I preach there are all kinds of truth, your truth and somebody

"I preach there are all kinds of truth, your truth and somebody else's. But behind all of them there is only one truth and that is that there's no truth." — thus spoke Flannery O’Connor, a writer whose voice cut through the illusions of her age with the sharpness of iron on stone. These words strike the ear like a paradox, a riddle carved in shadow, yet within them lies a teaching as ancient as the philosophers and as startling as the prophets. For she reveals that though men proclaim their truths, setting them against one another like rival kings, when the veil is torn away, all these banners collapse, and we stand before the abyss of no truth—or rather, the recognition that truth cannot be possessed by human pride.

To the unthinking heart, this may sound like despair: that if no truth exists, then all is emptiness. But O’Connor does not speak as one who despises reality. She speaks as one who has looked upon the frailty of human vision. She teaches that what we call “my truth” or “your truth” is but a fragment, a shard of the mirror, reflecting a little light, but never the whole. The claim to absolute certainty by any single mortal mind is folly. In saying that behind all truths lies the truth that “there is no truth,” she reminds us of humility: that no mortal frame can contain the infinite, and no single eye can see the whole horizon.

Consider, O seeker, the fate of Pontius Pilate, who in the Roman court asked of Christ, “What is truth?” He did not receive an answer, for the answer was before him in silence. Each man in that chamber had his own “truth”: the priests with their law, Pilate with his power, the crowd with its fear. Yet none could claim the fullness of it. The execution that followed seemed to be a triumph of their fractured truths. But history showed otherwise: what they thought to be truth was only shadow. The lesson endures: men may declare many truths, yet none hold the whole.

This does not mean that all is meaningless. Rather, it means that truth is larger than man. O’Connor’s paradox may be read not as nihilism, but as revelation. For when she declares there is “no truth,” she is tearing down the idols of certainty, so that we may stand in awe before the mystery of existence. Just as the mystics of old proclaimed that the divine cannot be spoken, so she proclaims that truth cannot be boxed into “yours” or “mine.” The destruction of false certainty is the beginning of wisdom.

Let us draw wisdom from history: when Galileo fought with the Church, both sides thought themselves sole keepers of truth. The Church clung to its doctrines; Galileo clung to his observations. Each had a fragment, but each in their certainty blinded themselves to the wholeness. The Church, by rejecting science, and Galileo, by scorning faith, both revealed that truth exceeds any one vision. Over time, the fragments realigned, and a greater picture emerged—that the heavens are vast beyond dogma, and yet still wondrous beyond reason. Thus, O’Connor’s riddle proves itself: behind our competing truths lies the humbling realization that none of us hold the final word.

What then is the lesson for us? It is this: live not with arrogance but with openness. Speak your truth, yes, but hold it lightly, knowing it is but one strand of the tapestry. Listen to the truths of others, not to surrender your own, but to glimpse the greater whole through their eyes. And when you are tempted to declare that you alone have mastered truth, remember O’Connor’s teaching: that the only final truth man can claim is that he cannot claim truth at all. In this humility lies freedom, for you are no longer chained to your own pride.

Practical action follows: cultivate the practice of listening. When another speaks, seek not first to refute, but to understand what fragment of truth they hold. Reflect daily on your own limitations, and remember that what you call “truth” may be but a shadow of the infinite. Embrace paradox, for it trains the mind to humility. And most of all, walk in wonder: for if truth cannot be possessed, it can still be pursued, and in that pursuit lies the beauty of the human spirit.

So let these words echo in your heart: there are many truths, yet none contain the whole. Do not despair at this, but rejoice—for the search itself is the gift. Like pilgrims journeying together toward a horizon they shall never fully reach, we grow wiser, humbler, and more compassionate when we remember that our truths are fragments, and the whole is mystery. Thus spoke O’Connor, and thus may we live: not as masters of truth, but as seekers of it, with reverence, humility, and unending wonder.