第一篇：村上春樹在耶路撒冷文學獎上的演講詞

村上春樹在耶路撒冷文學獎上的演講詞（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獎獲獎感言

村上春樹耶路撒冷文學獎獲獎感言

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.今天我作為一個小說家來到耶路撒冷，也就是說，作為一個職業撒謊者。

當然，并不只有小說家才撒謊。政治家也做這個，我們都知道。外交官和軍人有時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，因為沒有人會批評小說家說謊不道德。甚至，他說的謊言越好、越大、制造謊言的方式越有獨創性，他就越有可能受到公眾和評論家的表揚。為什么會這樣呢？

我的回答會是這樣：即，通過講述精巧的謊言——也就是說，通過編造看起來是真實的虛構故事——小說家能夠把一種真實帶到新的地方，賦予它新的見解。在多數情況下，要以原初的形態領會一個事實并準確描繪它，幾乎是不可能的。因此我們把事實從它的藏身之處誘出，將之轉移到虛構之地，用虛構的形式取而代之，以試圖抓住它的尾巴。然而，為了完成這點，我們必須首先厘清在我們之中真實在哪兒。要編造優秀的謊言，這是一種重要的資質。

不過，今天我不打算撒謊。我會努力盡可能地誠實。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事實。很多人建議我不要來這兒領取耶路撒冷獎。有些人甚至警告我，如果我來，他們就會策劃抵制我的書。

此中的原因，當然是肆虐于加沙地區的激烈戰爭。聯合國報道，有超過一千多人在被封鎖的加沙城內失去了生命，其中不少是手無寸鐵的公民——孩子和老人。

收到獲獎通知后，我多次問自己，是否要在像這樣的時候到以色列來，接受一個文學獎是不是合適，這是否會造成一種印象，讓人以為我支持沖突的某一方，以為我贊同某國決意釋放其壓倒性軍事力量的政策。當然，我不愿予人這種印象。我不贊同任何戰爭，我不支持任何國家。當然，我也不想看見我的書遭到抵制。

然而最終，經過仔細考慮，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——尤其當他們警告我——“別去那兒，”“別做那個，”我就傾向于想去那兒，想做那個。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，是來傳達政治訊息的。當然，做出是非判斷是小說家最重要的職責之一。

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

但請你們允許我發表一條非常私人的訊息。這是我寫小說時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，把它刻在我內心的墻上，它大約如此： “在一堵堅硬的高墻和一只撞向它的蛋之間，我會永遠站在蛋這一邊。”

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

這個隱喻的涵義是什么？有些情況下，它實在太簡單明白了。轟炸機、坦克、火箭和白磷炮彈是那堅硬的高墻。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。我們每個人，或多或少，都是

村上春樹3 一個蛋。我們每個人都是一個獨特的、無法取代的靈魂，被包裹在一個脆弱的殼里。我是如此，你們每一個人也是。而我們每個人，多多少少都面對著一堵堅硬的高墻。這堵墻有個名字：它叫體制（The System）。體制應該保護我們，但有時，它不再受任何人所控，然后它開始殺害我們，及令我們殺害他人——無情地，高效地，系統地。

我寫小說只有一個理由，那就是使個人靈魂的尊嚴顯現，并用光芒照耀它。故事的用意是敲響警鐘，使一道光線對準體制，以防止它使我們的靈魂陷于它的網絡而貶低靈魂。我完全相信，小說家的任務是通過寫作故事來不斷試圖厘清每個個體靈魂的獨特性——生與死的故事，愛的故事，使人哭泣、使人害怕得發抖和捧腹大笑的故事。這就是為什么我們日復一日，以極其嚴肅的態度編造著虛構故事的原因。

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，他應征入伍，被派去中國打仗。我是戰后出生的孩子，經常看見他每日早餐前，在家里的佛壇前長時間虔誠地祈禱。有一次，我問他為什么這樣做，他告訴我他是在為那些在戰爭中死去的人們祈禱。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一件事。我們都是人類，都是超越國籍、種族、宗教的個體，都是脆弱的蛋，面對著一堵叫作“體制”的堅硬的墻。顯然，我們沒有獲勝的希望。這堵墻太高，太強——也太冷。假如我們有任何贏的希望，那一定來自我們對于自身及他人靈魂絕對的獨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。

花點時間想一想這個吧。我們每個人都擁有一個真實的、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，我們造就了體制。

那就是所有我要對你們說的話。

我很榮幸獲得耶路撒冷獎。我很榮幸我的書正被世界上許多地方的人們閱讀著。同時我也想表達我對以色列讀者的感謝。你們是讓我來領獎的最大原因。我希望我們彼此分享了一些有意義的東西。很高興我有機會能在這里做這個演講。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 永遠站在雞蛋的一側」

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獎

我是以小說家的身份來到耶路撒冷，也就是說，我的身份是一個專業的謊言編織者。

當然，說謊的不只是小說家。我們都知道，政客也會。外交人員和軍人有時也會被迫說謊，二手車業務員，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，沒有人會用道德標準去苛責小說家的謊言。事實上，小說家的謊言說的越努力，越大、越好，批評家和大眾越會讚賞他。為什麼呢？

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

不過，今天，我不準備說謊。我會盡可能的誠實。一年之中只有幾天我不會撒謊，今天剛好是其中一天。

讓我老實說吧。許多人建議我今天不應該來此接受耶路撒冷文學獎。有些人甚至警告我，如果我敢來，他們就會杯葛我的作品。

會這樣的原因，當然是因為加薩走廊正發生的這場激烈的戰鬥。根據聯合國的調查，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。

在收到獲獎通知之後，我自問：在此時前往以色列接受這文學獎是否是一個正確的行為。這會不會讓人以為我支持衝突中的某一方，或者認為我支持一個選擇發動壓倒性武力的國家政策。當然，我不希望讓人有這樣的印象。我不贊同任何戰爭，我也不支持任何國家。同樣的，我也不希望看到自己的書被杯葛。

最後，在經過審慎的考量之後，我終於決定來此。其中一個原因是因為有太多人反對我前來參與了。或許，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。

這並不代表我要發表任何政治信息。判斷對錯當然是小說家最重要的責任。

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

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

「若要在高聳的堅牆與以卵擊石的雞蛋之間作選擇，我永遠會選擇站在雞蛋那一邊。」

是的。不管那高牆多麼的正當，那雞蛋多麼的咎由自取，我總是會站在雞蛋那一邊。就讓其他人來決定是非，或許時間或是歷史會下判斷。但若一個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，這作品的價值何在？

這代表什麼？在大多數的狀況下，這是很顯而易見的。轟炸機、戰車、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。這是這比喻的一個角度。

不過，並不是只有一個角度，還有更深的思考。這樣想吧。我們每個人或多或少都是一顆雞蛋。我們都是獨一無二，裝在脆弱容器理的靈魂。對我來說是如此，對諸位來說也是一樣。我們每個人也或多或少，必須面對一堵高牆。這高牆的名字叫做體制。體制本該保護我們，但有時它卻自作主張，開始殘殺我們，甚至讓我們冷血、有效，系統化的殘殺別人。

我寫小說只有一個理由。那就是將個體的靈魂尊嚴暴露在光明之下。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靈魂的獨特性，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，讓人們歡笑顫動的故事。這才是我們日復一日嚴肅編織小說的原因。

先父在九十歲時過世。他是個退休的教師，兼職的佛教法師。當他在研究所就讀時，他被強制徵召去中國參戰。身為一個戰後出身的小孩，我曾經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爭中的人們祈禱。

他說，他在替所有犧牲的人們祈禱，包括戰友，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。

我的父親過世時帶走了他的記憶，我永遠沒機會知道一切。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幾件事物，也是最重要的事物。

我今日只想對你傳達一件事。我們都是人類，超越國籍、種族和宗教，都只是一個面對名為體制的堅實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。高牆太高、太堅硬，太冰冷。唯一勝過它的可能性只有來自我們將靈魂結為一體，全心相信每個人的獨特和不可取代性所產生的溫暖。

請各位停下來想一想。我們每個人都擁有一個獨特的，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。體制並沒有創造我們：是我們創造了體制。

這就是我要對各位說的。

我很感謝能夠獲得耶路撒冷文學獎。我很感謝世界各地有那麼多的讀者。我很高興有機會向各位發表演說

第四篇：學院畢業典禮上演講詞

學院畢業典禮上演講詞

各位老師，各位06級的同學們：

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

今天你們畢業了，即將離開大學校園，這并不意味著“完成”，而是用鼠標去點擊“刷新”鍵，從此以后，你們的人生將開始一段嶄新的旅程。這意味著你們要運用大學積累的知識、形成的能力、培養的素質和悟得的智慧去實現自己的人生價值。

我想告訴男孩子們，你們將是一個家庭的頂梁柱，一個企業的管理者，一個負責任的社會公民。你們要有定力、有器識、擔當、作為，要大氣、從容應對你應該承擔的一切。

我想告訴女孩子，你們將是一個家庭的核心，要用你們的愛包容一切，要培養好祖國的未來——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、秀氣和媚氣讓這個世界更美好，更和諧。

在任何時候，都不要放棄對美好事物的追求。在社會上你們會看到社會的黑暗面，會看到生活中種種的不如意，請一定不要以偏概全，請相信真善美永遠存在，請保持你的純潔善良，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，因為理想是支撐人走下去的最大動力。

要愛自己的父母，珍惜與他們在一起的日子。父母永遠會走在你們前面，他們會老，會衰弱，有一天會需要你的照顧，請耐心，就如他們當初對你一樣；請細心，他們有自尊，不一定愿意把求助說出口；請用心，如果你有父母需要你的照顧，你是一個幸福的人。世界上對你最好的人，永遠是父母。避免“子欲養而親不待”的遺憾。

不要跟別人攀比，這樣你會快樂很多。生活中總是會有各式各樣的人，才能構成整個社會。不要跟別人比，自己就是自己，相信自己有自己的發展空間，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，請尊重身邊的每一個人。只要在工作，就在為社會創造價值，就值得尊重。存在即是合理的，別人是你生活的場景、是你的世界，我們要珍惜自己的世界。請善待需要幫助的人，贈人玫瑰，手留余香。存善心、做善事，能幫助別人，證明你有能力，應該感到高興。

為自己的行為負責，守時守信。如果你還在為自己的錯誤找借口，說明你還沒有長大。成熟從不抱怨開始。要勇于承擔自己的過失并不可恥，反而會讓人尊敬。生活中的守時守信會為你贏得很多朋友。不輕諾，諾必行。那些敢于承擔大責任的人才是最后的成功者。

章乃器學院06級畢業生中，有57位同學考上了心儀的國內外高校，即將在那里度過美好的碩士生涯，請抓住這次繼續深造的機會，用所剩無多的時間來看書、學習、研究，與同學探討、與名師交流，獲取你們所能獲取的一切有價值的東西。碩士、博士、博士后是你們需要經歷的，要真正將讀書、搞研究作為你的生活方式。要成為每天發現新事物、找到新感受、解決新問題、提出新觀點、進入新領域的“五新”人才。

步入社會的同學們，你們將在國有企業、事業單位、外企、銀行、會計師事務所等單位施展才華，你們即將成為各個領域的精英，必將有所作為，請記住要不斷學習，向書本學習，向社會學習，向他人學習。社會是一個真正的大課堂，你們要學的還有很多，人生的路才剛剛起步。離開校園是你們真正學以致用，回報社會的時候。我期待著你們事業有成的那一天。

海闊憑魚躍，天高任鳥飛。盡管你們馬上就要畢業，但是畢業這個詞的“英文詞根”卻沒有“完成”、“結束”的意思，而是蘊含著“開始”和“進步”。我覺得今天我們不是慶祝“結束”，而是歡呼開始；不是紀念“完成”，而是宣布進步。我祝福你們在未來的日子里取得好的成就。

要成為有歷史眼光、有專業訓練、善于學習應變、有終極關懷的“四有”新人！要成為為家庭、為社會、為民族、為人類做出貢獻的人！要成為優秀的專業者、合格的管理者乃至卓越的經營者！女孩子要努力成為你未來丈夫所認識的所有女人的動態集大成者；男孩子要努力成為你未來妻子所認識的所有男人的動態終結者！

謝謝大家！

第五篇：村上耶路撒冷文學獎獲獎演說(自譯)

大家好，我今天作為一個小說家，也就是說站在一個撒謊專家的立場來到耶路撒冷。當然，并非只有小說家會撒謊。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，越能得到群眾和評論家的贊揚。為何會如此呢？對此我這樣回答：也就是說，這是因為小說家能夠通過撒一個圓滿的謊言，并把編的瞎話當做現實，這樣來把事實暴露在新的光明的照射之下。在多數情況下，實際上是不可能把握事實本來的面目并把它正確表現出來的。正因如此，我們把事實從其藏身之所誘出，轉移到架空的場所，轉換成小說的形式。但是，為了圓滿的達成這種意愿，必須明確地知道我們之中的哪里隱藏著事實。這是捏造好謊言所必需的素質。

話雖如此，今天我卻沒有打算撒謊。我盡量做誠實的演講。每年不撒謊的日子屈指可數，今天便是其中之一。今天我只擺事實。在日本，相當一部分人勸誡我不要到耶路撒冷出席頒獎儀式。甚至有人警告我說出席的話，會致使我的書沒有人買。加沙地區激烈的沖突導致這成為必然。據聯合國報告指出，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。

接到獲獎通知后，我反反復復地自問自答。這種時期來耶路撒冷接受文學獎，到底是不是正確；出席頒獎儀式會不會給人們留下偏袒沖突一方的印象；會不會導致人們認為我認可行使絕對軍事主義的國家的行為。當然，我不想給人們這樣的印象。我反對戰爭，不支持戰爭中的任何國家。當然，我也不想看到我的書被聯合抵制購買這種事情發生。

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。當人們告訴我“不能去”“別做那種事”，尤其是這樣警告我的時候，我就會變得想去，想做。這或許是我作為小說家的一種性情吧。小說家是一個特殊的群體。因為我們只相信親眼所見、親手所感的事情。

因此，我來到了這里。我放棄遠離而選擇了來到這里，放棄迷失而選擇了發現自我，放棄沉默而選擇了說點什么。

在此，請允許我說一點兒非常私人的信息。這是寫小說時經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，“在一堵高大堅固的墻和碰到這墻而打破的蛋之間，我通常會站在蛋這一邊。”

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

這個暗喻所指何意呢？在有些特定的場合，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。這就是這個暗喻的解釋之一。

但是并非僅此而已，還有更深的涵義。請這樣想，我們大家或多或少，都是蛋。在脆弱的蛋殼里，我們各自擁有一個富有個性而無可替代的心。我是如此，大家也是如此。而我們大家，雖然程度不同，卻都面對著一堵高大堅固的墻。這堵墻叫做體制。這個體制通常被認為是保護我們的，但它有時會自己增殖，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。那就是讓各個精神所持有的威嚴得見天日。寫小說的目的，是為了防止我們被體制的羅網所捕獵、所傷害，而拉響對系統的警戒警報，警醒世人。我從心底相信，通過寫關于涉及生死的故事、愛情故事和引人哭泣、引人恐懼、引人發笑的故事等等的小說來明確各個精神的個性，是小說家的職責。因此，我們日復一日地相當認真地編造著謊言。

去年，我的父親以90歲的年齡辭世了。我父親原來是教師，時而還做僧侶。他在京都讀研究生時，被征兵送往中國戰場。生于戰后的我，每天早飯前會看見父親誦讀冗長深遠的經書。有次，我問父親為何這樣做。父親回答說，這是在為在戰場上死去的人們祈禱。父親不論敵友，在為所有的戰死者祈禱。當時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，想對大家說的只有一件事。我們，是超越國籍、超越人種的人類，也是不同的個體。面對體制這堵堅固的大墻，我們是易碎的蛋。我們從哪里看，都看不出勝算。墻太過高大、太過堅固、太過冰冷。如果我們能夠看見勝利的希望，那肯定是堅信我們自身和他人的獨特性和不可替代性的結果，甚至是堅信來自靈魂交融的溫暖的結果。

請考慮這件事情。我們都擁有實實在在的活著的精神，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。并非體制創造了我們，也并非我們創造了體制。這就是我想說的一切。

衷心感謝“耶路撒冷文學獎”。我的書能被世界上那么多國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會，謝謝。