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.
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.

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

译文：

今天我作为一个小说家来到耶路撒冷，也就是说，作为一个职业撒谎者。

当然，并不只有小说家才撒谎。政治家也做这个，我们都知道。外交官和军人有时也说他们自己的那种谎，二手车销售员、肉贩和建筑商也是。但小说家的谎言与其他人的不同，因为没有人会批评小说家说谎不道德。甚至，他说的谎言越好、越大、制造谎言的方式越有独创性，他就越有可能受到公众和评论家的表扬。为什么会这样呢？

我的回答会是这样：即，通过讲述精巧的谎言——也就是说，通过编造看起来是真实的虚构故事——小说家能够把一种真实带到新的地方，赋予它新的见解。在多数情况下，要以原初的形态领会一个事实并准确描绘它，几乎是不可能的。因此我们把事实从它的藏身之处诱出，将之转移到虚构之地，用虚构的形式取而代之，以试图抓住它的尾巴。然而，为了完成这点，我们必须首先厘清在我们之中真实在哪儿。要编造优秀的谎言，这是一种重要的资质。

不过，今天我不打算撒谎。我会努力尽可能地诚实。一年里有几天我不说谎，今天碰巧就是其中之一。

所以让我告诉你们一个事实。很多人建议我不要来这儿领取耶路撒冷奖。有些人甚至警告我，如果我来，他们就会策划抵制我的书。

此中的原因，当然是肆虐于加沙地区的激烈战争。联合国报道，有超过一千多人在被封锁的加沙城内失去了生命，其中不少是手无寸铁的公民——孩子和老人。

收到获奖通知后，我多次问自己，是否要在像这样的时候到以色列来，接受一个文学奖是不是合适，这是否会造成一种印象，让人以为我支持冲突的某一方，以为我赞同某国决意释放其压倒性军事力量的政策。当然，我不愿予人这种印象。我不赞同任何战争，我不支持任何国家。当然，我也不想看见我的书遭到抵制。

然而最终，经过仔细考虑，我下定决心来到这里。我如此决定的原因之一是，有太多人建议我不要来。或许，就像许多其他小说家，对于人们要我做的事，我倾向于反其道而行之。如果人们告诉我——尤其当他们警告我——“别去那儿，”“别做那个，”我就倾向于想去那儿，想做那个。你们或许可以说，这是我作为小说家的天性。小说家是异类。他们不能真正相信任何他们没有亲眼看过、亲手接触过的东西。

而那就是我为什么在这儿。我宁愿来这儿，而非呆在远处。我宁愿亲眼来看，而非不去观看。我宁愿向你们演讲，而非什么都不说。

这并不是说我来这儿，是来传达政治讯息的。当然，做出是非判断是小说家最重要的职责之一。

然而，把这些判断传达给他人的方式，要留给每个作家来决定。我自己宁愿把它们转化为故事——趋向于超现实的故事。因此今天我不打算站在你们面前，传达直接的政治讯息。

但请你们允许我发表一条非常私人的讯息。这是我写小说时一直记在心里的东西。我从未郑重其事到把它写在纸上，贴到墙上：而宁愿，把它刻在我内心的墙上，它大约如此：

“在一堵坚硬的高墙和一只撞向它的蛋之间，我会永远站在蛋这一边。”

对，不管墙有多么正确，蛋有多么错，我都会站在蛋这一边。其他人会不得不决定，什么是对，什么是错；也许时间或历史会决定。如果有一个小说家，不管出于何种理由，所写的作品站在墙那边，那么这样的作品会有什么价值呢？

而以上比喻的意义何在？有些情况下，这些意义只是太简单、太清晰了。炸弹和坦克和飞弹和白磷弹就是那面高墙。而那些鸡蛋就是那些手无寸铁的平民，他们被炮弹粉碎、烧毁、击中。这是这比喻的一层意味。

　　然而这不是全部。它还有更深的含义。试着这样想：我们每一个人，都或多或少地，是一枚鸡蛋。我们每一个人都是一个独特的、不可替代的灵魂，而这灵魂覆盖着一个脆弱的外壳。这就是我自己的真相，而且这也是你们每一个人的真相。而且我们每一个人，程度或轻或重地，都在面对着一面高大的、坚固的墙。而这面墙有一个名字：它的名字叫做“体制”。这个体制本来应该保护我们，但是有时候它有了生命，而这时它开始杀死我们，并且怂恿我们互相残杀——冷血地、有效地、系统性地残杀。

　　我写作小说只有一个原因，而那就是为了使个体灵魂的尊严彰显，并且闪闪发光世人可见。一个故事的目的是敲响一个警钟，是燃亮灯火不灭，从而令在体制之中的我们的灵魂不至迷陷于体制的巨网，不至于被体制损害。我真的相信小说作者的工作就是通过写作不断地去尝试将个体灵魂的独特性澄清——那些关于生与死的故事，那些关于爱的故事，那些让人们落泪、并且因恐惧而战栗、因大笑而颤抖的故事。这就是我们继续着的原因，一天又一天，用极致的严肃捏造着虚幻的小说。

　　我的父亲去年以九十高龄去世了。他是名退休的教师，兼一名业余的僧人。当他在京都学校毕业后，他被征选进了军队，派送至了中国。我作为战后的一代，每天清晨早饭之前都会看到他在我家那个小小的佛坛前虔诚地念经、久久地晨诵。有一次我问他为什么要这样做，他告诉我他在为那些战争中死去的人们祈祷。他在为那些战争中死去的人们祈祷，不论己方和敌方。看着他跪在佛坛前的背影，我似乎感觉到一片死亡的阴影在他的上方盘旋。

　　我父亲去世了，而他的记忆也随之而去，那些记忆我将永远也不会知道。而那潜伏于他周身的死亡气息则停留在了我的记忆之中。这是我从他那里得到的少数东西之一，并且是其中最重要的一个。

　　我今天只有一个讯息希望传达给你们。那就是我们都是人类，是超越了国籍种族和信仰的个体，并且我们都是面对着名为体制的坚固墙体的脆弱的鸡蛋。照一切看来，我们没有赢的胜算。墙太高大了，太强大的——而且太冷酷了。如果我们还有一点点胜利的希望，那么它将来自于我们对于自己的和其他人的灵魂当中的那种极致的独特行和不可替代性的信念，来自于对于我们从灵魂的联合所获得的那种温暖的信念。

　　请花一点点时间想想这个。我们每一个人都拥有一副脆弱的、但活生生的灵魂。而体制一无所有。我们一定不能任由体制去剥削我们。我们一定不能允许体制有它自己的意志。因为体制并不创造我们：是我们创造了体制。

　　这就是我全部想说的。

　　我非常荣幸能够被授予耶路撒冷文学奖。我非常荣幸我的书被世界上那么多地方的人所阅读。而且我非常想对以色列的读者们表达我的感激。你们是我来到这里的最大动因。而且我希望我们分享了一些东西，一些充满了意义的东西。我非常高兴今天在这里有这个机会与你们对话。

　　非常感谢。

http://btr.blogbus.com/logs/35673202.html