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I have no way of knowing whether it was fate that has pushed me onto this
dais but as various lucky coincidences have created this opportunity I
may as well call it fate. Putting aside discussion of the existence or
non-existence of God, I would like to say that despite my being an atheist
I have always shown reverence for the unknowable.
A
person cannot be God, certainly not replace God, and rule the world as
a Superman; he will only succeed in creating more chaos and make a greater
mess of the world. In the century after Nietzsche man-made disasters left
the blackest records in the history of humankind. Supermen of all types
called leader of the people, head of the nation and commander of the race
did not baulk at resorting to various violent means in perpetrating crimes
that in no way resemble the ravings of a very egotistic philosopher. However,
I do not wish to waste this talk on literature by saying too much about
politics and history, what I want to do is to use this opportunity to
speak as one writer in the voice of an individual.
A
writer is an ordinary person, perhaps he is more sensitive but people
who are highly sensitive are often more frail. A writer does not speak
as the spokesperson of the people or as the embodiment of righteousness.
His voice is inevitably weak but it is precisely this voice of the individual
that is more authentic.
What
I want to say here is that literature can only be the voice of the individual
and this has always been so. Once literature is contrived as the hymn
of the nation, the flag of the race, the mouthpiece of a political party
or the voice of a class or a group, it can be employed as a mighty and
all-engulfing tool of propaganda. However, such literature loses what
is inherent in literature, ceases to be literature, and becomes a substitute
for power and profit.
In
the century just ended literature confronted precisely this misfortune
and was more deeply scarred by politics and power than in any previous
period, and the writer too was subjected to unprecedented oppression.
In
order that literature safeguard the reason for its own existence and not
become the tool of politics it must return to the voice of the individual,
for literature is primarily derived from the feelings of the individual
and is the result of feelings. This is not to say that literature must
therefore be divorced from politics or that it must necessarily be involved
in politics. Controversies about literary trends or a writer’s political
inclinations were serious afflictions that tormented literature during
the past century. Ideology wreaked havoc by turning related controversies
over tradition and reform into controversies over what was conservative
or revolutionary and thus changed literary issues into a struggle over
what was progressive or reactionary. If ideology unites with power and
is transformed into a real force then both literature and the individual
will be destroyed.
Chinese
literature in the twentieth century time and again was worn out and indeed
almost suffocated because politics dictated literature: both the revolution
in literature and revolutionary literature alike passed death sentences
on literature and the individual. The attack on Chinese traditional culture
in the name of the revolution resulted in the public prohibition and burning
of books. Countless writers were shot, imprisoned, exiled or punished
with hard labour in the course of the past one hundred years. This was
more extreme than in any imperial dynastic period of China’s history,
creating enormous difficulties for writings in the Chinese language and
even more for any discussion of creative freedom.
If
the writer sought to win intellectual freedom the choice was either to
fall silent or to flee. However the writer relies on language and not
to speak for a prolonged period is the same as suicide. The writer who
sought to avoid suicide or being silenced and furthermore to express his
own voice had no option but to go into exile. Surveying the history of
literature in the East and the West this has always been so: from Qu Yuan
to Dante, Joyce, Thomas Mann, Solzhenitsyn, and to the large numbers of
Chinese intellectuals who went into exile after the Tiananmen massacre
in 1989. This is the inevitable fate of the poet and the writer who continues
to seek to preserve his own voice.
During
the years when Mao Zedong implemented total dictatorship even fleeing
was not an option. The monasteries on far away mountains that provided
refuge for scholars in feudal times were totally ravaged and to write
even in secret was to risk one’s life. To maintain one’s intellectual
autonomy one could only talk to oneself, and it had to be in utmost secrecy.
I should mention that it was only in this period when it was utterly impossible
for literature that I came to comprehend why it was so essential: literature
allows a person to preserve a human consciousness.
It
can be said that talking to oneself is the starting point of literature
and that using language to communicate is secondary. A person pours his
feelings and thoughts into language that, written as words, becomes literature.
At the time there is no thought of utility or that some day it might be
published yet there is the compulsion to write because there is recompense
and consolation in the pleasure of writing. I began writing my novel Soul
Mountain to dispel my inner loneliness at the very time when works
I had written with rigorous self-censorship had been banned. Soul Mountain
was written for myself and without the hope that it would be published.
From
my experience in writing, I can say that literature is inherently man’s
affirmation of the value of his own self and that this is validated during
the writing, literature is born primarily of the writer’s need for self-fulfilment.
Whether it has any impact on society comes after the completion of a work
and that impact certainly is not determined by the wishes of the writer.
In
the history of literature there are many great enduring works which were
not published in the lifetimes of the authors. If the authors had not
achieved self-affirmation while writing, how could they have continued
to write? As in the case of Shakespeare, even now it is difficult to ascertain
the details of the lives of the four geniuses who wrote China’s greatest
novels, Journey
to the West, Water Margin, Jin Ping Mei and Dream
of Red Mansions. All that remains is an autobiographical essay
by Shi Naian and had he not as he said consoled himself by writing, how
else could he have devoted the rest of his life to that huge work for
which he received no recompense during life? And was this not also the
case with Kafka who pioneered modern fiction and with Fernando Pessoa
the most profound poet of the twentieth century? Their turning to language
was not in order to reform the world and while profoundly aware of the
helplessness of the individual they still spoke out, for such is the magic
of language.
Language
is the ultimate crystallisation of human civilisation. It is intricate,
incisive and difficult to grasp and yet it is pervasive, penetrates human
perceptions and links man, the perceiving subject, to his own understanding
of the world. The written word is also magical for it allows communication
between separate individuals, even if they are from different races and
times. It is also in this way that the shared present time in the writing
and reading of literature is connected to its eternal spiritual value.
In
my view, for a writer of the present to strive to emphasise a national
culture is problematical. Because of where I was born and the language
I use, the cultural traditions of China naturally reside within me. Culture
and language are always closely related and thus characteristic and relatively
stable modes of perception, thought and articulation are formed. However
a writer’s creativity begins precisely with what has already been articulated
in his language and addresses what has not been adequately articulated
in that language. As the creator of linguistic art there is no need to
stick on oneself a stock national label that can be easily recognised.
Literature
transcends national boundaries -- through translations it transcends languages
and then specific social customs and inter-human relationships created
by geographical location and history -- to make profound revelations about
the universality of human nature. Furthermore, the writer today receives
multicultural influences outside the culture of his own race so, unless
it is to promote tourism, emphasising the cultural features of a people
is inevitably suspect. Literature transcends ideology, national boundaries
and racial consciousness in the same way as the individual’s existence
basically transcends this or that -ism. This is because man’s existential
condition is superior to any theories or speculations about life. Literature
is a universal observation on the dilemmas of human existence and nothing
is taboo. Restrictions on literature are always externally imposed: politics,
society, ethics and customs set out to tailor literature into decorations
for their various frameworks.
However,
literature is neither an embellishment for authority or a socially fashionable
item, it has its own criterion of merit: its aesthetic quality. An aesthetic
intricately related to the human emotions is the only indispensable criterion
for literary works. Indeed, such judgements differ from person to person
because the emotions are invariably that of different individuals. However
such subjective aesthetic judgements do have universally recognised standards.
The capacity for critical appreciation nurtured by literature allows the
reader to also experience the poetic feeling and the beauty, the sublime
and the ridiculous, the sorrow and the absurdity, and the humour and the
irony that the author has infused into his work.
Poetic
feeling does not derive simply from the expression of the emotions nevertheless
unbridled egotism, a form of infantilism, is difficult to avoid in the
early stages of writing. Also, there are numerous levels of emotional
expression and to reach higher levels requires cold detachment. Poetry
is concealed in the distanced gaze. Furthermore, if this gaze also examines
the person of the author and overarches both the characters of the book
and the author to become the author’s third eye, one that is as neutral
as possible, the disasters and the refuse of the human world will all
be worthy of scrutiny. Then as feelings of pain, hatred and abhorrence
are aroused so too are feelings of concern and love for life.
An
aesthetic based on human emotions does not become outdated even with the
perennial changing of fashions in literature and in art. However literary
evaluations that fluctuate like fashions are premised on what is the latest:
that is, whatever is new is good. This is a mechanism in general market
movements and the book market is not exempted, but if the writer’s aesthetic
judgement follows market movements it will mean the suicide of literature.
Especially in the so-called consumerist society of the present, I think
one must resort to cold literature.
Ten
years ago, after concluding Soul Mountain which I had written over
seven years, I wrote a short essay proposing this type of literature:
"Literature
is not concerned with politics but is purely a matter of the individual.
It is the gratification of the intellect together with an observation,
a review of what has been experienced, reminiscences and feelings or the
portrayal of a state of mind."
"The
so-called writer is nothing more than someone speaking or writing and
whether he is listened to or read is for others to choose. The writer
is not a hero acting on orders from the people nor is he worthy of worship
as an idol, and certainly he is not a criminal or enemy of the people.
He is at times victimised along with his writings simply because of other’s
needs. When the authorities need to manufacture a few enemies to divert
people’s attention, writers become sacrifices and worse still writers
who have been duped actually think it is a great honour to be sacrificed."
"In
fact the relationship of the author and the reader is always one of spiritual
communication and there is no need to meet or to socially interact, it
is a communication simply through the work. Literature remains an indispensable
form of human activity in which both the reader and the writer are engaged
of their own volition. Hence, literature has no duty to the masses."
"This
sort of literature that has recovered its innate character can be called
cold literature. It exists simply because humankind seeks a purely spiritual
activity beyond the gratification of material desires. This sort of literature
of course did not come into being today. However, whereas in the past
it mainly had to fight oppressive political forces and social customs,
today it has to do battle with the subversive commercial values of consumerist
society. For it to exist depends on a willingness to endure the loneliness."
"If
a writer devotes himself to this sort of writing he will find it difficult
to make a living. Hence the writing of this sort of literature must be
considered a luxury, a form of pure spiritual gratification. If this sort
of literature has the good fortune of being published and circulated it
is due to the efforts of the writer and his friends, Cao Xueqin and Kafka
are such examples. During their lifetimes, their works were unpublished
so they were not able to create literary movements or to become celebrities.
These writers lived at the margins and seams of society, devoting themselves
to this sort of spiritual activity for which at the time they did not
hope for any recompense. They did not seek social approval but simply
derived pleasure from writing."
"Cold
literature is literature that will flee in order to survive, it is literature
that refuses to be strangled by society in its quest for spiritual salvation.
If a race cannot accommodate this sort of non-utilitarian literature it
is not merely a misfortune for the writer but a tragedy for the race."
It
is my good fortune to be receiving, during my lifetime, this great honour
from the Swedish Academy, and in this I have been helped by many friends
from all over the world. For years without thought of reward and not shirking
difficulties they have translated, published, performed and evaluated
my writings. However I will not thank them one by one for it is a very
long list of names.
I
should also thank France for accepting me. In France where literature
and art are revered I have won the conditions to write with freedom and
I also have readers and audiences. Fortunately I am not lonely although
writing, to which I have committed myself, is a solitary affair.
What
I would also like to say here is that life is not a celebration and that
the rest of the world is not peaceful as in Sweden where for one hundred
and eighty years there has been no war. This new century will not be immune
to catastrophes simply because there were so many in the past century,
because memories are not transmitted like genes. Humans have minds but
are not intelligent enough to learn from the past and when malevolence
flares up in the human mind it can endanger human survival itself.
The
human species does not necessarily move in stages from progress to progress,
and here I make reference to the history of human civilisation. History
and civilisation do not advance in tandem. From the stagnation of Medieval
Europe to the decline and chaos in recent times on the mainland of Asia
and to the catastrophes of two world wars in the twentieth century, the
methods of killing people became increasingly sophisticated. Scientific
and technological progress certainly does not imply that humankind as
a result becomes more civilised.
Using
some scientific -ism to explain history or interpreting it with a historical
perspective based on pseudo-dialectics have failed to clarify human behaviour.
Now that the utopian fervour and continuing revolution of the past century
have crumbled to dust, there is unavoidably a feeling of bitterness amongst
those who have survived.
The
denial of a denial does not necessarily result in an affirmation. Revolution
did not merely bring in new things because the new utopian world was premised
on the destruction of the old. This theory of social revolution was similarly
applied to literature and turned what had once been a realm of creativity
into a battlefield in which earlier people were overthrown and cultural
traditions were trampled upon. Everything had to start from zero, modernisation
was good, and the history of literature too was interpreted as a continuing
upheaval.
The
writer cannot fill the role of the Creator so there is no need for him
to inflate his ego by thinking that he is God. This will not only bring
about psychological dysfunction and turn him into a madman but will also
transform the world into a hallucination in which everything external
to his own body is purgatory and naturally he cannot go on living. Others
are clearly hell: presumably it is like this when the self loses control.
Needless to say he will turn himself into a sacrifice for the future and
also demand that others follow suit in sacrificing themselves.
There
is no need to rush to complete the history of the twentieth century. If
the world again sinks into the ruins of some ideological framework this
history will have been written in vain and later people will revise it
for themselves.
The
writer is also not a prophet. What is important is to live in the present,
to stop being hoodwinked, to cast off delusions, to look clearly at this
moment of time and at the same time to scrutinise the self. This self
too is total chaos and while questioning the world and others one may
as well look back at one’s self. Disaster and oppression do usually come
from another but man’s cowardice and anxiety can often intensify the suffering
and furthermore create misfortune for others.
Such
is the inexplicable nature of humankind’s behaviour, and man’s knowledge
of his self is even harder to comprehend. Literature is simply man focusing
his gaze on his self and while he does a thread of consciousness which
sheds light on this self begins to grow.
To
subvert is not the aim of literature, its value lies in discovering and
revealing what is rarely known, little known, thought to be known but
in fact not very well known of the truth of the human world. It would
seem that truth is the unassailable and most basic quality of literature.
The
new century has already arrived. I will not bother about whether or not
it is in fact new but it would seem that the revolution in literature
and revolutionary literature, and even ideology, may have all come to
an end. The illusion of a social utopia that enshrouded more than a century
has vanished and when literature throws off the fetters of this and that
-ism it will still have to return to the dilemmas of human existence.
However the dilemmas of human existence have changed very little and will
continue to be the eternal topic of literature.
This
is an age without prophecies and promises and I think it is a good thing.
The writer playing prophet and judge should also cease since the many
prophecies of the past century have all turned out to be frauds. And there
is no need to manufacture new superstitions about the future, it is much
better to wait and see. It would be best also for the writer to revert
to the role of witness and strive to present the truth. This is not to
say that literature is the same as a document. Actually there are few
facts in documented testimonies and the reasons and motives behind incidents
are often concealed. However, when literature deals with the truth the
whole process from a person’s inner mind to the incident can be exposed
without leaving anything out. This power is inherent in literature as
long as the writer sets out to portray the true circumstances of human
existence and is not just making up nonsense.
It
is a writer’s insights in grasping truth that determine the quality of
a work and word games or writing techniques cannot serve as substitutes.
Indeed, there are numerous definitions of truth and how it is dealt with
varies from person to person but it can be seen at a glance whether a
writer is embellishing human phenomena or making a full and honest portrayal.
The literary criticism of a certain ideology turned truth and untruth
into semantic analysis, but such principles and tenets are of little relevance
in literary creation.
However
whether or not the writer confronts truth is not just an issue of creative
methodology, it is closely linked to his attitude towards writing. Truth
when the pen is taken up at the same time implies that one is sincere
after one puts down the pen. Here truth is not simply an evaluation of
literature but at the same time has ethical connotations. It is not the
writer’s duty to preach morality and while striving to portray various
people in the world he also unscrupulously exposes his self, even the
secrets of his inner mind. For the writer truth in literature approximates
ethics, it is the ultimate ethics of literature.
In
the hands of a writer with a serious attitude to writing even literary
fabrications are premised on the portrayal of the truth of human life,
and this has been the vital life force of works that have endured from
ancient times to the present. It is precisely for this reason that Greek
tragedy and Shakespeare will never become outdated.
Literature
does not simply make a replica of reality but penetrates the surface layers
and reaches deep into the inner workings of reality; it removes false
illusions, looks down from great heights at ordinary happenings, and with
a broad perspective reveals happenings in their entirety.
Of
course literature also relies on the imagination but this sort of journey
in the mind is not just putting together a whole lot of rubbish. Imagination
that is divorced from true feelings and fabrications that are divorced
from the basis of life experiences can only end up insipid and weak, and
works that fail to convince the author himself will not be able to move
readers. Indeed, literature does not only rely on the experiences of ordinary
life nor is the writer bound by what he has personally experienced. It
is possible for the things heard and seen through a language carrier and
the things related in the literary works of earlier writers all to be
transformed into one’s own feelings. This too is the magic of the language
of literature.
As
with a curse or a blessing language has the power to stir body and mind.
The art of language lies in the presenter being able to convey his feelings
to others, it is not some sign system or semantic structure requiring
nothing more than grammatical structures. If the living person behind
language is forgotten, semantic expositions easily turn into games of
the intellect.
Language
is not merely concepts and the carrier of concepts, it simultaneously
activates the feelings and the senses and this is why signs and signals
cannot replace the language of living people. The will, motives, tone
and emotions behind what someone says cannot be fully expressed by semantics
and rhetoric alone. The connotations of the language of literature must
be voiced, spoken by living people, to be fully expressed. So as well
as serving as a carrier of thought literature must also appeal to the
auditory senses. The human need for language is not simply for the transmission
of meaning, it is at the same time listening to and affirming a person’s
existence.
Borrowing
from Descartes, it could be said of the writer: I say and therefore I
am. However, the I of the writer can be the writer himself, can be equated
to the narrator, or become the characters of a work. As the narrator-subject
can also be he and you, it is tripartite. The fixing of a key-speaker
pronoun is the starting point for portraying perceptions and from this
various narrative patterns take shape. It is during the process of searching
for his own narrative method that the writer gives concrete form to his
perceptions.
In
my fiction I use pronouns instead of the usual characters and also use
the pronouns I, you, and he to tell about or to focus on the protagonist.
The portrayal of the one character by using different pronouns creates
a sense of distance. As this also provides actors on the stage with a
broader psychological space I have also introduced the changing of pronouns
into my drama.
The
writing of fiction or drama has not and will not come to an end and there
is no substance to flippant announcements of the death of certain genres
of literature or art.
Born
at the start of human civilisation, like life, language is full of wonders
and its expressive capacity is limitless. It is the work of the writer
to discover and develop the latent potential inherent in language. The
writer is not the Creator and he cannot eradicate the world even if it
is too old. He also cannot establish some new ideal world even if the
present world is absurd and beyond human comprehension. However he can
certainly make innovative statements either by adding to what earlier
people have said or else starting where earlier people stopped.
To
subvert literature was Cultural Revolution rhetoric. Literature did not
die and writers were not destroyed. Every writer has his place on the
bookshelf and he has life as long as he has readers. There is no greater
consolation for a writer than to be able to leave a book in humankind’s
vast treasury of literature that will continue to be read in future times.
Literature
is only actualised and of interest at that moment in time when the writer
writes it and the reader reads it. Unless it is pretence, to write for
the future only deludes oneself and others as well. Literature is for
the living and moreover affirms the present of the living. It is this
eternal present and this confirmation of individual life that is the absolute
reason why literature is literature, if one insists on seeking a reason
for this huge thing that exists of itself.
When
writing is not a livelihood or when one is so engrossed in writing that
one forgets why one is writing and for whom one is writing it becomes
a necessity and one will write compulsively and give birth to literature.
It is this non-utilitarian aspect of literature that is fundamental to
literature. That the writing of literature has become a profession is
an ugly outcome of the division of labour in modern society and a very
bitter fruit for the writer.
This
is especially the case in the present age where the market economy has
become pervasive and books have also become commodities. Everywhere there
are huge undiscriminating markets and not just individual writers but
even the societies and movements of past literary schools have all gone.
If the writer does not bend to the pressures of the market and refuses
to stoop to manufacturing cultural products by writing to satisfy the
tastes of fashions and trends, he must make a living by some other means.
Literature is not a best-selling book or a book on a ranked list and authors
promoted on television are engaged in advertising rather than in writing.
Freedom in writing is not conferred and cannot be purchased but comes
from an inner need in the writer himself.
Instead
of saying that Buddha is in the heart it would be better to say that freedom
is in the heart and it simply depends on whether one makes use of it.
If one exchanges freedom for something else then the bird that is freedom
will fly off, for this is the cost of freedom.
The
writer writes what he wants without concern for recompense not only to
affirm his self but also to challenge society. This challenge is not pretence
and the writer has no need to inflate his ego by becoming a hero or a
fighter. Heroes and fighters struggle to achieve some great work or to
establish some meritorious deed and these lie beyond the scope of literary
works. If the writer wants to challenge society it must be through language
and he must rely on the characters and incidents of his works, otherwise
he can only harm literature. Literature is not angry shouting and furthermore
cannot turn an individual’s indignation into accusations. It is only when
the feelings of the writer as an individual are dispersed in a work that
his feelings will withstand the ravages of time and live on for a long
time.
Therefore
it is actually not the challenge of the writer to society but rather the
challenge of his works. An enduring work is of course a powerful response
to the times and society of the writer. The clamour of the writer and
his actions may have vanished but as long as there are readers his voice
in his writings continues to reverberate.
Indeed
such a challenge cannot transform society. It is merely an individual
aspiring to transcend the limitations of the social ecology and taking
a very inconspicuous stance. However this is by no means an ordinary stance
for it is one that takes pride in being human. It would be sad if human
history is only manipulated by the unknowable laws and moves blindly with
the current so that the different voices of individuals cannot be heard.
It is in this sense that literature fills in the gaps of history. When
the great laws of history are not used to explain humankind it will be
possible for people to leave behind their own voices. History is not all
that humankind possesses, there is also the legacy of literature. In literature
the people are inventions but they retain an essential belief in their
own self-worth.
Honourable
members of the Academy, I thank you for awarding this Nobel Prize to literature,
to literature that is unwavering in its independence, that avoids neither
human suffering nor political oppression and that furthermore does not
serve politics. I thank all of you for awarding this most prestigious
prize for works that are far removed from the writings of the market,
works that have aroused little attention but are actually worth reading.
At the same time, I also thank the Swedish Academy for allowing me to
ascend this dais to speak before the eyes of the world. A frail individual’s
weak voice that is hardly worth listening to and that normally would not
be heard in the public media has been allowed to address the world. However
I believe that this is precisely the meaning of the Nobel Prize and I
thank everyone for this opportunity to speak.
***
Translation
by Mabel Lee
Copyright
© THE NOBEL FOUNDATION 2000
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