and the Limits of Objective Truth
by Cyndi N.
First-person narration has an inherent intimacy to it. The reader is immediately plunged into the subjective perspective of a single mind, a consciousness filtered through an “I”. Things are not merely narrated-they are perceived and felt. Its power lies in this intimacy-the reader is not viewing something from afar but being transported into the very world that one consciousness is encountering. However, this intimacy simultaneously poses a dilemma: if each tale is constructed from the perspective of only one point of view, can truth in first-person narration ever be objective? The answer is no: it is always biased, subjective, and interpretive.
The truth in any story of this type is inherently selective. Every narrator cannot possibly put down every detail, but must necessarily pick and choose what information to include, what to highlight, and what to leave out entirely. Whether it be conscious or subconscious, the decision of what to say and not say dramatically affects the narrative. Two narrators will present two radically different realities of the same story not because one is lying and the other is telling the truth, but because they each filter the story through the parameters of their own memory, emotional state, and beliefs. Thus, in first-person, we can readily see that truth in storytelling is a malleable commodity that is literally constructed.
Bias plays a central role in this construction. A narrator’s beliefs, emotions, and past experiences influence how they interpret events. A moment of silence, for instance, might be read as peaceful, uncomfortable, or threatening depending on the narrator’s internal state. Even language itself becomes subjective; the same action can be framed as assertive, aggressive, confident, or arrogant, depending on perspective. First-person narration exposes how easily meaning shifts when filtered through individual perception.
However, bias in first-person narration is not simply a flaw. It is also what gives the form its depth. A completely objective account would lack emotional texture and human specificity. Through bias, readers gain access not only to what happened, but to how it felt to the person experiencing it. This emotional truth can sometimes feel more real than a detached factual account. The unreliability of the narrator, paradoxically, becomes a way of revealing psychological truth.
Perspective also shapes the boundaries of knowledge in first-person narration. The narrator can only know what they have seen, heard, or inferred. Everything outside their awareness remains uncertain. This limitation creates narrative tension: the reader is constantly aware that there is more to the story than what is being told. In some cases, this gap between perception and reality becomes central to the narrative itself, inviting readers to question what is missing as much as what is present.
This interplay between truth and limitation raises an important distinction: first-person narration is not designed to provide absolute truth, but subjective truth. It reflects lived experience rather than objective fact. The narrator’s version of events is real in the sense that it is genuinely experienced, even if it is incomplete or distorted. This distinction allows literature to explore not only what happens, but how humans make sense of what happens.
In many ways, first-person narration mirrors the structure of human memory itself. Memory is not a perfect record; it is reconstructed each time it is recalled. It is shaped by emotion, influenced by later experiences, and vulnerable to reinterpretation. Just as a first-person narrator selects and frames events, individuals constantly reshape their own pasts through storytelling. This parallel suggests that narrative bias is not an exception to human experience, it is its foundation.
At the same time, first-person narration invites readers into an ethical position. By inhabiting a single perspective, readers are asked to temporarily accept its limitations while also remaining aware of its subjectivity. This dual awareness, immersion and skepticism encourages a more nuanced form of reading. The reader learns to listen closely while also questioning what is left unsaid, what is distorted, and what might exist beyond the narrator’s understanding.
Ultimately, first-person narration reveals that truth in storytelling is not singular. It is layered, shifting, and dependent on perspective. Bias is not simply distortion; it is the lens through which experience becomes meaningful. And perspective is not a limitation to be corrected, but a condition that defines how all human stories are told.
Art by Hyun-yong, Kim, “Touch“
About the Author
Cyndi is a first-year student at Columbia University, focusing on global health equity. She writes at the intersection of medicine, ethics, and storytelling, with a particular interest in empathy and patient-centered care.