Truth: the last victim

In the history of thought, truth has never been a straight line, but an elusive horizon. It is the destination of the ceaseless journey of the human spirit—an idea which, from the earliest dawns of philosophy, has resisted every easy definition, revealing itself instead in the form of an enigma. Already Plato, in his allegory of the cave, urged us to turn our gaze away from the fleeting shadows dancing on the wall, and toward the dazzling light of pure essence. Over the centuries, this quest has been a winding path—traced by the rigorous geometry of logic, illuminated by reason, and, more recently, probed with the tools of empiricism. Yet, in our own time—marked by the eclipse of reason and the spread of post-truth—the true seems to have lost its solidity as an objective fact, dissolving into an infinite gallery of subjective narratives. A phenomenon that reveals itself with disturbing intensity in today’s major crises.

Wars, from the one ravaging Ukraine to the conflict between Israel and Hamas, are the stage on which truth is the first and most illustrious victim. Each side constructs its own narrative, distorting events and wielding images, videos, and reports as weapons of propaganda—molding a parallel reality in which objective truth is doomed to vanish. In such contexts, truth becomes a hostage, a bargaining chip, manipulated for personal, political, and power-driven ends.

The relationship between truth and its tormented emergence has found masterful representation in painting, through two works that, though distant in inspiration, offer powerful and complementary visions—almost a dialogue between drama and hope. Jean-Léon Gérôme painted a stunning work, interpreting it as a dramatic gesture, a moral invective: his Truth Coming Out of Her Well (1896). Not an allegory, but a true apparition, a specter manifesting with the violence of an epiphany.

The figure of truth is not an ideal Venus or a serene personification; it is a raw, tormented reality. Gérôme strips her of every conventional beauty—he undresses her not to celebrate purity, but to expose her vulnerability and the violence she has endured. Her body, gaunt and naked, is not a symbol of perfection but the palpable testimony of despoilment, the last remnant of a reality outraged and cast into oblivion.

The well is the archetypal place of darkness and lies, the underground realm where humanity has tried to conceal what it did not wish to see. From this abyss, Truth emerges with a horrified expression, almost a mask of madness, reflecting the despair of one forced to confront a world that rejects her. There is no triumph in this emergence, but a tragic struggle. The light that strikes her is not a saving light, but an indifferent one—almost complicit in her despair. It is a light that grants no beauty, but instead highlights the tragic nature of her existence: a body unwanted, a presence that disturbs and is resisted. Gérôme delivers a work that transcends its time and dissects a concept—embodying it in a suffering figure forced to fight for survival in an era, and in a world, that prefers shadows to naked, raw reality. It is a cry of pain, an act of accusation, which echoes with surprising force in our own contemporaneity, where truth continues to be an uncomfortable entity, often cast again into the well of lies and ideologies.

By contrast, Jules Joseph Lefebvre, with hisThe Truth (1870), offers a more serene and idealized vision. His truth is an angelic female figure, a goddess holding a mirror. The mirror becomes a symbol of self-reflection and knowledge, a tool that both reflects light and returns the image of the viewer. The nudity of the figure, unlike that of Gérôme’s, symbolizes innocence and purity, not vulnerability. Her gaze is calm, confident, proud, and her body is a symbol of innocence and purity.

Lefebvre’s truth reveals itself with divine grace. In this vision, it is a luminous, benevolent entity—a force with the power to enlighten minds and bring order to chaos. Here, the artist does not denounce, but exalts the intrinsic power of truth, its ability to manifest through the force of its own beauty and purity. The atmosphere is one of calm and revelation, an image that invites contemplation and trust, where the body becomes instrument, image, and symbol. Our own age, in its fever of information and instant communication, has seen truth undergo a progressive eclipse. The speed at which news spreads has rendered verification nearly impossible, and the saturation of channels has eroded critical attention. Truth has become one option among many, one viewpoint among countless others—often judged more by convenience than by reliability. In this scenario, the search for truth is not only a philosophical or artistic task, but an ethical imperative.

Our time is imprisoned in profound amnesia—a collective inattention that makes us impermeable to truth. There is a great battle underway, an intellectual crusade whose aim is not a castle or a city, but our very minds. We can no longer afford laziness, the addiction to hearsay, and the comforting echo of our own bubbles. We must dismantle certainties, exercise doubt as a muscle, and sharpen our critical gaze. Only then, with the humility of one who knows they do not know, can we listen to dissonant voices and piece together the mosaic of an ever more complex reality.