Truth and The Text: Taking Borges Out of Turn

I read Borges’ story “Pierre Menard, Author of Don Quixote,” but not in chronological fashion.  I’m tempted to say “not in the fashion the author intended,” but there’s no way to know that.  But I can say, unequivocally, that I “read around” in it before reading it properly, and spent the majority of my time on page 53 of the Grove Press edition⁠1, in which Borges quotes Cervantes and Menard as follows:

“…truth, whose mother is history, who is the rival of time, depository of deeds, witness of the past, example and lesson to the present, and warning to the future.”

I was impressed with this quotation but confused as to how the two seemingly identical quotes differed.  I read the Cervantes version again.  Then the Menard version.  They still seemed the same.  Had I missed something?  I read them side by side.  The same, truly and indisputably identical.  And yet I read on the same page that there are “vivid” contrasts in style and content between Menard’s version and Cervantes’.

It wasn’t until I skipped back a page that I found the solution to the puzzle: “The text of Cervantes and that of Menard are verbally identical,” Borges writes, making this a Borgesian joke unlikely to be encountered since most people start at the beginning of a story and read toward the end…

 The joke more often encountered is the narrator’s conclusion that the two texts are identical “but the second is infinitely richer.” Ha! this is funny because it’s impossible, we say.  But of course, in the world of ficciones, we are wrong.

The meaning of a text changes depending on the context assumed by the reader.  If the reader thinks (as Borges suggests) that The Imitation of Christ⁠2 was written by James Joyce, they are likely to interpret it differently than if the reader thinks it was written by Céline.  Borges calls this “a new technique…of reading,” involving “deliberate anachronism and erroneous attributions” to create a “renovation” of the original.  

Which is more important, then, the truth or the text?  Perhaps it depends on the text.

anImage_2.tiff

1 Of the collection Ficciones

2 In fact, it was written by Thomas á Kempis sometime before 1440.

 

Photo credit: Adolf Hoffmeister, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Truth and/in the Narrative Age

Modern people, journalists and government people especially, like to talk about events in terms of “the narrative,” as if the real world events they’re describing are elements of fiction and not accumulations of fact.  For a while now, this has disturbed me.  Shouldn’t such people, possessors of the public trust and the duty of honestly informing the people, be telling the simple truth about things that verifiably happened and not “constructing a narrative” about them?  Because to my mind, constructing a narrative is not the same as providing a truthful account of something, nor is it consistent with the intention of fully informing one’s auditor.  It’s not that at all.  Rather, shaping the narrative is one systematic and insidious step removed from “spin.”  Meanwhile, spin is at least honest about its intentions which are to mislead, even to lie (almost).  A constructed narrative is not.

But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.  First, there is the factual telling of a real-world incident or situation.  This is what we expect from government officials and their journalists (naively, of course). 

Then there is the self-serving use of language to tell the same story in such a way that the listener gets the impression that the narrator wants them to get, even though that impression is not true. An honest government with honest motives would not need to construct narratives.  This should tell us something about the quality of information fed to us by spokespeople and media.  But maybe I’m still not making myself clear.

Example:  A country (let’s call them The Enemy) invades another country (The Proxy) after years of manipulation and tinkering on the part of a third nation which would like to take out The Enemy by having the proxy country fight them in a war.  This third country (let’s call them The Instigator) tells people that The Enemy has wantonly invaded the The Proxy without any provocation at all in order to fulfill its goal of world domination.  Many if not most people, hearing this narrative, believe it to be true, despite any stubborn facts to the contrary.  But in the current instance, the only part of the narrative that is strictly true is that The Enemy has invaded The Proxy.  The rest is spin: language employed to convey the false impression that The Enemy is solely at fault for a state of affairs that was largely set in motion, not by The Enemy but by The Instigator.

If we actually cared, we would have a problem with people in positions of public trust “shaping the narrative”–by so doing, the truth gets drowned in waves of false allegation, and we the people who listen uncritically to these narratives are misled, perhaps because we want to be, but misled all the same.  Like it or not, we accept lies and half-truths as truth.  

For a long time, this has gone on.  People love to tell stories; embellishing the truth is a time honored tradition of tall tale tellers from the fireside hearth to the halls of Congress.  But when we create names for this phenomenon which make it plain that we know the stories we’re telling ourselves are lies, and then use those lies to justify very dangerous and damaging real-world actions (such as wars and slander), yea, when we speak of constructed narratives as though they were true accounts of real events composed of indisputable facts, then we are miles past the use of fiction for entertainment (as in the art of creative writing) and well into the territory of self-serving mendacity.

Although no one really knows why this is so⁠1, we do know that lies are harmful and the truth is good.  It’s just that unless one’s actions are motivated by a desire to do good, telling the truth can be hard and painful. Hence we lie, or as we say today, spin.

In the case of government officials and so-called politicians, we do this as a matter of course—it’s what we do, our modus operandi, our standard operating procedure.  Constructing the narrative in this context has no other purpose than to mislead and consequently, to elicit a desired response from the people who believe us.  It’s consciously taking the facts as we know them and twisting them with other facts or convincingly-worded half-truths, and telling a different story—one that’s in line with our interests, not those of the people we purport to serve.  The established practice of spin is manipulative and frankly rotten, and we shouldn’t tolerate it, much less make up innocuous sounding labels for it like “shaping the narrative,” as though we were just rounding off a few rough edges, although, in fact, that’s just what we are doing—the omitting the inconvenient facts that tell the real story, the whole story, the truth and nothing but the truth.

But then, people don’t naturally tend to be truth-tellers.  Here in America, we need to be made to swear on a Bible (an obsolete sacred book) under penalty of law that we will tell the truth before we will do so reliably.  And even then, we might not, the Ten Commandments be damned. So when someone talks about the narrative, beware.  This is not an honest rendering of fact.  On the contrary–you are being lied to.

anImage_8.tiff

1 So: a needle pulling thread… conjunction meaning (in this case) “the case” or (to translate, “why this is the case” or “why this is true.”