Which Literature Type Offers More Human Insight: Fiction or Scientific?
"The highest problem of any art is to cause by appearance the illusion of a higher reality." Johann von Goethe
The question of which "literature" type offers more human insight: fiction or scientific—seems to me to be somewhat of an oxymoron.
What exactly do we mean by "scientific"--as opposed to "fictional"--literature?
The Oxford American Dictionary defines the term "literature" as "written works, especially those considered of superior or lasting artistic merit: a great work of literature."
The first bullet under the definition says "books and writings published on a particular subject: the literature on environmental epidemiology. (The third bullet says "leaflets and other printed matter used to advertise products or give advice.")
Again, what do we mean when we ask the question "Which literature type offers more human insight: fiction or scientific? What sense of the word "literature" are we referring to? It seems to me that when we speak of "fictional literature" we are using the first--and most general--sense of the definition. When we talk about "scientific literature" we are using the second sense of the definition.
As I said the term "scientific literature" seems to me an oxymoron when we talk about literature in the first sense of the word.
Scientific literature must refer to the second definition: books and writings published on a particular subject. Darwin's Origin of Species or other examples of scientific literatue would generally not be considered works of "superior artistic merit" such as Cervantes' Don Quixote or Tolstoy's War and Peace.
They are simply two different things. Each with their own merit. The comparative value of which probably depends upon the person who reads them and his/or her natural propensities. Which "literature" he is naturally able to receive and get the most out of.
It seems to me that this question is asking us to compare apples and oranges.
Immediately, the question comes to mind: does Newton's Law of Gravity offer us "human insight"?
The law of gravity is fundamental to how we live life on the planet earth. It is one of the most fundamental laws of nature. Life, in one sense, would be entirely different for us if we were in a gravity-less environment--think outer-space station. On the other hand, we would still love--possibly, unfortunately hate--still have ambition, still ponder death. All the themes that great literature addresses.
Newton's finding of the Law of Gravity and any "scientific" literature about it, is fundamentally important to life on the planet, but it's effect on our lives is different than pondering the themes of Tolstoy's War and Peace.
My hunch is that the question is fundamentally flawed. Although it does bring interesting questions to mind.
Are we asking, for example, which provides more human insight: Darwin's Origin of Species (I assume that falls under the category of scientific literature) or Tolstoy's War and Peace?
As many more individuals of each species are born than can possibly survive; and as, consequently, there is a frequently recurring struggle for existence, it follows that any being, if it vary however slightly in any manner profitable to itself, under the complex and sometimes varying conditions of life, will have a better chance of surviving, and thus be naturally selected. From the strong principle of inheritance, any selected variety will tend to propagate its new and modified form.[105](Source: Wikipedia)
This taken from Darwin's Theory of Natural Selection.
As I proceeded to read the entry on Darwin I came across the following:
Darwin’s book [on natural selection] was half way when, on 18 June 1858, he received a paper from Wallace describing natural selection. Shocked that he had been “forestalled”, Darwin sent it on to Lyell, as requested, and, though Wallace had not asked for publication, he suggested he would send it to any journal that Wallace chose. His family was in crisis with children in the village dying of scarlet fever, and he put matters in the hands of Lyell and Hooker. They decided on a joint presentation at the Linnean Society on 1 July of On the Tendency of Species to form Varieties; and on the Perpetuation of Varieties and Species by Natural Means of Selection; however, Darwin’s baby son died of the scarlet fever and he was too distraught to attend.[98]
Tell me, at that moment in Darwin's life what was more useful to him: a paper on Newton's Theory of Gravity or John Donne's Death Be Not Proud (OK, it's not fictional literature; how about Les Miserables?--or supply me with a better choice.)
When I was with my mother the last day of her life, I spent part of that day reading the final pages of Alice Walker's "The Color Purple." Coincidence? Maybe. Perhaps it was a diversion from issues too big for my mind to cope with. Or perhaps I felt solace connecting with another human being (the author) who was attempting to grapple with questions ("great emotion reflected upon in a time of great calm") too big for the mind to cope with.
I think the question places a dicohotomy--an either/or--that is not really useful.
I am a reader of literature--fiction and non-fiction. (Is this the real question: which gives us more insight into human nature: fiction or non-fiction?)
They both play an important part in my life. I am fond of both. They play different roles in my life and those roles are synergistic.
A writer who has a great understanding of science--or philosophy--does something different than the scientist or philosopher. Perhaps the quality of insight each gives into human nature depends on the "tendencies" of the receiver, the ability of the receiver to receive.
From C.P. Snow's The Two Cultures:
"Some of the very best scientists . . . had read everything that literary people talk about. But that's very rare. Most of the rest . . . would modestly confess, "Well, I've tried to read some of Dickens," rather as though Dickens were an extraordinarily esoteric, tangled and dubiously rewarding writer, something like Rainer Maria Rilke.
Remember, these are very intelligent men. Their culture is in many ways an exacting and admirable one. It doesn't contain much art, with the exception, an important exception, of music. Verbal exchange, insistent argument. Long-playing records. Colour photography. The ear, to some extent the eye. Books, very little . . . And of the books which to most literary persons are bread and butter, novels, history, poetry, plays, almost nothing at all. It isn't that they're not interested in the psychological or moral or social life. In the social life, they certainly are, more than most of us. In the moral, they are by and large the soundest group of intellectuals we have; there is a moral component right in the grain of science itself, and almost all scientists form their own judgements of the moral life. In the psychological they have as much interest as most of us, though occasionally I fancy they come to it rather late. It isn't that they lack the interests. It is much more that the whole literature of the traditional culture doesn't seem to them relevant to those interests. They are, of course, dead wrong. As a result, their imaginative understanding is less than it could be. They are self-impoverished."
To what are we referring when we speak of "scientific literature?
Are we referring to academic scientific papers? The Scientific American? Or any non-fiction work of a scientific nature?
The range of "literary fiction" is broad indeed.
The genre called scientific literature, however, seems to be very specific in nature and refers to a body of work that occupies a very small and specific band within the whole spectrum of what we call literature.
There is no denying that the field of science is powerful; it changes the way we live our life from day to day.
But when we talk about the quality and quantity of insight into human nature that scientific "literature" gives us—are we talking about the effect the New York Times Scientific Supplement has on those who read it?
What insight we gain from the latest book on quantum physics?
The terms "scientific literature" as opposed to "fictional literature" seems misleading.
Is this question really asking: Which field gives us more knowledge about human nature--science or art?
We all enjoy the benefits of the theoretical and applied aspects of science even though we may never have picked up a journal which explains how the electrical sockets in our house work.
However, the fields of science and art are highly dichotomized in our culture ( meaning regarded or represented as divided or opposed.) It's a curious fact that in today's culture—scientists and literary men might not be capable of having a meaningful conversation over dinner (see C.P. Snow's "The Two Cultures.)
As the scientific revolution has unfolded, it has required greater and greater degrees of specialization.
Even pure scientists and applied scientists belong to two very different sub-cultures within the field of science. Today even pure scientists and applied scientists belong to two very different sub-cultures within the field of science.
I once heard a talk by a scientist praising the work of one of the top physicists in the world. Everyone knew that the gentleman of whom he spoke was one of a handful of the most advanced scientists in the world. But at that level there were only about 8 people in the world who could understand what he was talking about.
Herein, I would like to make my case for the wide-reaching and powerful effect that fictional literature has on mankind
In great literature we can read about trends in world civilization and see them unfold intimately before our eyes. In the novel Moby Dick—fictional, however, that it may be—we learn a great deal about the whaling industry and the effects that whale oil had on an emerging world culture.
Certainly, Moby Dick is not "scientific" literature. But in the course of reading it, we do learn a great deal about the technical aspects of applied science and the effect that the ensuing industrial revolution had on the cultural values of that time.
Scientific literature, however, is not able to often convey as powerfully the effects of the science it describes upon the lives of men and their culture. Generally, that is left to the literary men and their novels. Art by its very nature takes knowledge from the realm of the purely intellectual and makes something of emotion--that touches the reader's heart. Gives him the experience. "The object of art is to crystallize emotion into thought, and then fit it in form," Francois Del Sarte.
I don't believe it is an either/or situation. I think a novel is going to be much more powerfully written by someone who has a deep scientific understanding--depending upon the subject matter of the writing, of course. Certainly Herman Melville was a much more powerful writer because he had experienced life on a whaling boat first-hand. Which is not to say that whaling is so terribly scientific, but I think we can grasp the idea.
Kurt Vonnegut got a B.S. in Chemistry from Cornell University. Reading his futuristic story "Harrison Bergeron" (I highly recommend it), one realizes that Vonnegut's scientific background added a great deal of rigor to the story.
I read an interview with Nabokov. When asked how to prepare oneself to be a writer, he answered: if you're going to be a writer, study something other than writing—that way you'll have something to write about. (Nabokov was a lepidopterist.)
To return to science: Science looks at life and identifies patterns, underlying principals of natural law. It's the nature of science to look at ever-deeper levels of nature and find more profound and fundamental laws of nature that unify life at its deeper levels (the law of gravity; the unification of electro-magnetic and weak and strong forces; etc.) It generally does not talk about the effect these laws of nature have on the human experience. Or if it does talk in an essay or a non-fiction piece about these effects--it does not give the experience to the reader of the effect, such as a work of fictional literature might. That is the field of fiction, to give an actual experience to the reader. We read a piece of literature and we feel the effect that the scientific discovery of electricity, for example, has on a whole population.
For a practical example, let's take a look at why two cells come together and create a new human being.
It would be exponentially mind-boggling to try to explain scientifically why those two particular cells come together, become an author and go on to write Hamlet, one of the greatest works of Western literature.
Aside: It's probably potentially possible, if one accepts the science of Vedic astrology (Jyotish.) [Vedic is a Sanskrit term which means "knowledge." This science of astrological prediction has its roots in India.]
But at what point do the boundaries between art and science break down? At what level of existence do they actually become unified?
Generally we look to literature to help us understand the great mysteries of life—birth, death, love, the bonds between parent and child. Science as we know it is, as of yet, only beginning to touch upon these issues
Science—the hard sciences—as of yet, generally does not talk much about love and address the emotional values of our life.
A scientist examines a rose and thinks: "carbon dioxide, hydrogen, oxygen." A writer looks at a rose, and creates a poem.
It will make life very "neat", and I certainly hope it comes to pass, if science—psychology, neuroscience, endocrinology, etc.—could help us understand and, thereby, hopefully gain some control over the great psychological complexities with which we are faced individually and globally.
But at this point, as we know all too well, having the capability to create an atom bomb or splice together a potato and a scorpion gene in order to create a potato that can repel insects (think Genetically Modified Organism,) for example, has not been able to help us better empathize with our fellow man
This is where literary fiction can help: by using the "untruth" to uncover deeper levels of "truth.
We take a story that a great master of literature has created out of his imagination—and we empathize, our vision becomes expanded.
I am not Madame Bovary, but by reading her story I can become her mind. I emerge from reading the novel enlarged, more aware of my own mind, feelings, tendencies than if I had never read Madame Bovary.
I see how capable I would be of making similar choices given that character's situation. I feel broadened—better able to understand the inner workings of my fellow man. Not so quick to jump to a moral conclusion when I read a headline in the newspaper. Things are no longer so black and white. There is now room for ambiguity. Fictional literature, among other things, helps us feel empathy with our fellow man, can help us understand what it's like to live in a culture half-way around the globe from us. Not a bad thing in this time of increasing globalization and ever-impending war.
I also experience that literature can provide a cautionary tale. When I see feelings or thinking come up in myself that are leading me down a certain path, I feel a warning light come on—hear the canary in the coal mine. I remember Madame Bovary's plight—and I become more reflective about the choices I make
I love science and the improved quality of life it gives us. With a better quality of life—a more affluent lifestyle—we are not (most of us) faced with the choices that the characters in Les Miserables and Oliver Twist were forced to make.
But still, reading those stories that touch on universal themes--emotions and quandaries of the human spirit such as loyalty, trust, love, for example, one is enriched by partaking of a broader reach of humanity than our own individual lives bound in our own space and time may afford us.
