Meaning-making has become a collective thing. Truth is consensus. Problem is that we now live in a world of different whirls of consensuses... Um, izzat a word?
Old fashioned - I like my truths when they come with some wrinkles and jowls. I want them tested over more than the latest news cycle. I want them dressed nicer than any given rap or rock group. And it's good when they have the patina of endurance.
There's a feeling of comfort in peering at a grand old truth nestled among bundles of swaying moss - dangling from ancient oaks. Wisdom is not a monopoly of the elderly. But cautious analysis, is frequently found in mature places. And perhaps that's where we get our understanding of elegance?