I find the tension between true and false narratives throughout the course interesting. The question comes down to definition. We categorize narratives as true or false, as if there is a dichotomy between them. But there is never an objective fact, for what we consider as facts is based upon our shared understanding of physics and use of language, nor is there utter falsehood, things that can never happen anywhere or anytime in this universe. But for the sake of discussion, we have to narrow down the scope, and therefore we form a spectrum of true and false, based upon the likelihood of it occurring within the observable human existence on Earth. Both authors we read also seem to abandon the binary opposition. Herodotus, someone who claims to have collected reliable resources in an attempt to preserve the past (approximating the spectrum end of “true”), inserts clearly fictional stories. Lucian, someone who claims that everything he says is a lie (approximating the spectrum end of “false”), includes allusions to historical accounts that are hard to dismiss. All of this suggests that from the perspective of the author, the value of narratives isn’t only measured by their quality of being true or false.
But if not for truth, then for what? There is probably never a definite answer to why we tell and read stories. At least something I observed about myself is that I love stories not because they are factually true in the sense that it happened in the observable human history, but “TRUE” in that what the story speaks to me aligns with my worldviews, my conceptions of how humans understand themselves and the people around them. The experience of Kleobis and Biton’s mother and the death of Adrastus are “TRUE” to me for they reveal something real and fascinating about the human psyche. My mind wanders to an exchange I had with someone a week ago as I wrote these lines. They asked, “Is the divine bound?” and I instinctively replied, “Do you want to believe in a divine being that is bound?”
Croesus, spiders, and French deconstructionist all blur together in my head, but I sense that there is some message behind these interconnections. Most of my problems arise because I’m too good at ignoring facts if they are not what I want to believe in. Even when writing this reflection, I’ve been arguing against the need to see the world as it factually is. This realization is what surprised me the most in this course, for over the semester I’ve been struggling with recognizing how my own interpretations about people and events put myself in imaginary opposition with the world. The concept of Adrastus as Christ in the last ergon spontaneously emerged in my head just a few weeks ago, perhaps as a subconscious warning to myself. If Adrastus could be convinced that King Croesus truly does not blame him for the death of Atys, he might then begin to comprehend why Croesus is capable of forgiveness and learn to extend similar compassion onto himself. From this class onward, I think it is worthwhile for me to keep in mind the spectrum of true and false as a way of reconnecting myself with reality. Maybe the judgments we cast served us somehow in giving us something to hold onto among the turbulences of life, but sometimes it is enough just to see and recognize the things for what they are.
