Fiction, Truth, Heidegger, Plato, Dummett & Tarski

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Patrick Mackeown examines whether or not truth can be applied to non-factual narratives with reference to the work of several great thinkers.

Introduction: My greatest fondness is for maintaining that no matter how
lifelike a piece of fiction might be, it can never strictly-speaking be
true. However, in accordance with literary theory I admit the existence
of a narrative tense known as the gnomic present. And I find that grounding
the existence of truth firmly in language and then admitting various
literary uses of that language causes me to doubt that my main tenet can
ultimately be defended.

In seeking a foundation for knowledge, in common with many philosophical
quests, Heidegger's most notable among them, for the value of truth in
storytelling I'll start mine at the point where Socrates explains to Glaucon
how mankind can be thought of as a series of unfortunates each shackled
underground.

And now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is
enlightened or unenlightened: --Behold! human beings living in a
underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching
all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have
their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only
see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their
heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and
between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will
see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which
marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets.
(The Republic VII)

The allegory of Plato's cave is familiar to all students of Western philosophy
and points quite naturally to the distinction between appearances and realities.
Plato's prisoners, as we know, are able only to see shadows. One prisoner is
released and it is he, and he alone, who staggers into the sunlight. Analogous
as we know, to Plato's view of philosophers being uniquely able to perceive
what is true about our own world, as opposed to the worthless understanding
of the common people.

A thinking person at that point might object and ask, "How does Plato know
that his escapee hasn't simply stumbled from a small encapsulated space into
another far larger subspace, which happens to have a sun in it, and not simply
a fire? And how would he know where this emergence process might end?"

In truth of course that's exactly what has happened. And, in any case, even
were it not the case, how would the escapee know that it wasn't the case?
And now, as you see, we find ourselves in the most frightful difficulties. For
how can anyone know anything for certain? You'll pardon me for not making any
genuine attempt to answer that most fundamental of questions. Greater minds
than mine have been confounded by it for lifetimes.

I'm about to do what generations of practically minded philosophers have done
and fudge the issue. And the way I'll fudge it is by declaring that our
understanding of truth, and hence of knowledge in general, is conditional upon
our understanding of language. Without examining their philosophies,for time and
space do not permit it, I'll mention the fact that both Wittgenstein and Frege,
amongst very many others, pointed out that in order to be meaningful a word must
fit into a particular language. And, in view of this eminently sensible approach
to ontology I'll quote from Schroeder's review of the work of philosopher Christopher
New, where New likens speaking to game-playing: Just as a move in chess is "not
something over and above the motions involved in lifting the piece and putting
it down" but rather "performing that sequence of movements in a way that conforms
to the rules of chess," so making a statement is "not something over and above
uttering a sequence of sounds or inscriptions" but rather "uttering that sequence
of sounds or inscriptions in a way that conforms to the rules of the language"

At this point I hope I've managed to suggest that truth, in any practical sense,
is not something which exists independently from mankind. And one does not stumble
out of a cave and simply happen upon it. If that proposition is correct, and
truth corresponds to linguistic validity, then can fictional narratives be true?

I'm about to suggest that they cannot, and in order to do this, I'm going to point
towards what truth is. It's midday, or noon, here in London as I write this. That's
true; it accords both with accepted standards of time-keeping and with the English
language. However, if I wrote in one of my novels that my central character, Simon
Hawthorne rose at midday, or noon, that wouldn't be true because Hawthorne is a
fictional character. So far I imagine that none of my readers will find complaint
with that.

So, let's move on to a matter that's more challenging. Suppose I were to write a
statement in the gnomic present. It's no different essentially from the narrative
present, except for the fact that in the former case, tense is deliberately switched,
and in the latter it isn't. It uses the present indicative in discussing general truths.

So for example my story might read:

Hawthorne threw himself into a frenzy of policework. As well as anyone he knew that
employment aides the anxious; it acts as a salve to mitigate the agonies of restless
minds.

Once I have admitted the use of the gnomic present I am bound to contend with it. The
narrative proclaims the fact that employment aides the anxious. And that is a hypothesis.
It may indeed be false. However, it may not. And indeed, if it is only true in a
single case, it's still true.

And there, logically at least, though I haven't actually negated my own proposal that
fiction can necessarily never be true, what I have done is supply a means, the gnomic
present, by which the proposal can be defeated. And indeed only one correct example of
its use is sufficient in order for my hypothesis to be disproved.

Exit and Conclusion:
I find that a fitting place to leave my exploration. I'm a little unsettled by what
I've done, for I'm generally content with the distinction between fact and fiction.
However, if I am to follow my own argument to where it leads, then I must admit that if
the grounding of philosophical knowledge is indeed in language, as many great thinkers
have claimed, and if narrative constructions do admit the manipulating of tenses with
the specific intention of introducing facts into stories, then it cannot be maintained
that fiction is necessarily untrue.










Bibliography And Sources:
[1] Philosophy of Literature: An Introduction. Christopher New. New York and
London: Routledge, 1999
[2] The Portable Plato, ed Scott Buchanan. Penguin.
[3] Essays in Philosophy: A Biannual Journal. Steven Schroeder Vol. 3 No. 1.

Copyright Patrick Mackeown (2009)

[baglady]

Hi Pat,

I wrote something for my first year in college about fiction and truth. I can't remember where I put it now. Let me have a rummage and see if I can find it.

BL

[baglady]

Here it is.

Can fiction ever be true? I've been asked this question several times,
and I've always said no; fiction can't be true. It's made up. That's why
it's called fiction. So what if novelists weave gritty realities into
their narratives? Some ask, as John Le Carre does. What's to be said for
verisimilitude? Of course I reply that realism is all well and good, but
it's not the same thing as truth.
Would you categorically deny that fiction can be true, then? Some have
asked me. And I'd said: Yes; I would deny that it can. The same people
continue to ask me, well, in that case, what is the best thing that can
be said for fiction?

Fiction can be used to explore events and concepts, my argument runs. A
fictional portrayal of Kate Winslet on the bow of a sinking Titanic, in
the arms of Leonardo DiCaprio, can be far more captivating than a history
of Twentieth Century maritime disasters. Isn't it true that millions more
people have been enthralled by the capriciousness of Julius Caesar, when
portrayed by the BBC's award winning drama, Rome, than have been so by his
biography in Suetonius' Lives of the Twelve Caesars?

How do you distinguish between fact and fiction then? the most persistent
of questioners asks. At what point does a drama, like Oliver Hirschbiegel's
Downfall, become fiction, when it's so closely based on witness statements
taken from Hitler's secretary, Traudl Junge, about her experiences in Hitler's
bunker, during Marshal Zukhov's sack of Berlin?

That's a difficult question, I admit. Because you've deliberately chosen a
historical event which has been fictionalised. Of course the real answer is
concerned with the matter of how verifiable Hirschbiegel's historical sources
are. The formal discipline of History has its own rigorous, academic processes.
These are not the same as the methods which are employed by directors making
popular films, obviously.

So, you're saying that Oliver Hirschbiegel's film is untrue? the questioner
would probe.

I'm not saying that, exactly, I would reply. It must obviously be a matter
of extent. To what extent the film's sources are verifiable, and historical
accuracy has been preserved is a matter for historians and film critics to
debate.

I would sum my argument up as being: Fiction isn't true, but it can certainly
be useful.
The value of fiction has never been explored with me. I can imagine how the
debate might continue. I'd be asked to list items of useful fiction. Charles
Dickens thrusts the harsh realities of Nineteenth Century urban poverty into
the minds of his readers. William Golding explores the flawed character of
mankind in Lord of the Flies, as Harper Lee does in To Kill a Mockingbird,
and Ismail Kadare also does in his novel Broken April.

But, at that point one might also ask me: How does the novelist explore these
issues any more gainfully than say a contemporary news editor? And at that
point I have to use my own judgement and my own bias. My answer to this question
is a subjective one. It must be so, I'm certain. Most news editors make no
attempts to hide their opinions and affiliations, I'd say. The BBC is famed
for its impartiality. So, in order to make answering more challenging, I'd
answer using the BBC as my reference for the media as a whole.

My first comment would be that a novelist has more time and space to explore
an issue than a BBC editor does. Unless the editor creates a series. In that
case broadcasting provides a tremendous advantage. But, since time and funding
limit the BBC's output, novelists as a group, are less restricted in that sense.
It's clear from this point onwards that I believe the reading public owes a
debt of gratitude to Golding, Dickens, Lee and others. If I had to explain why
I believe that, I'd say that each of these writers has thoroughly explored a
number of issues. It took Harper Lee ten years to complete her novel. And,
though that fact might say something about Lee's writing methods, she did
explore the details of her novel throughout that period. I shan't further
discuss any of these works, or the processes of their creation, in detail, since
that is not the focus of my study.

And I'd estimate that it is through empathy that we readers, or viewers, gather
most from the stories that I've mentioned. It's difficult, no matter what one
might think of her colleagues, to remain unmoved by the images of Traudl Junge,
sitting in Hitler's stairwell, surrounded by sounds of falling artillery shells,
and buttering bread for Joseph Goebbels' children. And, if Traudl's portrayal
seems inappropriate because it might potentially be accurate, I can tell you that
I feel equally as moved by Oliver Twist's appeal for gruel, or by Gjorg, Ismail
Kadare's central character's, plight in the novel Broken April. Due to the young
man's circumstances, which are not explained here for reasons of brevity, his life
is forfeit. However, he catches sight of a beautiful woman whilst he is carrying
out his duties. And an image of her serves as the most poignant symbol of the fact
that he will die without ever having lived. I can't see how anyone could fail to
be moved by a predicament such as that.

And so, in summing up my discourse then, I'd feel obliged to repeat that I don't
ever find fiction, in any form, true. And with that said I'd have to add however,
that regardless of its strict veracity, fiction is a vital tool used by man in order
to explore his environment. And in order to point out how I believe man best utilises
that tool, I'd point to his ability to empathise. It's through the creation of
realistic scenarios, which almost break his characters, that a novelist draws most
feeling from his readers. But it's through imaginations: first that of the story
teller, and then that of the reader, that reactions and judgements are passed, not
through the sharing of facts or elements of truths. And, ultimately, it's my own
belief that fiction can be used to reach a larger audience than methods of formal
didactics.

[daniellclausen]

I'm currently working on the last draft of my novel, so I have a very strong opinion about this subject. Is fiction ever truth? One, it's never fact; but good fiction is more honest than any nonfiction could ever be. It's not real, it's superreal.

[phpbb2]

Hi Daniel,

Great. I'd like to clearly separate our own narratives, writings and exploits from the philosophical discussion, if I may. But I'd be very interested to hear about your novel in the thread that I've prepared for you & Ben, here: viewtopic.php?f=10&t=972

I'll look forward to that.

But, in the meantime, on the subject of philosophy and truth, I think I'll look into what you point to which is the distinction between fact and fiction. I suspect there is a philosophical difference between truth and fact. In fact, no pun intended, I suspect that I can predict where that distinction will arise. There are several philosophical notions of truth: correspondence, coherence, substantive, pragmatist, verificationist, redundancy and constructivist theories. And doubtless, facts probably fit more aptly into some of them, for example verificationist and substantive, for example than say redundancy and pragmatist, which doubtless are more willing to say that if it works it's true, regardless of whether or not one can call it factual.

Certainly, yes. There's lots more work to be done.

Regards,

Pat

[daniellclausen]

As one of my professors always tells me, the answer usually depends on your ontology, i.e. some theory of what is. Ontologies based on discourse can be useful for some kinds of analysis, but for my own research and studies I always tend to think in terms of an ontology that is both material and discursive. Truth claims are never innocent because they are always in some ways in collusion with power (see some of Donna Haraway's writings on the matter), but this power is both material and discursive in ways that are hard to disaggregate. Material power makes some discursive formations more effective, but these discursive formations tend to also have a life of their own. Discursive formations can be path dependent and can fossilize over time. However, those without material power may be able to access these discursive formations in ways that are subversive, while those with power may find their own ability to access these powers blunted. I could go on and on with this...but perhaps you see where I'm going.

Plato's idea of truth was an ideal truth that was absent of power and strategic formations. Our materiality and humanness always presented barriers for accessing that truth.