, however, in that no one criticizes the novelist as immoral for telling them. Indeed, the bigger and better his lies and the more ingeniously he creates them, the more he is likely to be praised by the public and the critics. Why should that be?

My answer would be this: Namely, that by telling skillful lies - which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true - the novelist can bring a truth out to a new location and shine a new light on it. In most cases, it is virtually impossible to grasp a truth in its original form and depict it accurately. This is why we try to grab its tail by luring the truth from its hiding place, transferring it to a fictional location, and replacing it with a fictional form. In order to accomplish this, however, we first have to clarify where the truth lies within us. This is an important qualification for making up good lies.
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Today, however, I have no intention of lying. I will try to be as honest as I can. There are a few days in the year when I do not engage in telling lies, and today happens to be one of them.

So let me tell you the truth. A fair number of people advised me not to come here to accept the Jerusalem Prize. Some even warned me they would instigate a boycott of my books if I came.

The reason for this, of course, was the fierce battle that was raging in Gaza. The UN reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded Gaza City, many of them unarmed citizens - children and old people.

Any number of times after receiving notice of the award, I asked myself whether traveling to Israel at a time like this and accepting a literary prize was the proper thing to do, whether this would create the impression that I supported one side in the conflict, that I endorsed the policies of a nation that chose to unleash its overwhelming military power. This is an impression, of course, that I would not wish to give. I do not approve of any war, and I do not support any nation. Neither, of course, do I wish to see my books subjected to a boycott.

Finally, however, after careful consideration, I made up my mind to come here. One reason for my decision was that all too many people advised me not to do it. Perhaps, like many other novelists, I tend to do the exact opposite of what I am told. If people are telling me - and especially if they are warning me - "don't go there," "don't do that," I tend to want to "go there" and "do that." It's in my nature, you might say, as a novelist. Novelists are a special breed. They cannot genuinely trust anything they have not seen with their own eyes or touched with their own hands.

And that is why I am here. I chose to come here rather than stay away. I chose to see for myself rather than not to see. I chose to speak to you rather than to say nothing.

This is not to say that I am here to deliver a political message. To make judgments about right and wrong is one of the novelist's most important duties, of course.

It is left to each writer, however, to decide upon the form in which he or she will convey those judgments to others. I myself prefer to transform them into stories - stories that tend toward the surreal. Which is why I do not intend to stand before you today delivering a direct political message.

Please do, however, allow me to deliver one very personal message. It is something that I always keep in mind while I am writing fiction. I have never gone so far as to write it on a piece of paper and paste it to the wall: Rather, it is carved into the wall of my mind, and it goes something like this:

"Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg."

Yes, no matter how right the wall may be and how wrong the egg, I will stand with the egg. Someone else will have to decide what is right and what is wrong; perhaps time or history will decide. If there were a novelist who, for whatever reason, wrote works standing with the wall, of what value would such works be?

What is the meaning of this metaphor? In some cases, it is all too simple and clear. Bombers and tanks and rockets and white phosphorus shells are that high, solid wall. The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them. This is one meaning of the metaphor.

This is not all, though. It carries a deeper meaning. Think of it this way. Each of us is, more or less, an egg. Each of us is a unique, irreplaceable soul enclosed in a fragile shell. This is true of me, and it is true of each of you. And each of us, to a greater or lesser degree, is confronting a high, solid wall. The wall has a name: It is The System. The System is supposed to protect us, but sometimes it takes on a life of its own, and then it begins to kill us and cause us to kill others - coldly, efficiently, systematically.

I have only one reason to write novels, and that is to bring the dignity of the individual soul to the surface and shine a light upon it. The purpose of a story is to sound an alarm, to keep a light trained on The System in order to prevent it from tangling our souls in its web and demeaning them. I fully believe it is the novelist's job to keep trying to clarify the uniqueness of each individual soul by writing stories - stories of life and death, stories of love, stories that make people cry and quake with fear and shake with laughter. This is why we go on, day after day, concocting fictions with utter seriousness.

My father died last year at the age of 90. He was a retired teacher and a part-time Buddhist priest. When he was in graduate school, he was drafted into the army and sent to fight in China. As a child born after the war, I used to see him every morning before breakfast offering up long, deeply-felt prayers at the Buddhist altar in our house. One time I asked him why he did this, and he told me he was praying for the people who had died in the war.

He was praying for all the people who died, he said, both ally and enemy alike. Staring at his back as he knelt at the altar, I seemed to feel the shadow of death hovering around him.

My father died, and with him he took his memories, memories that I can never know. But the presence of death that lurked about him remains in my own memory. It is one of the few things I carry on from him, and one of the most important.

I have only one thing I hope to convey to you today. We are all human beings, individuals transcending nationality and race and religion, fragile eggs faced with a solid wall called The System. To all appearances, we have no hope of winning. The wall is too high, too strong - and too cold. If we have any hope of victory at all, it will have to come from our believing in the utter uniqueness and irreplaceability of our own and others' souls and from the warmth we gain by joining souls together.

Take a moment to think about this. Each of us possesses a tangible, living soul. The System has no such thing. We must not allow The System to exploit us. We must not allow The System to take on a life of its own. The System did not make us: We made The System.

That is all I have to say to you.

I am grateful to have been awarded the Jerusalem Prize. I am grateful that my books are being read by people in many parts of the world. And I am glad to have had the opportunity to speak to you here today.

extracted from haaretz.com
http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1064909.html