看来这位童鞋还在这行，不管怎么样，高兴一下

音乐，特别是传统音乐，仪式用途是其核心，赞美主，祈求赐福。周人更是用乐与礼治国安邦，礼乐崩坏，人心不古就是乱世。音乐的核心问题是节奏，有了节奏， 大家就能一起跳舞，一起唱歌，不会乱，神就高兴。而礼的核心则是丧葬，丧葬是对死亡的围观，这个时候没有音乐，但是节奏依然存在，只是变成了等级。死者最 大，按血缘扩散出内外之分，而义务大小也就排当有序，把大家组织起来围观一个人的死亡，无非是要这种血缘维系的社会架构不会因为某个节点的死亡而崩溃，这 种围观的仪式，声明了每一个活着的人的义务地位的变化。这种仪式愈是严格，人也便愈对这种仪式重视，仪式让死亡这件从人到所有生灵都有的事件变得似乎只有 对于人来说具有意义，也是这种仪式，定义了人与人之间，人与生灵万物之间的区别。

仪式也是某种精神的操作，它抑制了死亡本身带来的本能的恐惧，它隔离了人作为动物对于死亡的可能的直视，它压抑一些悲伤，而放大另外一些悲伤，最终免除人对于死亡的恐惧。

我是从以上这个角度来看待《入殓师》这部电影的。它会出现在当下，并唤起如此大的反响，我也数度无法抑制地落泪，是否是因为，我们对于这种仪式已经太过陌生，而在本能里又太渴求某种仪式化的情感归宿，让我们觉得自己属于某些人，寄托某些人。

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《入殓师》绝对是给年轻人看的电影，而大悟也就是一个典型的代入对象。不过不是那种请你来看，而是站在你的立场上和你一起看。而影片里对于死亡的序列有一个精心的安排

     开场的陌生亡者-> 活人（大悟自己）->陌生腐尸->陌生亡者若干->熟悉的澡堂大娘->父亲

开 场的陌生亡者其实只是电影叙事上的一个技巧，来看《入殓师》的观众第一需求是 猎奇，而开场的缜密表演让观众马上得到最大的好奇心满足感：哦~入殓师就是做这个的啊。于是这部电影恰恰不是一部纯粹的对于一种奇特职业的猎奇经历 （007，越狱，绝密飞行...），而是一部严肃的社会伦理电影。为了更好地让年轻观众“接受教育”，塞给观众一桶爆米花（大悟受虐）和对于那些cult 片的 Fans 们，丢一些腐肉和咸湿尝尝(陌生腐尸+大悟猴急扒衣)，而以上都不是电影的主要部分，只是些“缴械技巧”。

影片在“暴走族少女”入殓时，狐狸尾巴小翘一下，就好像社长忽然回头说：带着烟熏妆入殓，一定很傻吧～，这到不会引起什么逆反，因为真的很傻嘛。这亦不是重点。

澡 堂大娘是理解整个影片的入口（死亡的看门人，炉工），神经再粗的人到这里也必须投降，这里有三颗子弹，爱人，朋友和自尊，得到爱人的谅解，得到朋友的理解 和忏悔，在熟悉的人面前得到尊重，全都是射向年轻人的子弹。而炉工老人的大段台词，近乎日本的俳句，明里是说澡堂的事情，实际上是希望年轻人尊重传统。

镜头一切，大肚婆忽然跑出来伸个懒腰哈哈一句：天气真好。日本电影，樱花乱飘，镜头前站个女人肯定没什么好事，还站个大肚婆，那是要出大事。果然，贯穿全片的石头控无脸男终于要献身，有个入殓师儿子，自己不死肯定是见不到的，死的还真是儿子手艺精纯之时。

你 说有个30年不见的倒霉父亲，脸都记不住了，忽然有一天挂了要你去收尸，怎么都不能去嘛，多矫情的事情。这电影牛X之处就在这儿了，如果大悟坚持不去，估 计所有观众都要往台上扔爆米花了，胶片走到这里，哪怕是宋祖德死了观众也会觉得该去，否则小林就是对自己的职业和血缘的双重否定。这时候的觉悟比起开场那 会儿不知道高了多少，而广末凉子衣服里那些棉花也不是摆设，从弗洛伊德的角度来说，小林大悟已经完成了一次父亲缺位的治疗（杀父），而他自己已经成为了一 个父亲（娶母）。在这，也是我从日本电影里看到的一个很有意思的地方，男性的社会职业和家庭责任的同一，好老师->好爸爸，好武士->好老 公，好妓女->好女人（松子做过妓女，宫崎骏让幽灵公主里好多从良妓女），而谈到二战失败的老兵(武士)，日本电影人瞬间人格分裂了，可能武士失败 只能自剖吧，活着回来的在日本电影里基本都无法完成家庭责任（所以 手纸是美国人看日本人）。

最后来看这部电影的教育意义，谈到载道育人的问题，我总是本能先画上一个大叉，然后等着一条一条反驳之，总是要教育人的电影没一个好东西。这次例外，我也希望自己死得体面点，如果大家能达成这个 共识，一点坏处都没有。

题 外话，我还记得一件事情，初中时候作文课，讲怎么在主旨上标新立异得高分，正面反面例子各一个，第一个是 “大光明电影院事件”，此童鞋质疑社会主张社会是否大光明，最后流芳百世且0分，第二个是某同学高呼：我要去殡仪馆当化妆师，为啥捏？他要为革命烈士化 妆...同学老师对如此应试境界无不敬佩。如此虚伪的文章也只有中国学生写的出来，你不是要去殡仪馆当化妆师么，那你来高考写满分作文干啥，判官我给你个 0分外加送你去面试。

（方琼童鞋对此文亦有帮助）

早在新闻里听到了村上春树在以色列的牛X发言震撼整个巴以地区，这个太出乎我对于他的作品和通过他的作品对作者的想象了。在网上读了两个人的译本，一个是大陆 李华芳的，还有就是下面的台湾的 朱学恒 的，觉得后者更庄重一些。看完译作和原文，唤起人两种情感，一种是对这个世界的失望，特别是在朱大的译文中还有那些凄惨的插图，一个小说家的微言大义根本无法和美国高官的某次投机斡旋相比，但另外一种情感，是对他们的纯粹和弱小的勇气的羡慕和赞叹，这些闪耀着微弱光芒的正义如一柄微烛，愈是在黑暗的时地，愈是刺眼，那几乎是人类心中最普遍，且唯一可信的信仰：同情弱者，Always on the side of the egg ！！


朱学恒按：
【我更不知道他得到的獎項是像東方日報報導的一樣：「耶路撒冷文學獎創辦於1963年，每兩年頒發一次，意在表彰其作品涉及人類自由、人與社會和政治間關係的作家。往屆得主包括亞瑟‧米勒、蘇珊‧桑塔格、伯特蘭‧羅素、VS.奈波爾、J.M.柯慈、博爾赫斯、米蘭‧昆德拉、西蒙‧波娃、奧克塔維奧‧帕斯（Octavio Paz, 1914-1998，墨西哥詩人、散文家）和巴爾加斯‧略薩等人，皆為大名流。耶路撒冷書展在其官方網站上形容，村上乃「當代最偉大的作家之一」，其作品已被譯成40種語言，廣受嘉許，在以色列，他也是讀者最多的外國作家之一。該獎聲明讚揚了村上的藝術成就和「對人民的愛」，並稱：「他的人道主義清晰地呈現於其作品中。」第24屆耶路撒冷國際書展將於2月15日至20日舉行。村上春樹將於書展開幕當天在耶路撒冷國際會議中心受獎。」

但我今天才看到他在眾人的反對中親自前往戰火仍酣的加薩演講，那場演講的內容讓我被感動了。

所以雖然有別人將其翻成了中文，但我還是決定自己來把這篇演講翻成中文。因為這是我自己真正對一場好演講致敬的方法，那也是別人和別的方法取代不了的。

總是要和弱者站在同一邊，我希望能夠拿這句話勉勵自己，和有一天會成為這世界主人的你們。

Follow up:】



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。

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.