第一篇：村上春樹在耶路撒冷文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)上的演講詞

村上春樹在耶路撒冷文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)上的演講詞（英文）

Good evening.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 generals 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 lies.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 skilful lies--which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true--the novelist can bring a truth out to a new place 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, within ourselves.This is an important qualification for making up good lies.Today, however, I have no intention of lying.I will try to be as honest as I can.There are only 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.In Japan 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 fighting that was raging in Gaza.The U.N.reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded city of Gaza, 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.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.Please do allow me to deliver a message, 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 do it.But 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 wall.The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them.This is one meaning of the metaphor.But this is not all.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 truly 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 passed away last year at the age of ninety.He was a retired teacher and a part-time Buddhist priest.When he was in graduate school in Kyoto, 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 small 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 battlefield.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, and we are all 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 our believing in 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 would like to express my gratitude to the readers in Israel.You are the biggest reason why I am here.And I hope we are sharing something, something very meaningful.And I am glad to have had the opportunity to speak to you here today.Thank you very much.

第二篇：村上春樹耶路撒冷文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)獲獎(jiǎng)感言

村上春樹耶路撒冷文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)獲獎(jiǎng)感言

Good evening.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 generals 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 lies.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 skilful lies--which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true--the novelist can bring a truth out to a new place 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, within ourselves.This is an important qualification for making up good lies.Today, however, I have no intention of lying.I will try to be as honest as I can.There are only 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.In Japan 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 fighting that was raging in Gaza.The U.N.reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded city of Gaza, 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.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.Please do allow me to deliver a message, 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

村上春樹1 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 do it.But 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 wall.The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them.This is one meaning of the metaphor.But this is not all.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 truly 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 passed away last year at the age of ninety.He was a retired teacher and a part-time Buddhist priest.When he was in graduate school in Kyoto, 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 small 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 battlefield.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, and we are all 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 our believing in 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.村上春樹2 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 would like to express my gratitude to the readers in Israel.You are the biggest reason why I am here.And I hope we are sharing something, something very meaningful.And I am glad to have had the opportunity to speak to you here today.Thank you very much.今天我作為一個(gè)小說家來到耶路撒冷，也就是說，作為一個(gè)職業(yè)撒謊者。

當(dāng)然，并不只有小說家才撒謊。政治家也做這個(gè)，我們都知道。外交官和軍人有時(shí)也說他們自己的那種謊，二手車銷售員、肉販和建筑商也是。但小說家的謊言與其他人的不同，因?yàn)闆]有人會(huì)批評(píng)小說家說謊不道德。甚至，他說的謊言越好、越大、制造謊言的方式越有獨(dú)創(chuàng)性，他就越有可能受到公眾和評(píng)論家的表揚(yáng)。為什么會(huì)這樣呢？

我的回答會(huì)是這樣：即，通過講述精巧的謊言——也就是說，通過編造看起來是真實(shí)的虛構(gòu)故事——小說家能夠把一種真實(shí)帶到新的地方，賦予它新的見解。在多數(shù)情況下，要以原初的形態(tài)領(lǐng)會(huì)一個(gè)事實(shí)并準(zhǔn)確描繪它，幾乎是不可能的。因此我們把事實(shí)從它的藏身之處誘出，將之轉(zhuǎn)移到虛構(gòu)之地，用虛構(gòu)的形式取而代之，以試圖抓住它的尾巴。然而，為了完成這點(diǎn)，我們必須首先厘清在我們之中真實(shí)在哪兒。要編造優(yōu)秀的謊言，這是一種重要的資質(zhì)。

不過，今天我不打算撒謊。我會(huì)努力盡可能地誠(chéng)實(shí)。一年里有幾天我不說謊，今天碰巧就是其中之一。

所以讓我告訴你們一個(gè)事實(shí)。很多人建議我不要來這兒領(lǐng)取耶路撒冷獎(jiǎng)。有些人甚至警告我，如果我來，他們就會(huì)策劃抵制我的書。

此中的原因，當(dāng)然是肆虐于加沙地區(qū)的激烈戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)。聯(lián)合國(guó)報(bào)道，有超過一千多人在被封鎖的加沙城內(nèi)失去了生命，其中不少是手無寸鐵的公民——孩子和老人。

收到獲獎(jiǎng)通知后，我多次問自己，是否要在像這樣的時(shí)候到以色列來，接受一個(gè)文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)是不是合適，這是否會(huì)造成一種印象，讓人以為我支持沖突的某一方，以為我贊同某國(guó)決意釋放其壓倒性軍事力量的政策。當(dāng)然，我不愿予人這種印象。我不贊同任何戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)，我不支持任何國(guó)家。當(dāng)然，我也不想看見我的書遭到抵制。

然而最終，經(jīng)過仔細(xì)考慮，我下定決心來到這里。我如此決定的原因之一是，有太多人建議我不要來。或許，就像許多其他小說家，對(duì)于人們要我做的事，我傾向于反其道而行之。如果人們告訴我——尤其當(dāng)他們警告我——“別去那兒，”“別做那個(gè)，”我就傾向于想去那兒，想做那個(gè)。你們或許可以說，這是我作為小說家的天性。小說家是異類。他們不能真正相信任何他們沒有親眼看過、親手接觸過的東西。

而那就是我為什么在這兒。我寧愿來這兒，而非呆在遠(yuǎn)處。我寧愿親眼來看，而非不去觀看。我寧愿向你們演講，而非什么都不說。

這并不是說我來這兒，是來傳達(dá)政治訊息的。當(dāng)然，做出是非判斷是小說家最重要的職責(zé)之一。

然而，把這些判斷傳達(dá)給他人的方式，要留給每個(gè)作家來決定。我自己寧愿把它們轉(zhuǎn)化為故事——趨向于超現(xiàn)實(shí)的故事。因此今天我不打算站在你們面前，傳達(dá)直接的政治訊息。

但請(qǐng)你們?cè)试S我發(fā)表一條非常私人的訊息。這是我寫小說時(shí)一直記在心里的東西。我從未鄭重其事到把它寫在紙上，貼到墻上：而寧愿，把它刻在我內(nèi)心的墻上，它大約如此： “在一堵堅(jiān)硬的高墻和一只撞向它的蛋之間，我會(huì)永遠(yuǎn)站在蛋這一邊?！?/p>

對(duì)，不管墻有多么正確，蛋有多么錯(cuò)，我都會(huì)站在蛋這一邊。其他人會(huì)不得不決定，什么是對(duì)，什么是錯(cuò)；也許時(shí)間或歷史會(huì)決定。如果有一個(gè)小說家，不管出于何種理由，所寫的作品站在墻那邊，那么這樣的作品會(huì)有什么價(jià)值呢？

這個(gè)隱喻的涵義是什么？有些情況下，它實(shí)在太簡(jiǎn)單明白了。轟炸機(jī)、坦克、火箭和白磷炮彈是那堅(jiān)硬的高墻。蛋是那些被碾碎、被燒焦、被射殺的手無寸鐵的平民。這是該隱喻的涵義之一。

可這不是全部。它有更深刻的涵義。這樣來想。我們每個(gè)人，或多或少，都是

村上春樹3 一個(gè)蛋。我們每個(gè)人都是一個(gè)獨(dú)特的、無法取代的靈魂，被包裹在一個(gè)脆弱的殼里。我是如此，你們每一個(gè)人也是。而我們每個(gè)人，多多少少都面對(duì)著一堵堅(jiān)硬的高墻。這堵墻有個(gè)名字：它叫體制（The System）。體制應(yīng)該保護(hù)我們，但有時(shí)，它不再受任何人所控，然后它開始?xì)⒑ξ覀?，及令我們殺害他人——無情地，高效地，系統(tǒng)地。

我寫小說只有一個(gè)理由，那就是使個(gè)人靈魂的尊嚴(yán)顯現(xiàn)，并用光芒照耀它。故事的用意是敲響警鐘，使一道光線對(duì)準(zhǔn)體制，以防止它使我們的靈魂陷于它的網(wǎng)絡(luò)而貶低靈魂。我完全相信，小說家的任務(wù)是通過寫作故事來不斷試圖厘清每個(gè)個(gè)體靈魂的獨(dú)特性——生與死的故事，愛的故事，使人哭泣、使人害怕得發(fā)抖和捧腹大笑的故事。這就是為什么我們?nèi)諒?fù)一日，以極其嚴(yán)肅的態(tài)度編造著虛構(gòu)故事的原因。

我的父親去年去世，享年九十。他是位退休教師，兼佛教僧人。讀研究院時(shí)，他應(yīng)征入伍，被派去中國(guó)打仗。我是戰(zhàn)后出生的孩子，經(jīng)?？匆娝咳赵绮颓?，在家里的佛壇前長(zhǎng)時(shí)間虔誠(chéng)地祈禱。有一次，我問他為什么這樣做，他告訴我他是在為那些在戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)中死去的人們祈禱。他說，他為所有死去的人祈禱，無論敵友。我凝視著他跪在祭壇前的背影，似乎感到死亡的陰影籠罩著他。

我的父親死了，他帶走了他的記憶，我永遠(yuǎn)不可能了解的記憶。但潛藏在他周圍的死亡氣息卻留在了我自身的記憶里。這是少數(shù)幾樣我從他那兒承繼下去的東西之一，其中最重要的之一。

今天我只希望向你們傳達(dá)一件事。我們都是人類，都是超越國(guó)籍、種族、宗教的個(gè)體，都是脆弱的蛋，面對(duì)著一堵叫作“體制”的堅(jiān)硬的墻。顯然，我們沒有獲勝的希望。這堵墻太高，太強(qiáng)——也太冷。假如我們有任何贏的希望，那一定來自我們對(duì)于自身及他人靈魂絕對(duì)的獨(dú)特性和不可替代性的信任，來自于我們靈魂聚集一處獲得的溫暖。

花點(diǎn)時(shí)間想一想這個(gè)吧。我們每個(gè)人都擁有一個(gè)真實(shí)的、活著的靈魂。體制沒有這種東西。我們一定不能讓體制來利用我們。我們一定不能讓體制完全失去控制。體制沒有造就我們，我們?cè)炀土梭w制。

那就是所有我要對(duì)你們說的話。

我很榮幸獲得耶路撒冷獎(jiǎng)。我很榮幸我的書正被世界上許多地方的人們閱讀著。同時(shí)我也想表達(dá)我對(duì)以色列讀者的感謝。你們是讓我來領(lǐng)獎(jiǎng)的最大原因。我希望我們彼此分享了一些有意義的東西。很高興我有機(jī)會(huì)能在這里做這個(gè)演講。非常感謝！

村上春樹4

第三篇：村上春樹耶路撒冷演講稿

「Always on the side of the egg 永遠(yuǎn)站在雞蛋的一側(cè)」

Good evening.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 generals 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 lies.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 skilful lies--which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true--the novelist can bring a truth out to a new place 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, within ourselves.This is an important qualification for making up good lies.Today, however, I have no intention of lying.I will try to be as honest as I can.There are only 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.In Japan 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 fighting that was raging in Gaza.The U.N.reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded city of Gaza, 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.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.Please do allow me to deliver a message, 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 do it.But 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 wall.The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them.This is one meaning of the metaphor.But this is not all.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 truly 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 passed away last year at the age of ninety.He was a retired teacher and a part-time Buddhist priest.When he was in graduate school in Kyoto, 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 small 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 battlefield.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, and we are all 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 our believing in 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 would like to express my gratitude to the readers in Israel.You are the biggest reason why I am here.And I hope we are sharing something, something very meaningful.And I am glad to have had the opportunity to speak to you here today.Thank you very much.總是和雞蛋站在同一邊 村上春樹於耶路撒冷文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)

我是以小說家的身份來到耶路撒冷，也就是說，我的身份是一個(gè)專業(yè)的謊言編織者。

當(dāng)然，說謊的不只是小說家。我們都知道，政客也會(huì)。外交人員和軍人有時(shí)也會(huì)被迫說謊，二手車業(yè)務(wù)員，屠夫和工人也不例外。不過，小說家的謊言和其他人不同的地方在於，沒有人會(huì)用道德標(biāo)準(zhǔn)去苛責(zé)小說家的謊言。事實(shí)上，小說家的謊言說的越努力，越大、越好，批評(píng)家和大眾越會(huì)讚賞他。為什麼呢？

我的答案是這樣的：藉由傳述高超的謊言；也就是創(chuàng)造出看來彷彿真實(shí)的小說情節(jié)，小說家可以將真實(shí)帶到新的疆域，將新的光明照耀其上。在大多數(shù)的案例中，我們幾乎不可能捕捉真理，並且精準(zhǔn)的描繪它。因此，我們才必須要將真理從它的藏匿處誘出，轉(zhuǎn)化到另一個(gè)想像的場(chǎng)景，轉(zhuǎn)換成另一個(gè)想像的形體。不過，為了達(dá)成這個(gè)目的，我們必須先弄清楚真理到底在自己體內(nèi)的何處。要編出好的謊言，這是必要的。

不過，今天，我不準(zhǔn)備說謊。我會(huì)盡可能的誠(chéng)實(shí)。一年之中只有幾天我不會(huì)撒謊，今天剛好是其中一天。

讓我老實(shí)說吧。許多人建議我今天不應(yīng)該來此接受耶路撒冷文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)。有些人甚至警告我，如果我敢來，他們就會(huì)杯葛我的作品。

會(huì)這樣的原因，當(dāng)然是因?yàn)榧铀_走廊正發(fā)生的這場(chǎng)激烈的戰(zhàn)鬥。根據(jù)聯(lián)合國(guó)的調(diào)查，在被封鎖的加薩城中超過一千人喪生，許多人是手無寸鐵的平民，包括了兒童和老人。

在收到獲獎(jiǎng)通知之後，我自問：在此時(shí)前往以色列接受這文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)是否是一個(gè)正確的行為。這會(huì)不會(huì)讓人以為我支持衝突中的某一方，或者認(rèn)為我支持一個(gè)選擇發(fā)動(dòng)壓倒性武力的國(guó)家政策。當(dāng)然，我不希望讓人有這樣的印象。我不贊同任何戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)，我也不支持任何國(guó)家。同樣的，我也不希望看到自己的書被杯葛。

最後，在經(jīng)過審慎的考量之後，我終於決定來此。其中一個(gè)原因是因?yàn)橛刑嗳朔磳?duì)我前來參與了?；蛟S，我就像許多其他的小說家一樣，天生有著反骨。如果人們告訴我，特別是警告我：「千萬別去那邊，」「千萬別這麼做，」我通常會(huì)想要「去那邊」和「這麼做」。你可以說這就是我身為小說家的天性。小說家是種很特別的人。他們一定要親眼所見、親手所觸才願(yuàn)意相信。

所以我來到此地。我選擇親身參與，而不是退縮逃避。我選擇親眼目睹，而不是蒙蔽雙眼。我選擇開口說話，而不是沈默不語。

這並不代表我要發(fā)表任何政治信息。判斷對(duì)錯(cuò)當(dāng)然是小說家最重要的責(zé)任。

不過，要如何將這樣的判斷傳遞給他人，則是每個(gè)作家的選擇。我自己喜歡利用故事，傾向超現(xiàn)實(shí)的故事。因此，我今日才不會(huì)在各位面前發(fā)表任何直接的政治訊息。

不過，請(qǐng)各位容許我發(fā)表一個(gè)非常個(gè)人的訊息。這是我在撰寫小說時(shí)總是牢記在心的。我從來沒有真的將其形諸於文字或是貼在牆上。我將它雋刻在我內(nèi)心的牆上，這句話是這樣說的：

「若要在高聳的堅(jiān)牆與以卵擊石的雞蛋之間作選擇，我永遠(yuǎn)會(huì)選擇站在雞蛋那一邊?！?/p>

是的。不管那高牆多麼的正當(dāng)，那雞蛋多麼的咎由自取，我總是會(huì)站在雞蛋那一邊。就讓其他人來決定是非，或許時(shí)間或是歷史會(huì)下判斷。但若一個(gè)小說家選擇寫出站在高牆那一方的作品，不論他有任何理由，這作品的價(jià)值何在？

這代表什麼？在大多數(shù)的狀況下，這是很顯而易見的。轟炸機(jī)、戰(zhàn)車、火箭與白磷彈是那堵高牆。被壓碎、燒焦、射殺的手無寸鐵的平民則是雞蛋。這是這比喻的一個(gè)角度。

不過，並不是只有一個(gè)角度，還有更深的思考。這樣想吧。我們每個(gè)人或多或少都是一顆雞蛋。我們都是獨(dú)一無二，裝在脆弱容器理的靈魂。對(duì)我來說是如此，對(duì)諸位來說也是一樣。我們每個(gè)人也或多或少，必須面對(duì)一堵高牆。這高牆的名字叫做體制。體制本該保護(hù)我們，但有時(shí)它卻自作主張，開始?xì)垰⑽覀?，甚至讓我們冷血、有效，系統(tǒng)化的殘殺別人。

我寫小說只有一個(gè)理由。那就是將個(gè)體的靈魂尊嚴(yán)暴露在光明之下。故事的目的是在警醒世人，將一道光束照在體系上，避免它將我們的靈魂吞沒，剝奪靈魂的意義。我深信小說家就該揭露每個(gè)靈魂的獨(dú)特性，藉由故事來釐清它。用生與死的故事，愛的故事，讓人們落淚的故事，讓人們因恐懼而顫抖的故事，讓人們歡笑顫動(dòng)的故事。這才是我們?nèi)諒?fù)一日嚴(yán)肅編織小說的原因。

先父在九十歲時(shí)過世。他是個(gè)退休的教師，兼職的佛教法師。當(dāng)他在研究所就讀時(shí)，他被強(qiáng)制徵召去中國(guó)參戰(zhàn)。身為一個(gè)戰(zhàn)後出身的小孩，我曾經(jīng)看著他每天晨起在餐前，於我們家的佛壇前深深的向佛祖祈禱。有次我問他為什麼要這樣做，他告訴我他在替那些死於戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)中的人們祈禱。

他說，他在替所有犧牲的人們祈禱，包括戰(zhàn)友，包括敵人。看著他跪在佛壇前的背影，我似乎可以看見死亡的陰影包圍著他。

我的父親過世時(shí)帶走了他的記憶，我永遠(yuǎn)沒機(jī)會(huì)知道一切。但那被死亡包圍的背影留在我的記憶中。這是我從他身上繼承的少數(shù)幾件事物，也是最重要的事物。

我今日只想對(duì)你傳達(dá)一件事。我們都是人類，超越國(guó)籍、種族和宗教，都只是一個(gè)面對(duì)名為體制的堅(jiān)實(shí)高牆的一枚脆弱雞蛋。不論從任何角度來看，我們都毫無勝機(jī)。高牆太高、太堅(jiān)硬，太冰冷。唯一勝過它的可能性只有來自我們將靈魂結(jié)為一體，全心相信每個(gè)人的獨(dú)特和不可取代性所產(chǎn)生的溫暖。

請(qǐng)各位停下來想一想。我們每個(gè)人都擁有一個(gè)獨(dú)特的，活生生的靈魂。體制卻沒有。我們不能容許體制踐踏我們。我們不能容許體制自行其是。體制並沒有創(chuàng)造我們：是我們創(chuàng)造了體制。

這就是我要對(duì)各位說的。

我很感謝能夠獲得耶路撒冷文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)。我很感謝世界各地有那麼多的讀者。我很高興有機(jī)會(huì)向各位發(fā)表演說

第四篇：學(xué)院畢業(yè)典禮上演講詞

學(xué)院畢業(yè)典禮上演講詞

各位老師，各位06級(jí)的同學(xué)們：

下午好！非常榮幸能夠作為導(dǎo)師代表向即將踏入畢業(yè)的你們表達(dá)我的期待和祝福。首先我要祝賀你們順利完成了大學(xué)本科學(xué)業(yè)，在四年的大學(xué)時(shí)光中，你們通過自己的努力學(xué)到了專業(yè)知識(shí)，更樹立了良好的人生觀和價(jià)值觀。在這里，我首先要向同學(xué)們表示衷心地祝賀！

今天你們畢業(yè)了，即將離開大學(xué)校園，這并不意味著“完成”，而是用鼠標(biāo)去點(diǎn)擊“刷新”鍵，從此以后，你們的人生將開始一段嶄新的旅程。這意味著你們要運(yùn)用大學(xué)積累的知識(shí)、形成的能力、培養(yǎng)的素質(zhì)和悟得的智慧去實(shí)現(xiàn)自己的人生價(jià)值。

我想告訴男孩子們，你們將是一個(gè)家庭的頂梁柱，一個(gè)企業(yè)的管理者，一個(gè)負(fù)責(zé)任的社會(huì)公民。你們要有定力、有器識(shí)、擔(dān)當(dāng)、作為，要大氣、從容應(yīng)對(duì)你應(yīng)該承擔(dān)的一切。

我想告訴女孩子，你們將是一個(gè)家庭的核心，要用你們的愛包容一切，要培養(yǎng)好祖國(guó)的未來——你們的孩子。你們要用激情、熱情、柔情溫暖你周圍人，用你的靈氣、秀氣和媚氣讓這個(gè)世界更美好，更和諧。

在任何時(shí)候，都不要放棄對(duì)美好事物的追求。在社會(huì)上你們會(huì)看到社會(huì)的黑暗面，會(huì)看到生活中種種的不如意，請(qǐng)一定不要以偏概全，請(qǐng)相信真善美永遠(yuǎn)存在，請(qǐng)保持你的純潔善良，懷著一顆感恩的心生活——感謝自然、你的父母、你的老師、你的同學(xué)感謝一切幫助過你和即將幫助過你的所有的人，無論如何都不要放棄追求自己的理想和信念，因?yàn)槔硐胧侵稳俗呦氯サ淖畲髣?dòng)力。

要愛自己的父母，珍惜與他們?cè)谝黄鸬娜兆?。父母永遠(yuǎn)會(huì)走在你們前面，他們會(huì)老，會(huì)衰弱，有一天會(huì)需要你的照顧，請(qǐng)耐心，就如他們當(dāng)初對(duì)你一樣；請(qǐng)細(xì)心，他們有自尊，不一定愿意把求助說出口；請(qǐng)用心，如果你有父母需要你的照顧，你是一個(gè)幸福的人。世界上對(duì)你最好的人，永遠(yuǎn)是父母。避免“子欲養(yǎng)而親不待”的遺憾。

不要跟別人攀比，這樣你會(huì)快樂很多。生活中總是會(huì)有各式各樣的人，才能構(gòu)成整個(gè)社會(huì)。不要跟別人比，自己就是自己，相信自己有自己的發(fā)展空間，合適自己的就是最好的。要自由、自信、自為、自律、自足、自娛。要有忙里偷閑的能力和苦中作樂的智慧。

尊重他人，善待他人。不管是貧富貴賤，請(qǐng)尊重身邊的每一個(gè)人。只要在工作，就在為社會(huì)創(chuàng)造價(jià)值，就值得尊重。存在即是合理的，別人是你生活的場(chǎng)景、是你的世界，我們要珍惜自己的世界。請(qǐng)善待需要幫助的人，贈(zèng)人玫瑰，手留余香。存善心、做善事，能幫助別人，證明你有能力，應(yīng)該感到高興。

為自己的行為負(fù)責(zé)，守時(shí)守信。如果你還在為自己的錯(cuò)誤找借口，說明你還沒有長(zhǎng)大。成熟從不抱怨開始。要勇于承擔(dān)自己的過失并不可恥，反而會(huì)讓人尊敬。生活中的守時(shí)守信會(huì)為你贏得很多朋友。不輕諾，諾必行。那些敢于承擔(dān)大責(zé)任的人才是最后的成功者。

章乃器學(xué)院06級(jí)畢業(yè)生中，有57位同學(xué)考上了心儀的國(guó)內(nèi)外高校，即將在那里度過美好的碩士生涯，請(qǐng)抓住這次繼續(xù)深造的機(jī)會(huì)，用所剩無多的時(shí)間來看書、學(xué)習(xí)、研究，與同學(xué)探討、與名師交流，獲取你們所能獲取的一切有價(jià)值的東西。碩士、博士、博士后是你們需要經(jīng)歷的，要真正將讀書、搞研究作為你的生活方式。要成為每天發(fā)現(xiàn)新事物、找到新感受、解決新問題、提出新觀點(diǎn)、進(jìn)入新領(lǐng)域的“五新”人才。

步入社會(huì)的同學(xué)們，你們將在國(guó)有企業(yè)、事業(yè)單位、外企、銀行、會(huì)計(jì)師事務(wù)所等單位施展才華，你們即將成為各個(gè)領(lǐng)域的精英，必將有所作為，請(qǐng)記住要不斷學(xué)習(xí)，向書本學(xué)習(xí)，向社會(huì)學(xué)習(xí)，向他人學(xué)習(xí)。社會(huì)是一個(gè)真正的大課堂，你們要學(xué)的還有很多，人生的路才剛剛起步。離開校園是你們真正學(xué)以致用，回報(bào)社會(huì)的時(shí)候。我期待著你們事業(yè)有成的那一天。

海闊憑魚躍，天高任鳥飛。盡管你們馬上就要畢業(yè)，但是畢業(yè)這個(gè)詞的“英文詞根”卻沒有“完成”、“結(jié)束”的意思，而是蘊(yùn)含著“開始”和“進(jìn)步”。我覺得今天我們不是慶祝“結(jié)束”，而是歡呼開始；不是紀(jì)念“完成”，而是宣布進(jìn)步。我祝福你們?cè)谖磥淼娜兆永锶〉煤玫某删汀?/p>

要成為有歷史眼光、有專業(yè)訓(xùn)練、善于學(xué)習(xí)應(yīng)變、有終極關(guān)懷的“四有”新人！要成為為家庭、為社會(huì)、為民族、為人類做出貢獻(xiàn)的人！要成為優(yōu)秀的專業(yè)者、合格的管理者乃至卓越的經(jīng)營(yíng)者！女孩子要努力成為你未來丈夫所認(rèn)識(shí)的所有女人的動(dòng)態(tài)集大成者；男孩子要努力成為你未來妻子所認(rèn)識(shí)的所有男人的動(dòng)態(tài)終結(jié)者！

謝謝大家！

第五篇：村上耶路撒冷文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)獲獎(jiǎng)演說(自譯)

大家好，我今天作為一個(gè)小說家，也就是說站在一個(gè)撒謊專家的立場(chǎng)來到耶路撒冷。當(dāng)然，并非只有小說家會(huì)撒謊。眾所周知，政治家也撒謊。就像汽車銷售員、肉販子、木匠之流，外交官和軍隊(duì)干部也有他們自己的謊言。然而，小說家撒的謊和其他人撒的謊是不一樣的。小說家即使撒謊也不會(huì)被批判為不道德的。相反，他們謊撒得越大，撒得越精妙，越能得到群眾和評(píng)論家的贊揚(yáng)。為何會(huì)如此呢？對(duì)此我這樣回答：也就是說，這是因?yàn)樾≌f家能夠通過撒一個(gè)圓滿的謊言，并把編的瞎話當(dāng)做現(xiàn)實(shí)，這樣來把事實(shí)暴露在新的光明的照射之下。在多數(shù)情況下，實(shí)際上是不可能把握事實(shí)本來的面目并把它正確表現(xiàn)出來的。正因如此，我們把事實(shí)從其藏身之所誘出，轉(zhuǎn)移到架空的場(chǎng)所，轉(zhuǎn)換成小說的形式。但是，為了圓滿的達(dá)成這種意愿，必須明確地知道我們之中的哪里隱藏著事實(shí)。這是捏造好謊言所必需的素質(zhì)。

話雖如此，今天我卻沒有打算撒謊。我盡量做誠(chéng)實(shí)的演講。每年不撒謊的日子屈指可數(shù)，今天便是其中之一。今天我只擺事實(shí)。在日本，相當(dāng)一部分人勸誡我不要到耶路撒冷出席頒獎(jiǎng)儀式。甚至有人警告我說出席的話，會(huì)致使我的書沒有人買。加沙地區(qū)激烈的沖突導(dǎo)致這成為必然。據(jù)聯(lián)合國(guó)報(bào)告指出，被封鎖的加沙市有多于1000人喪命，他們大部分是手無寸鐵的平民，也就是老人和孩子。

接到獲獎(jiǎng)通知后，我反反復(fù)復(fù)地自問自答。這種時(shí)期來耶路撒冷接受文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)，到底是不是正確；出席頒獎(jiǎng)儀式會(huì)不會(huì)給人們留下偏袒沖突一方的印象；會(huì)不會(huì)導(dǎo)致人們認(rèn)為我認(rèn)可行使絕對(duì)軍事主義的國(guó)家的行為。當(dāng)然，我不想給人們這樣的印象。我反對(duì)戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)，不支持戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)中的任何國(guó)家。當(dāng)然，我也不想看到我的書被聯(lián)合抵制購(gòu)買這種事情發(fā)生。

然而，慎重考慮之后，我最終決定出席。這樣決定的原因之一，就是有很多人勸誡我不要出席。大概和其他小說家一樣，我也傾向和他人的勸誡背道而馳。當(dāng)人們告訴我“不能去”“別做那種事”，尤其是這樣警告我的時(shí)候，我就會(huì)變得想去，想做。這或許是我作為小說家的一種性情吧。小說家是一個(gè)特殊的群體。因?yàn)槲覀冎幌嘈庞H眼所見、親手所感的事情。

因此，我來到了這里。我放棄遠(yuǎn)離而選擇了來到這里，放棄迷失而選擇了發(fā)現(xiàn)自我，放棄沉默而選擇了說點(diǎn)什么。

在此，請(qǐng)?jiān)试S我說一點(diǎn)兒非常私人的信息。這是寫小說時(shí)經(jīng)常停留在心里的一句話。雖然沒想過把它寫在紙上貼到墻上，卻銘刻心間。這句話就是，“在一堵高大堅(jiān)固的墻和碰到這墻而打破的蛋之間，我通常會(huì)站在蛋這一邊?！?/p>

就是這樣，即便墻再正確，蛋再有錯(cuò)，我依然站在蛋這一邊?；蛟S其他人會(huì)決定什么是正確的什么是錯(cuò)誤的，或許時(shí)間和歷史會(huì)這樣做。但是，不管什么原因，如果有小說家站在墻的一邊創(chuàng)作，那么我們還能從他的作品中看出什么價(jià)值嗎？

這個(gè)暗喻所指何意呢？在有些特定的場(chǎng)合，這再明顯不過了。炸彈、坦克、火箭彈、白磷彈就是一堵高大的墻。被這些東西碾碎、焚燒、槍擊的手無寸鐵的平民就是蛋。這就是這個(gè)暗喻的解釋之一。

但是并非僅此而已，還有更深的涵義。請(qǐng)這樣想，我們大家或多或少，都是蛋。在脆弱的蛋殼里，我們各自擁有一個(gè)富有個(gè)性而無可替代的心。我是如此，大家也是如此。而我們大家，雖然程度不同，卻都面對(duì)著一堵高大堅(jiān)固的墻。這堵墻叫做體制。這個(gè)體制通常被認(rèn)為是保護(hù)我們的，但它有時(shí)會(huì)自己增殖，殺害我們，甚至慫恿我們冷酷、有效、有組織地殺害他人。

我寫小說的目的只有一個(gè)。那就是讓各個(gè)精神所持有的威嚴(yán)得見天日。寫小說的目的，是為了防止我們被體制的羅網(wǎng)所捕獵、所傷害，而拉響對(duì)系統(tǒng)的警戒警報(bào)，警醒世人。我從心底相信，通過寫關(guān)于涉及生死的故事、愛情故事和引人哭泣、引人恐懼、引人發(fā)笑的故事等等的小說來明確各個(gè)精神的個(gè)性，是小說家的職責(zé)。因此，我們?nèi)諒?fù)一日地相當(dāng)認(rèn)真地編造著謊言。

去年，我的父親以90歲的年齡辭世了。我父親原來是教師，時(shí)而還做僧侶。他在京都讀研究生時(shí)，被征兵送往中國(guó)戰(zhàn)場(chǎng)。生于戰(zhàn)后的我，每天早飯前會(huì)看見父親誦讀冗長(zhǎng)深遠(yuǎn)的經(jīng)書。有次，我問父親為何這樣做。父親回答說，這是在為在戰(zhàn)場(chǎng)上死去的人們祈禱。父親不論敵友，在為所有的戰(zhàn)死者祈禱。當(dāng)時(shí)看著父親在佛前正坐的光輝背影，我感覺他的周圍縈繞著死的陰影。

父親去世了，把我絕對(duì)不得而知的記憶也一并帶走了。但是，在父親周圍潛伏著的死，卻留在了我的記憶里。以上是關(guān)于我父親的事，只是稍微說說，但也是最重要的事情之一。

今天，想對(duì)大家說的只有一件事。我們，是超越國(guó)籍、超越人種的人類，也是不同的個(gè)體。面對(duì)體制這堵堅(jiān)固的大墻，我們是易碎的蛋。我們從哪里看，都看不出勝算。墻太過高大、太過堅(jiān)固、太過冰冷。如果我們能夠看見勝利的希望，那肯定是堅(jiān)信我們自身和他人的獨(dú)特性和不可替代性的結(jié)果，甚至是堅(jiān)信來自靈魂交融的溫暖的結(jié)果。

請(qǐng)考慮這件事情。我們都擁有實(shí)實(shí)在在的活著的精神，而體制卻沒有。我們不能允許體制把我們作為食物，不能允許體制自我增殖。并非體制創(chuàng)造了我們，也并非我們創(chuàng)造了體制。這就是我想說的一切。

衷心感謝“耶路撒冷文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)”。我的書能被世界上那么多國(guó)家的人們閱讀是件令我很高興的事。感謝耶路撒冷的讀者們。我之所以來這里的最大理由，是大家在這里。希望我們能夠共享一些有意義的事情。感謝大家今天能給我在這里講話的機(jī)會(huì)，謝謝。