蘋論 香港蘋果日報
2014年8月20日
反佔中簽名與遊行的發動者，包括中聯辦和特首、高官，一再說是以和平手段爭取普選，他們不但把佔中派一直強調的「愛與和平」扭曲為暴力，而最滑稽的是：他們所謂要爭取的「普選」根本就是毋須爭取的中央恩賜的假普選；以和平手段去爭取一樣已經到手的假貨，目的不可能是假貨本身，而是要強調「和平手段」，並以此抹黑佔中派是暴力。
所謂暴力，是指以強制手段去使人恐懼、屈從的行徑。除了以武力之外，還有行政暴力、多數暴力、語言暴力等類別。上司以權力逼女下屬上床，是暴力；以解職和削減待遇來迫使下屬參加違反他本人意願的行為，也是暴力。暴力以支配他人的自由意志為特點。至於針對當權者的示威、遊行、抗爭，因為出於自由意志，故即使像多年前韓國示威者向警察扔汽油彈的抗爭，美國反越戰及民權運動時代被稱為城市游擊隊的抗爭，縱使手段激烈，但也不被認為是暴力。暴力通常是指對無辜平民施暴，比如九一一等針對平民而製造的恐怖活動。
世上真正擁有對平民施暴的暴力手段者，是建制力量。建制暴力擁有種種對人民的強制手段，迫使治下人民扭曲自己的自由意志。在這方面，講得最清楚的，是日本作家村上春樹2009年獲耶路撒冷文學獎的演說，他在以色列總統佩雷斯面前，公開批判以色列對加薩的軍事行動，同時表示作為文學創作者，希望透過描寫微不足道的個人，對抗既有權力和體制的深層意義。他用高牆來比喻「體制」，以雞蛋來比喻平民百姓。他說：「轟炸機、戰車、火箭和白磷彈就是那堵高牆；而被它們壓碎、燒焦和射殺的平民則是雞蛋。這是這個比喻的其中一層涵義。」更根本的涵義是：「你我也或多或少，都必須面對一堵名為『體制』的高牆。體制照理應該保護我們，但有時它卻殘殺我們，或迫使我們冷酷、有效率、系統化地殘殺別人。」但高牆是沒有靈魂的，而每一個雞蛋都有靈魂。以自由的靈魂對抗高牆無異「以卵擊石」。然後他說出最重要的一句話：「無論高牆是多麼正確，雞蛋是多麼地錯誤，我永遠站在雞蛋這邊。」
面對體制高牆，我們每一個人都只是一枚脆弱雞蛋。「無論怎麼看，我們都毫無勝算。牆實在是太高、太堅硬，也太過冷酷了。戰勝它的唯一可能，只來自於我們全心相信每個靈魂都是獨一無二的，只來自於我們全心相信靈魂彼此融合，所能產生的溫暖。」
村上春樹說：「我們不能允許體制剝削我們，我們不能允許體制自行其道。」因此要有反抗，憑着我們每個人都擁有獨特而活生生的靈魂去以卵擊石。
建制暴力除了擁有軍警等武裝力量之外，還有組織暴力和語言暴力。組織暴力是以社團組織去規限每一成員的思想行為，使他們的自由意志無從發揮；語言暴力則以忘卻、謊言、恫嚇等手段使人們扭曲自己的自由意志。這兩種暴力常會「馴化人們的靈魂」，使社會產生「犀牛化」趨向。
村上春樹指向的體制，還是文明的、民主的體制。至於專權政治的體制，則除了迷信暴力治國之外，在組織暴力和語言暴力方面更是無所不用其極了。
7.1示威遊行，和8.17的反佔中遊行的根本區別在哪裏？就是7.1遊行的每一個參加者都有自己的自由意志，是獨特而活生生的靈魂；而8.17則讓我們看到組織暴力的威力，參加者沒有一個人清楚分辨出佔中與反佔中的差別在哪裏？他們或是被馴化了靈魂，或是為了政治經濟的利益，而發動、而參加一場自己也沒有弄清楚意義何在的遊行。他們的行動表面是和平的，但實際上已成為建制暴力的一分子。建制暴力「殘殺我們（的靈魂），或迫使我們冷酷、有效率、系統化地殘殺別人。」
在反抗建制暴力中，除了武裝革命之外，任何示威活動都只是爭取自己應有的權利，是以卵擊石，都不能稱之為暴力。佔中也只是爭取《基本法》和人權法規定的香港市民的政治權利而已。在世界上所有的示威抗爭中，公民抗命、不抵抗運動更屬於最溫和的非暴力抗爭。誣之為暴力，實際上是建制暴力的謊言機制和恫嚇機制的運作。
7.1示威和醞釀中的佔中，都是以建制外的非暴力去對抗建制暴力，目的就是爭取香港每一個市民的公民權利；8.17則是以建制暴力中的組織暴力和語言暴力，去醜化公民的非暴力不抵抗運動，目的是要永遠剝奪我們的政治權利。
只要你仍然抱持着自由而獨特的靈魂，站在哪一邊應很清楚。（https://www.facebook.com/mrleeyee）
2014年8月20日 星期三
2013年8月8日 星期四
Vic - 高牆與雞蛋 共匪與港人
2013年8月7日
一、
「以卵擊石，在高大堅硬的牆與雞蛋之間，我永遠站在雞蛋這邊。沒錯，無論高牆如何正確，雞蛋如何錯誤，我永遠站在雞蛋這邊。」
這段話，來自村上春樹2009年2月於耶路撒冷文學獎頒獎禮上的演講，而這個「高牆與雞蛋」的比喻，如今已幾乎膾炙人口。
這幾句話令人印象深刻，但是光看這幾句，相信不少人會有疑問：我們難題不是應該支持有道理的一方嗎？為什麼「無論高牆如何正確，雞蛋如何錯誤」，都要「永遠站在雞蛋這邊」？為什麼村上要在演講中質問：「如果有小說家出於任何理由，寫出站在高牆那邊的作品，這種作品有何價值呢？」
高牆是什麼？雞蛋是什麼？村上在演講中是有解釋的，他說：「轟炸機、戰車、火箭和白磷彈就是那堵高牆；而被它們壓碎、燒焦和射殺的平民則是雞蛋。」而更重要的是：「更深一層的看，我們每個人，也或多或少都是一枚雞蛋。我們都是獨一無二，裝在脆弱外殼中的靈魂。你我也或多或少，都必須面對一堵名為『體制』的高牆。體制照理應該保護我們，但有時它卻殘殺我們，或迫使我們冷酷、有效率、系統化地殘殺別人。」
村上告訴我們：「我們每個人都擁有獨特而活生生的靈魂，體制卻沒有。我們不能允許體制剝削我們，我們不能允許體制自行其道。體制並未創造我們：是我們創造了體制。」
總結一下我的膚淺理解：村上將個體比作是雞蛋，體制比作是高牆。雞蛋脆弱外殼中是獨特、活生生的靈魂，脆弱的雞蛋創造出冷酷的高牆。高牆理應保護雞蛋，但有時卻會自行其道，變成壓迫雞蛋的可怕力量。
村上是小說家，他說自己寫小說的唯一理由，是透過創作故事，突顯個體靈魂的尊嚴，闡明其獨特性，防止體制剝奪個體靈魂的意義。此所以「無論高牆如何正確，雞蛋如何錯誤」，他都「永遠站在雞蛋這邊」。
但是，如果我們將村上這句話換個說法，變成：「無論體制如何正確，個體如何錯誤，我永遠站在個體這邊」，那仍是會令人困惑的，因為如果正確的體制發揮它保護個體的功能，並未迫害個體，那麼反抗體制的個體無論如何錯誤，我們仍然要站在他們那一邊嗎？萬一這些錯誤的個體推翻了正確的體制，建立起壓迫人的新體制，成為操控新高牆的壓迫者，那該如何是好？
或許是我庸人自擾，錯誤解讀村上的文學比喻。錯誤的個體如果集結成足以建立新高牆的邪惡力量，或許就不可能是村上支持的雞蛋了。同情地理解，或許村上不過是想說，他永遠站在弱勢的一方，永遠支持受壓迫者對抗冷酷邪惡的體制。高牆勢力正盛時，脆弱的雞蛋無論多麼錯誤，也撼動不了體制，文學家不同情雞蛋而支持高牆，在村上是無法理解的事。
二、
近日林慧思事件鬧得沸沸揚揚，香港頗有一些自以為清醒的人極度痛恨「潑婦罵街」、「狂妄辱警」的林老師，覺得香港警察沒有當場拘捕林女士或對她動粗，實在是太過克制了。這些人完全不認為香港警察已經淪為共匪的家丁，對付香港社運與抗共人士絕不手軟，碰上愛字頭組織在香港胡作非為卻自動腳軟失明；他們更彷彿對警察鬧出「黑影論」、「低調通緝」等醜聞完全無知無覺，至今仍然認為香港警察執法公正，不容挑戰質疑。這些人活在自己的世界中，對擺在眼前的事實視若無睹，相當可悲。
另有一些無聊人，質疑支持林老師的人：如果換成法輪功阻擋青年關愛協會橫額，有另一位教師粗言辱罵警員不履行職責，你會持什麼立場？
有此一問的人，大概是想說：換成這種情況，你們這些支持林慧思的人，一定不會像維護林老師一樣，維護替港共出頭的人，因此你們這些維護林慧思的人，其實毫無原則可言，虛偽得很。
我認為有此一問的人自作聰明。問題假設的情況，現實中幾乎不可能發生：法輪功估計不會去做這種事，而倘若他們這麼做，幾乎可以肯定會受到香港警察嚴厲對付。香港政權易手之後，香港警察在政治敏感問題上執法不公的情況至為明顯，今次林老師會憤而挺身而出，現場許多市民對警察縱容共匪侵犯他人自由極度不滿，正反映熱血香港人對警察長期執法不公之憤怒。
上述問題的一大盲點，是罔顧香港的政治現實，看不到愛字頭系列組織是偽民間組織。這些人不過是共產黨的打手，而共產黨罪大惡極，正極度嚴重威脅香港的自由民主。共匪在香港發起批鬥一位不小心爆粗的良心老師之際，你卻來問這種無聊問題，質疑支持林老師的人，實在愚昧之極。套用村上春樹的比喻，共產黨正是壓迫大眾的高牆，你卻將共產黨的爪牙視為與抗共雞蛋同等的角色，在香港危急存亡之秋，還有興致去挑雞蛋的錯！
面對一個掌握龐大武力、壟斷一切權力的邪惡黨國體制，抗共者都是以卵擊石的脆弱雞蛋，這些雞蛋不過是想保住香港這個自由法治之區。自由法治的香港容得下親共者，但共產黨壟斷一切的香港，不可能再有自由法治，只有共匪為所欲為的自由。我以為這道理淺顯之極，但香港走到目前這一歷史關鍵時刻，卻有很多中產階層自以為客觀理性，眼見一隻雞蛋對著高牆爆了幾句不雅之辭，就上綱上線，將雞蛋視同迫害高牆的邪惡勢力，要用文革方式批鬥之。有這種中產，實乃香港之大不幸！
村上的「高牆與雞蛋」比喻未必人人認同，但在華人世界，邪惡的高牆是什麼實在明顯不過，看不清楚這一點或自願站在高牆的一邊、支持高牆持續壓迫脆弱雞蛋的人，實在是枉為人也。
相關文章：村上春樹 - 永遠站在雞蛋那方
2010年12月26日 星期日
Vic - 《世界末日與冷酷異境》書摘
2010年12月26日
多年前看村上春樹的《世界末日與冷酷異境》，感覺很獨特，覺得作者想像力真豐富。但和村上多數小說一樣，看完之後，我就把情節幾乎忘得一乾二淨。對《世界末日與冷酷異境》的印象，就只留在封底那段摘錄：「雪正令人窒息地不斷激烈地下著。那看來簡直就像天空本身正啪啦啪啦支離破碎地崩落掉落地上似的。雪也傾注在潭上，被帶有深得可怕的湛藍色調的水面無聲地吸了進去。染成白一色的大地，只有潭張開著像巨大眼瞳似的圓圓大洞……」也許下大雪的場景對我總有一種特殊吸引力，就像《神鵰俠侶》第三十回一燈大師出場及第三十三回風陵夜話，給我的印象特別深刻。
這回重看《世界末日與冷酷異境》，前半部覺得沉悶，但看到解釋人腦運作的第25章，就覺得很精彩，實在很巧妙，而且有說服力。這一章透過博士之口，對大組織的諷刺也很深刻：「我實在是不喜歡這種大組織，因為他們都只為自己著想」；「所謂真正獨創性的科學家必須是個自由人」。以下這句講科學家心態，也很有意思：「科學家的好奇心這東西，是無論如何都很難壓抑的。」
第23章這幾段饒富興味：
「不管別人怎麼說，那都是真的在我身上發生過的事。那曾經被某種力量封閉在意識的深層，但由於我自身被逼迫到極限狀態了於是那箍扣鬆了，於是浮到表面上來。
是什麼力量？
那很可能起因於我為了學洗資料的能力而做的腦手術。他們把我的記憶，壓進意識的牆裡去了。他們長久以來一直把我的記憶從我手中奪走。
想到這裡我逐漸生起氣來。誰也沒有權利剝奪我的記憶。那是我的，我自己的記憶呀。剝奪別人的記憶就和剝奪別人的歲月一樣。隨著生氣之後我覺得再也不在乎恐怖了。不管怎麼樣，總之先活下去吧。我這樣決心。我要活下去逃出這瘋狂的黑暗世界，把我被剝奪的記憶原原本本地要回來。不管世界末日或什麼都沒關係。我必須以完全的我自己重新再生才行。」
第24章這幾段對話也很耐人尋味：
影子用鞋跟在地面畫圓。
「圓輪收束起來。所以長久存在這裡，想到各種事情時，會漸漸開始以為他們才是正確的，自己可能是錯誤的。因為他們看起來實在太圓滿完結了。我所說的事你懂嗎？」
「我很清楚。我也常常這樣覺得。心想比起街來，我是不是一個軟弱矛盾而微小的存在呢。」
「不過那是錯的。」影子一面在圓的旁邊畫沒有意義的圓形一面說。「對的是我們，錯的是他們。我們是自然的，他們是不自然的。你要這樣相信哪。盡所有力量去相信。要不然你也會在不知不覺之間被這街吞進去，被吞進去之後就太遲了。」
最後這段話令我想起村上春樹後來那篇膾炙人口的「雞蛋與高牆」演講。我想，這段話很適合用來鼓勵與高牆對抗的雞蛋，當然包括對抗中共暴政的不識時務者，如劉曉波。沒錯，「對的是我們，錯的是他們。我們是自然的，他們是不自然的。」
2009年4月10日 星期五
村上春樹 - 永遠站在雞蛋那方
李怡 - 永遠站在雞蛋那方
香港蘋果日報 2009年4月9日
今年二月十五日，村上春樹在國內外壓力下，仍然到以色列出席耶路撒冷文學獎頒獎禮。在以色列總統佩雷斯面前，他說，雖然小說家是所謂的職業謊言製造者，「今天，我不打算說謊。我會盡可能地誠實。」他指出，在被封鎖的迦薩城內，已經有超過千人喪生，許多人是手無寸鐵的平民、孩童和老人。他說，「這不代表我要發表任何直接的政治訊息。」他今天要「傳達一個非常私人的訊息。這是我創作時永遠牢記在心的話語。……這句話是這樣的：『以卵擊石，在高大堅硬的牆和雞蛋之間，我永遠站在雞蛋那方。』」
高牆是什麼？雞蛋是什麼？「轟炸機、戰車、火箭和白磷彈就是那堵高牆；而被它們壓碎、燒焦和射殺的平民則是雞蛋。」「更深一層的看，我們每個人，也或多或少都是一枚雞蛋。我們都是獨一無二，裝在脆弱外殼中的靈魂。你我也或多或少，都必須面對一堵名為『體制』的高牆。體制照理應該保護我們，但有時它卻殘殺我們，或迫使我們冷酷、有效率、系統化地殘殺別人。」
「我們都是人類，超越國籍、種族和宗教，我們都只是一枚面對體制高牆的脆弱雞蛋。無論怎麼看，我們都毫無勝算。牆實在是太高、太堅硬，也太過冷酷了。戰勝它的唯一可能，只來自於我們全心相信每個靈魂都是獨一無二的，只來自於我們全心相信靈魂彼此融合，所能產生的溫暖。」「我們每個人都擁有獨特而活生生的靈魂，體制卻沒有。我們不能允許體制剝削我們，我們不能允許體制自行其道。體制並未創造我們：是我們創造了體制。」
這也是我一生的信念：儘管真理（真相）對抗強權有如以卵擊石，但強權是永遠無法代替真理的。
李怡 - 職業謊言製造者
香港蘋果日報 2009年4月8日
「今天我以一名小說家的身分來到耶路撒冷。而小說家，正是所謂的職業謊言製造者。
「當然，不只小說家會說謊。眾所周知，政治人物也會說謊。外交官、將軍、二手車業務員、屠夫和建築師亦不例外。但是小說家的謊言和其他人不同。沒有人會責怪小說家說謊不道德。相反地，小說家愈努力說謊，把謊言說得愈大愈好，大眾和評論家反而愈讚賞他。為什麼？
「我的答案是：藉由高超的謊言，也就是創作出幾可亂真的小說情節，小說家才能將真相帶到新的地方，也才能賦予它新的光輝。
「在大多數的情況下，我們幾乎無法掌握真相，也無法精準的描繪真相。因此，必須把真相從藏匿處挖掘出來，轉化到另一個虛構的時空，用虛構的形式來表達。
「但是在此之前，我們必須先清楚知道，真相就在我們心中的某處。這是小說家編造好謊言的必要條件。……」
以上，是今年二月十五日，日本著名作家村上春樹獲頒耶路撒冷文學獎，在以色列政府空襲迦薩正受到國際輿論譴責時，他出席這頒獎禮，所作發言的第一段。這段話告訴我們，真相通常是無法掌握的，這也是美國前總統尼克遜說，真理往往敵不過強權的意思。但真相藏在小說家心中某處，於是他就用虛構的故事來反映真實。
許久之前我就有類似看法。五年前我在香港文學節講座上講過：虛擬的世界才有真實。因為正如英國作家奧威爾所說：誰能控制過去，就能控制將來；而誰能控制現在，就能控制過去。因此，「所有的歷史都是當代史。」只有走進虛構的小說世界，才可保留和反映真實。所以有人說：歷史除了人名和年份是真的之外，其他都是假的；小說除了人名和年份是假的之外，其他都是真的。假作真時真亦假，這就是小說的價值。
Haruki Murakami - Always on the side of the egg
25 Feb 2009
I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner 編造者 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 偶爾, 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 1. 唆使;慫恿2. 煽動,挑動 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 對準,瞄準 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 捏造 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.
香港蘋果日報 2009年4月9日
今年二月十五日，村上春樹在國內外壓力下，仍然到以色列出席耶路撒冷文學獎頒獎禮。在以色列總統佩雷斯面前，他說，雖然小說家是所謂的職業謊言製造者，「今天，我不打算說謊。我會盡可能地誠實。」他指出，在被封鎖的迦薩城內，已經有超過千人喪生，許多人是手無寸鐵的平民、孩童和老人。他說，「這不代表我要發表任何直接的政治訊息。」他今天要「傳達一個非常私人的訊息。這是我創作時永遠牢記在心的話語。……這句話是這樣的：『以卵擊石，在高大堅硬的牆和雞蛋之間，我永遠站在雞蛋那方。』」
高牆是什麼？雞蛋是什麼？「轟炸機、戰車、火箭和白磷彈就是那堵高牆；而被它們壓碎、燒焦和射殺的平民則是雞蛋。」「更深一層的看，我們每個人，也或多或少都是一枚雞蛋。我們都是獨一無二，裝在脆弱外殼中的靈魂。你我也或多或少，都必須面對一堵名為『體制』的高牆。體制照理應該保護我們，但有時它卻殘殺我們，或迫使我們冷酷、有效率、系統化地殘殺別人。」
「我們都是人類，超越國籍、種族和宗教，我們都只是一枚面對體制高牆的脆弱雞蛋。無論怎麼看，我們都毫無勝算。牆實在是太高、太堅硬，也太過冷酷了。戰勝它的唯一可能，只來自於我們全心相信每個靈魂都是獨一無二的，只來自於我們全心相信靈魂彼此融合，所能產生的溫暖。」「我們每個人都擁有獨特而活生生的靈魂，體制卻沒有。我們不能允許體制剝削我們，我們不能允許體制自行其道。體制並未創造我們：是我們創造了體制。」
這也是我一生的信念：儘管真理（真相）對抗強權有如以卵擊石，但強權是永遠無法代替真理的。
李怡 - 職業謊言製造者
香港蘋果日報 2009年4月8日
「今天我以一名小說家的身分來到耶路撒冷。而小說家，正是所謂的職業謊言製造者。
「當然，不只小說家會說謊。眾所周知，政治人物也會說謊。外交官、將軍、二手車業務員、屠夫和建築師亦不例外。但是小說家的謊言和其他人不同。沒有人會責怪小說家說謊不道德。相反地，小說家愈努力說謊，把謊言說得愈大愈好，大眾和評論家反而愈讚賞他。為什麼？
「我的答案是：藉由高超的謊言，也就是創作出幾可亂真的小說情節，小說家才能將真相帶到新的地方，也才能賦予它新的光輝。
「在大多數的情況下，我們幾乎無法掌握真相，也無法精準的描繪真相。因此，必須把真相從藏匿處挖掘出來，轉化到另一個虛構的時空，用虛構的形式來表達。
「但是在此之前，我們必須先清楚知道，真相就在我們心中的某處。這是小說家編造好謊言的必要條件。……」
以上，是今年二月十五日，日本著名作家村上春樹獲頒耶路撒冷文學獎，在以色列政府空襲迦薩正受到國際輿論譴責時，他出席這頒獎禮，所作發言的第一段。這段話告訴我們，真相通常是無法掌握的，這也是美國前總統尼克遜說，真理往往敵不過強權的意思。但真相藏在小說家心中某處，於是他就用虛構的故事來反映真實。
許久之前我就有類似看法。五年前我在香港文學節講座上講過：虛擬的世界才有真實。因為正如英國作家奧威爾所說：誰能控制過去，就能控制將來；而誰能控制現在，就能控制過去。因此，「所有的歷史都是當代史。」只有走進虛構的小說世界，才可保留和反映真實。所以有人說：歷史除了人名和年份是真的之外，其他都是假的；小說除了人名和年份是假的之外，其他都是真的。假作真時真亦假，這就是小說的價值。
Haruki Murakami - Always on the side of the egg
25 Feb 2009
I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner 編造者 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 偶爾, 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 1. 唆使;慫恿2. 煽動,挑動 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 對準,瞄準 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 捏造 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.
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