Truth and fact are two words that seem synonymous initially. However, in thinking over these words it seems they operate at different semiotic levels. At a surface level, fact is set in stone. It is not changeable, it is the reality of the situation. Truth is a little more subjective. The meaning is a little more idiosyncratic. Something can be true without being a fact.
For example, look at the scandals brewing around a few of Oprah’s book selections, mainly the latest Angel at the Fence. Author Herman Rosenblat wrote of his time in a concentration camp and of meeting his now wife from opposite sides of the fence. In truth only about 40% of his story checks out, according to the investigative reporter taking credit for the find. In fact, once news broke and he admitted to how little of his story was accurate the book was pulled from shelves and discontinued. If this book was published as fiction or even historical fiction a controversy never would have arisen. What is interesting to me about this is the reliance on truth as being fact and fiction as being imagined.
Closely related to the division between truth and fact is the subject of myth. Commonly understood to be the stories of ancient Greek gods or the mythology of some obscure people groups, myths are quite common and can relate to any set of words in which a meaning is attributed. We carry personal mythologies about our experiences and relationships, making the events we participate in more concrete and satisfying.
What is strange about myth is that it is outside the boundaries of fact and fiction. We live by myths recognizing them as not “factual” but partially true, or culturally important. An apple a day will not keep the doctor away, but eating vegetables and fruit will go a long way towards healthy living. Working hard does not always mean you will succeed, but it is a good step in the right direction.
Roland Barthes once said, “Myth is neither a lie nor a confession: it is an inflection.” It makes me wonder, are we looking for a deeper expression of being alive by living vicariously through those who have experienced unimaginable circumstances? Is the day-to-day a dream world of repetition leaving fantastic circumstances as the only real world around us? Perhaps the experiences of a “hero” allow for the inflection of reality we crave - the hero’s story gives meaning to our personal circumstances.
According to some researchers, our brains have not evolved, or adapted to understand media such as television, and even to a lesser degree, books. For all intents and purposes what we see, read, and hear is to us real. Why do we get emotional or aroused at sights and scenes in movies? We know it isn’t real. But do we really know it isn’t real?
Why does it matter if it is factual? Isn’t the deeper meaning of a story of love and survival the love and survival of the characters? Is it, for entertainment’s sake, important to know if the details are completely true, or is the idea of the story the part that we need and are desperately looking for? If a story gives hope to people who have in many ways given up on ancient mythologies, is that hope then factual rather than fictional? If a story becomes part of a cultural consciousness, is it then true even if the details don’t match up?
In this sense religion takes a strange position. Taken more to claims of absolute inerrancy then the spirit of a text, it seems we do not want to believe something unless we can believe in it as testable and provable - even in questions of divinity. The Evangelical Christian doctrine of scriptural inerrancy is a perfect example. In order to counter claims of historical criticism and evolutionary development, a hard line approach was taken. The text has in some ways been reduced to a set of defined standards and convictions rather than a living, breathing document. How much of the mystery and meaning is lost in the pursuit of testable and provable theorems?
What we have lost in the era of investigative journalism and scientific determinism is the ability to see outside of the fact/fiction dichotomy. The myth is understood to be simply fiction placed into categories for easy consumption by literary students and scholars. But what if we looked at Rosenblat’s story from another direction. What if the book should be published under the banner of a myth as a third category of literature? It may or may not be true yet the ideas presented are human and necessary.
What is more important - to prove something as historically inaccurate and defend the claim to the death or indugle in the very human act of experience and of finding meaning?