From left: ‘The Trial’, ‘1984’, ‘The Stranger’. [Covers: Open Books, Munye Publishing House, Oliver]  

Humans use two methods when expressing thoughts: assertion and narrative.

While both may appear to be acts of conveying an opinion, they operate in entirely different ways. Assertion directly targets the judgment of the other party. Narrative, on the other hand, touches upon emotions and imagination before a judgment is formed.

The Difference Between Assertion and Narrative

The moment one hears an assertion, people automatically enter a defensive posture. They question whether the statement is right or wrong, why it's being said, and if there's a hidden agenda. In other words, an assertion is an arrow shot directly at the opponent's mind. If it hits, it's persuasion; if it misses, a counter-attack immediately follows.

For example, consider the sentence: "Modern society is structurally unfair." This statement immediately becomes a target for rebuttal. Questions arise: Since when? By what criteria? How unfair is it? Statistics and counter-examples emerge. Assertions, therefore, directly enter the arena of conflict.

Narrative, however, is different. The same thought can be expressed in this way: In a novel, a diligent worker is laid off, and someone who can be hired for less money takes their place.

They don't complain. There's no mention of rules being broken. They simply open job search sites again and update their resume, adding another year to their age. The author doesn't talk about unfairness. Yet, the reader feels the unfairness.

The crucial point here is that the reader feels they have made the judgment themselves. No one persuaded them. No one forced them. Therefore, their defenses are not activated.

Assertions always demand responsibility. The question, "Why do you think that?" follows. Thus, assertions place a burden on the speaker. Narratives, conversely, distribute responsibility. The author merely says, "This happened," and leaves the judgment to the reader. The reader judges, but feels it's their own judgment.

This is why more controversial ideas are often clothed in narrative. Ideas that would be attacked if stated directly are transformed into empathy within a story. This is precisely why political ideas, moral judgments, and social critiques favor literary forms.

Assertion is a straight line. Narrative is a curve. A straight line is fast, but a curve is deep. Following the curve, the reader unknowingly changes direction. And by the time they reach the end, their hearts have already been moved.

Therefore, narrative is safe. The speaker can say, "I wasn't asserting," and the listener can say, "I was just reading a story." Yet, in the meantime, the thought has taken root. In this sense, narrative is not an alternative to assertion, but a way to circumvent it.

The Effect of Speaking Through Not Speaking

In literature, the most powerful expressions are often found in what is left unsaid. The author doesn't explain everything. Rather, they pause at crucial moments. These pauses make the reader think.

The author doesn't explain the reason. The reader interprets that silence.

People think more at the points where explanations cease than when they are listening to them. If someone provides a conclusion, we examine that conclusion. But if there's no conclusion, we create one ourselves. The conclusion formed then becomes not a "persuaded thought" but "a thought I reached."

For instance, in a novel, a character who is unjustly accused is given a final chance to speak in court. The reader naturally expects a defense. But they remain silent. The author doesn't explain why. The reader interprets that silence. It could be resignation, helplessness, or the experience that speaking would be futile.

Whatever the interpretation, it is created by the reader. Therefore, it leaves a deeper impression.

Let's consider another example. In a novel about war, the author doesn't describe battle scenes at length. Instead, after the battle, they show a soldier returning home unable to sleep, sitting with their shoes still on. There are no gunshots, blood, or screams. Yet, the reader fully grasps the destructive power of war.

It is conveyed precisely because it was not spoken.

This method becomes particularly powerful when combined with ideology. The more an ideology is explained, the more it is met with resistance. But if it is not spoken, it becomes a landscape.

For example, what if in a novel, law enforcement always arrives late or only serves to worsen situations whenever they appear? The author doesn't criticize the state. But the reader comes to distrust the state.

This is the effect of speaking through not speaking. The author reduces words, and the reader expands their thoughts. And those thoughts are not criticized. Because no one called them an "assertion."

Why Ideologies Don't Appear as Opinions

Ideologies are originally opinions. They can be debated and should be subject to discussion. However, when embedded in literature, ideologies no longer appear as opinions. This is because they are conveyed through experience, not explanation.

If someone says, "This society marginalizes the weak," a rebuttal is possible. But in a novel, if a character who tries hard but always stays in the same place repeatedly appears, and their frustration is depicted as part of daily life, the situation changes. The reader doesn't perceive the structure as an "assertion." They accept it as "that kind of world."

Opinions are objects of choice. Experience, however, is difficult to deny. While one can say, "I don't agree with that assertion," it is difficult to say, "That suffering was felt incorrectly." Literature targets this very point.

Ideologies within stories do not reveal themselves. They do not persuade. They permeate like the air surrounding the characters' lives. Before recognizing them as ideas, readers accept them as reality. At this moment, ideology shifts to the realm of emotion.

Emotion is difficult to debate. Sadness cannot be rebutted, and anger cannot be refuted. Therefore, ideologies in literature evade the blade of criticism. Furthermore, if this pattern is repeated across multiple works, readers accept it as a single world. At some point, it becomes not an opinion but "how things are."

The perception formed this way lasts longer than textbooks. It seeps in deeper than explanations and spreads wider than academic papers. That is why literature is often more powerful than politics. It doesn't change laws, but it changes people's standards of judgment.

How Novels Hide Assertions and Shift Judgments: The "Safe Zone of Narrative" Through Literary Examples

1. The Method of Simply Presenting Situations: Franz Kafka's "The Trial"

Franz Kafka, the author of "The Trial," was not a philosopher or a political theorist. He studied law and worked as a white-collar employee in an insurance company. In other words, he was not someone who criticized institutions from the outside, but someone who lived their daily life within them. This point is crucial for understanding the nature of "The Trial."

The novel rigorously omits the basic explanations that readers expect. The story begins with Josef K. being arrested one morning without knowing why.

The arrest is not violent. There are no shouts or drawn weapons. It is rather polite. However, within this politeness, the most important element is missing: the reason. The reader naturally thinks, "The charges will come soon. There will be an explanation during the trial."

But Kafka never explains, even to the end. The trial continues, but the courtroom is in a strange place, the procedures are unclear, and the officials keep changing. The law seems to exist but is elusive. Josef K. asks questions, but they vanish into thin air.

Throughout this process, Kafka never once offers a judgment.

"This system is unjust." "The state is violent." "The law oppresses people." Such sentences are nowhere to be found in the novel.

Instead, Kafka persistently repeats the situation. The unexplained arrest, the endless trial, the unaccountable authority. As readers follow this situation, they become increasingly emotional. Frustration, indignation, and anxiety build up. And at some point, a judgment is formed in the reader's mind: "This is wrong."

This sentence is created by the reader. The author did not write it. Therefore, this judgment is powerful. There is no target for rebuttal. Because no one asserted it.

If Franz Kafka had explicitly stated, "This trial is unjust," the reader would have logically examined that sentence. But he removed the assertion and left only the situation. In this case, the novel becomes a perfect safe zone for narrative. The author remains distant until the end, and the judgment is formed within the reader.

2. The Method of Making Readers Insiders by Not Speaking: Albert Camus's "The Stranger"

Albert Camus, the author of "The Stranger," was also a philosopher, but in this novel, he does not explain philosophy. He does not directly speak of concepts like absurdity, morality, or societal hypocrisy. Instead, he simply presents a strange human being with a blank expression.

Meursault does not cry at his mother's funeral. He says he pulled the trigger because the sun was too bright. He does not morally justify his actions. There is no regret or excuse. The reader is initially taken aback. This character seems devoid of emotion.

The important point is that Camus does not interpret this character.

"Meursault resists conventional morality." "He is a character who exposes societal hypocrisy." Such explanations are absent.

A decisive scene occurs during the trial. More than the specific circumstances of the murder, the fact that he didn't cry at his mother's funeral becomes a major issue. The court judges his attitude more than his crime. At this point, the reader becomes uncomfortable. "This trial is strange." "Something is off."

But who voiced this judgment? The author said nothing. Camus passes the judgment to the reader. The reader is no longer an outsider reading a novel. They are seated in the position of a moral judge observing the trial.

At this moment, the reader becomes an insider to the story. They were drawn in by not speaking. This is the effect of not speaking. Because the judgment was not forced, the reader accepts it as their own.

3. The Method of Turning Ideology into a "World" Rather Than an Opinion: George Orwell's "1984"

George Orwell's "1984" is often classified as a political novel. However, the core of this novel lies not in political critique but in its method of world-building. Orwell does not declare, "Totalitarianism is bad." He creates a world and immerses the reader within it.

Newspeak, the Thought Police, the telescreen – all of these are not subjects for explanation but an environment. Protagonist Winston questions this world, but even that questioning is linguistically limited. Initially, the reader reads it as, "What if there were such a society?" But as they read more, the question changes: "This isn't a society, it's a prison." "It's suffocating."

This judgment is not a political opinion. It is the result of an experience. The reader has not adopted a stance against totalitarianism; they have come to hate that world. Therefore, it is difficult to refute.

One cannot say, "Your feeling that the world is suffocating is mistaken." This is because ideology has become emotion rather than opinion. At this moment, "1984" does not assert; it functions as an experience-generating device.

4. The Method of Creating a Worldview Through Repeated Suffering: Jo Se-hui's "The Dwarf Threw a Small Ball"

Jo Se-hui's "The Dwarf Threw a Small Ball" is often called a social exposé novel. However, this novel does not expose or explain. Instead, it repeatedly places scenes of suffering.

Layoffs, demolition, illness, death. These events are not logically connected. The author does not explain development policies or analyze economic structures. They simply show the scenes of a family's life collapsing one by one.

Initially, the reader feels pity. But as the repetition accumulates, the emotion changes. "Why do only these people always experience such things?" The moment this question arises, the reader has already recognized the structure. But that structure has never been explained. Therefore, it becomes a worldview, not an opinion.

The reader doesn't say, "I agree with the critique of capitalism." Instead, they feel, "This is too cruel." This emotion is irrefutable. Therefore, this novel endures.

Why is this a "safe zone"? The commonality among these works is that no one utters the final sentence. The state is violent. Society is unfair. Systems destroy people. These sentences are not written in the novels. They are completed in the reader's mind. The author leaves that space empty. This empty space is the safe zone of narrative.

The author can say, "I merely described," and the reader can say, "I merely felt." But the judgment has already been formed. Literature becomes dangerous not when it lies, but when it obscures the path by which judgment is formed.

By this point, the reader no longer asks, "What is the author trying to say?" Instead, they feel, "I already feel this way." This is the power of narrative.

◆ Songshan

Poet and researcher of history and philosophy. Served as a director of the Syngman Rhee Institute, and currently serves as an advisor for the Korean Modern and Contemporary History Research Association and as the representative of the philosophy forum Lyceion. He has published four poetry collections and co-translated "The Heroes of Cape Hog." Songshan is a pen name.