Long-standing debate about passive observation versus active engagement.

Susan Sontag and Zeitgeist #

An enduring and often revisited dilemma concerns whether a photographer should remain a passive observer or intervene in the events they witness. Susan Sontag wrote extensively on this subject, but who was the first to address it? #

The ethical dilemma of whether a photographer (or any observer, such as a journalist or artist) should remain detached from their subject or intervene in the events they are witnessing is deeply rooted in philosophical and artistic traditions. The idea itself predates Susan Sontag’s reflections, which indeed are significant, particularly in her seminal work On Photography (1977) and later in Regarding the Pain of Others (2003). However, the tension between observation and intervention stretches back much further in history.

Early Conceptual Foundations

• Philosophical Roots: The roots of this dilemma can be traced back to ancient philosophical discussions regarding theoria (contemplation) versus praxis (action). Ancient Greek philosophers like Aristotle viewed theoria as a form of disinterested observation that sought to understand the world, while praxis was action taken to affect it. This foundational contrast reflects an early tension between observing and participating in the world.

• Aesthetic and Artistic Contexts: In the visual arts, this notion of passive observation versus active engagement emerges in the long-standing debate about the artist’s role in representing reality. The Renaissance tradition of humanism, for instance, saw art as both a mirror to nature and a moral guide. Artists like Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo were aware of the ethical dimensions of their work—whether art should simply reflect the world or provoke moral reflection and action.

• Romanticism and Detachment: By the 18th and 19th centuries, Romantic thinkers like Edmund Burke and Immanuel Kant introduced concepts of the sublime, which emphasized the role of the detached observer in experiencing awe and terror. For them, the act of observation itself could be a profound, passive engagement with the world’s overwhelming realities. This detachment is analogous to later debates in photography and journalism.

Early Applications to Photography and Journalism

The invention of photography in the 19th century gave the theoretical tension a new, real-world urgency. Early photojournalists and war photographers, such as Mathew Brady (famous for his Civil War documentation), were among the first to grapple with the ethical quandaries of their role. Should the photographer document human suffering without intervening, or should they engage with the world they were witnessing?

Mathew Brady (and assistants like Alexander Gardner), who documented the American Civil War, began facing this dilemma. While Brady’s team produced some of the most iconic images of wartime devastation, there were also accusations that some of the photos were staged to evoke a more dramatic response—suggesting a blurred line between observation and manipulation.

Jacob Riis, an early photojournalist and reformer, used his photography in the late 19th century to document and expose the living conditions of the poor in New York City. His work, however, leaned toward interventionism: his goal was explicitly to influence social reform, which complicated the passive observer role.

The Intellectual Formalization: Walter Benjamin and Susan Sontag

Walter Benjamin, in his 1936 essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” explored how photography, as a mechanical art form, alienates the observer from the subject. This idea touched on the power dynamics of observation—who has the right to observe, and how does that observation change reality?

Finally, Susan Sontag crystallized many of these ideas in her essays. Her concern with photography as a form of passive violence—particularly in war photography or disaster photojournalism—interrogated the ethics of witnessing without intervening. Sontag questioned whether photographers were exploiting suffering for artistic or journalistic purposes, or if they were genuinely helping to expose injustices and atrocities.

In On Photography, she argues that photography inherently distances us from reality, making it easier for both photographer and viewer to be passive and detached. But her later work Regarding the Pain of Others shows a more ambivalent stance, where she contemplates how images of suffering can indeed provoke moral action, even if the photographer themselves remains an observer.

While Susan Sontag is perhaps the most famous voice in articulating the modern version of this dilemma, the tension between passive observation and active intervention is deeply embedded in the philosophical traditions of theoria vs. praxis, and it gained fresh urgency with the advent of photography. The first photographers to truly grapple with this in a modern sense were likely Mathew Brady and Jacob Riis, but the question itself—whether to observe or intervene—has ancient roots, surfacing in various artistic and moral contexts throughout history.

Let us unpack Sontag’s argument from “Regarding the Pain of Others” in more detail.

In Regarding the Pain of Others (2003), Susan Sontag revisits and complicates the arguments she initially made in On Photography (1977). In this later work, she reflects on the ethical, moral, and aesthetic implications of viewing images of suffering, particularly through the lens of war photography. While On Photography adopts a more skeptical tone about the capacity of photography to inspire ethical engagement, Regarding the Pain of Others offers a more nuanced and ambivalent view, acknowledging both the limitations and the potential power of images.

Key Themes in Sontag’s Argument

1. Distance and Desensitization

One of the central ideas in Regarding the Pain of Others is the concept of emotional distance. Sontag argues that photographs of suffering often fail to provoke deep moral reflection or ethical action because the viewer is positioned as an outsider. The spectator is not directly experiencing the pain; they are only witnessing it from a distance, mediated by a screen or page. This distance can desensitize viewers to the suffering of others because the repetitive exposure to these images reduces the emotional impact over time. She writes:

“The more remote or exotic the place, the more likely we are to have full frontal views of the dead and dying.”

This highlights how the pain of others, especially when viewed from a geographical or cultural distance, can become something abstract or voyeuristic for the audience.

2. The “Compassion Fatigue” Thesis

Sontag returns to her earlier critique in On Photography of what she called “compassion fatigue.” The constant barrage of images of suffering—war, famine, genocide, poverty—can leave viewers feeling overwhelmed, helpless, or indifferent. This idea is based on the concern that repeated exposure to images of pain leads not to empathy, but to numbness. While these images initially evoke strong reactions, over time they lose their shock value, and the viewer’s emotional response diminishes. Sontag writes:

“In a world chronically flooded with horrific images, whether those of war, famine, or natural disasters, people often become inured to the emotional toll.”

This is one of the dangers of photography: rather than inspiring action, it risks creating an anesthetized populace.

3. The Power of Photography to Shock

Despite her concern about desensitization, Sontag also acknowledges the continued power of photography to shock and provoke thought. She points out that some images—iconic, searing, and viscerally powerful—can still cut through the noise of media saturation and grab attention. These images may “haunt” viewers, lingering in the mind and forcing them to confront the reality of suffering. For Sontag, these photographs retain an ethical potency because they serve as an interruption in the daily flow of consumption, demanding that viewers recognize the existence of others’ pain.

An example Sontag discusses is Nick Ut’s photograph of Phan Thi Kim Phúc—the “Napalm Girl” running from a napalm attack during the Vietnam War. This image’s capacity to shock and disturb remains even after years of exposure. It transcends mere spectacle and continues to bear witness to human suffering in a way that challenges viewers to reflect on the ethics of violence and war.

4. The Role of Photography in Creating Historical Memory

Sontag explores how photography serves as a way to create and preserve collective memory, particularly in the context of war and atrocity. Photographs serve as both reminders and documents of historical events, but they can also shape and limit how these events are understood. There is a paradox here: while photography provides evidence and forces us to remember, it can also simplify or reduce the complexity of these experiences into singular, iconic images. These images come to symbolize entire conflicts or tragedies, but in doing so, they risk erasing the nuances and broader context of the event.

Sontag reflects on Goya’s Disasters of War as a precursor to modern war photography, noting that Goya’s drawings, like photographs, fix our gaze on the horrific consequences of violence. However, she also cautions that images, while powerful, may encourage passive consumption of suffering rather than deep reflection or action.

5. Who is Allowed to Suffer?

A recurring theme in Sontag’s work is the uneven representation of suffering across different cultures and conflicts. She observes that the degree to which images of suffering are allowed to circulate—and how much attention they receive—is influenced by geopolitical power structures. Western media, for example, is often more comfortable showing graphic images of suffering in distant, non-Western countries than within its own borders. This creates a disturbing hierarchy of suffering, where the pain of some is deemed more newsworthy or morally important than that of others. As Sontag states:

“What is considered obscene is not the depiction of the suffering, but rather which bodies are chosen to be seen and mourned publicly.”

This critique raises essential questions about whose suffering is made visible and whose is rendered invisible by the media. It touches on the ethical responsibility of both photographers and viewers to recognize these disparities and reflect on the broader power dynamics that shape how suffering is represented.

6. The Ambiguity of Moral Responses

Sontag emphasizes that photographs do not prescribe clear moral responses. They can evoke sympathy, horror, or guilt, but they cannot dictate how one should act. Viewing images of suffering may make us feel morally aware, but it doesn’t necessarily lead to ethical action. She warns against mistaking the consumption of images for real engagement with the issues they represent. There is an implicit critique of what might now be called “slacktivism”—the idea that simply being a witness to suffering, especially from afar, might be seen as a moral act in itself.

“To photograph is to frame, and to frame is to exclude.”

This reflects the inherent selectivity of photography, where the act of framing excludes much of the context surrounding the suffering, creating an ambiguous space in which moral clarity is elusive.

In Regarding the Pain of Others, Sontag revisits and complicates the more skeptical and disillusioned stance she took in On Photography. She recognizes the power of images to provoke thought and to serve as historical witnesses to suffering, but she also remains cautious about their ability to truly inspire moral action.

Photography, she suggests, can inform us about suffering, but it also risks creating passivity, voyeurism, and desensitization. The dilemma Sontag leaves us with is whether images of suffering are enough to engage us morally or whether the act of observing pain from a distance always carries an element of moral ambiguity and detachment.

In short, Sontag acknowledges that while images may provoke reflection, they cannot substitute for direct action, and the ethical engagement they invite remains contingent and fraught.

A parallel can be drawn with research showing that publicized donations to charity tend to increase overall giving. Following this logic, could a potentially false report of a donation still be regarded as ‘charitable’? #

The parallel you raise between publicized charitable donations and the ethical interpretation of potentially false claims of donations touches on a rich and complex area of moral psychology, behavioral economics, and ethics. The notion that publicizing acts of generosity can inspire further generosity seems intuitive and is supported by research into social norms and behavior. However, the question of whether a false claim of a donation could still be considered “charitable” invokes deeper ethical concerns.

Behavioral Insights and Social Norms

Research has shown that individuals often take cues from the behavior of others, particularly in the realm of prosocial actions like charitable giving. Publicizing donations can generate a form of social proof, where seeing others contribute to a cause makes people more likely to follow suit. This is often attributed to a combination of factors:

• Social conformity: People tend to align their behavior with perceived social norms.

• Altruistic motivation: Publicized generosity can inspire genuine altruism by reminding others of the moral value of giving.

• Reputation building: Some individuals may donate to enhance their social standing, but regardless of the underlying motive, this can still lead to positive outcomes for charitable causes.

In this context, publicizing charitable actions, even if the motives are not purely altruistic (e.g., if someone donates to boost their reputation), can indeed have a net positive effect on overall giving. This aligns with a consequentialist ethical perspective, where the moral value of an action is judged by its outcomes rather than its intentions.

The Ethical Question of False Donations

However, introducing the element of false donations complicates the ethical evaluation. If a person or entity falsely claims to have donated to charity but actually has not, the situation veers into a domain of deception. From a strictly consequentialist perspective, if such a false claim still leads to an increase in charitable donations, one could argue that it has a positive social outcome. But even within consequentialism, this creates tension, because the deception itself introduces potential harms:

• Erosion of trust: Over time, if it is revealed that false claims of donations were made, public trust in charitable actions and institutions could be damaged. This could undermine the long-term credibility of both charitable organizations and public appeals for donations.

• Manipulation of social norms: A system in which false claims are seen as acceptable can lead to the manipulation of social norms. If people become aware that some publicized charitable acts are fabricated, it may discourage authentic altruism and diminish the social value of giving.

Thus, while a false claim might have short-term benefits in increasing charitable donations, its potential long-term effects on trust and integrity could outweigh those gains.

Deontological and Virtue Ethics Considerations

From a deontological perspective, which focuses on the inherent rightness or wrongness of actions, a false claim of donation would be morally wrong regardless of its outcome. The act of lying or deceiving would violate ethical duties to honesty and integrity, even if the lie produced some beneficial consequences. Deontological ethics would prioritize the intention behind the action—falsely claiming a donation is inherently unethical, because it violates a fundamental principle of truthfulness.

Virtue ethics, which emphasizes the development of moral character, would similarly critique the act of lying about a donation. A virtuous person would be expected to cultivate traits such as honesty, generosity, and integrity. Falsely claiming a donation would be inconsistent with these virtues, as it reflects a character deficiency rather than an act of moral excellence. Even if such a claim led to increased charitable giving, it would fail to meet the standard of acting virtuously.

Broader Implications: Instrumentalizing Ethical Norms

Your question also touches on the broader issue of instrumentalizing ethical norms—using a morally questionable act (such as deception) to achieve a potentially positive outcome. This raises the classic ethical debate about whether the ends justify the means. Even if the false claim increases donations and leads to positive consequences for those in need, one might still object to the idea that ethical norms like honesty should be instrumentalized in this way.

In the long run, instrumentalizing ethics risks creating a culture of moral expediency, where ethical principles are bent for convenience or short-term gain. This undermines the integrity of moral systems that rely on trust, truthfulness, and genuine intentions.

While publicized donations can indeed lead to increased charitable giving through social influence and the establishment of positive norms, falsely claiming a donation raises significant ethical concerns. Even if the false claim generates some short-term benefit in terms of increased donations, it could erode trust, distort social norms, and ultimately diminish the moral fabric of charitable actions.

From a consequentialist standpoint, such falsehoods might be temporarily justified, but the potential long-term harm to trust and integrity likely outweighs the short-term gains. From deontological and virtue ethics perspectives, the act of deception itself is unethical, regardless of the outcomes. The false claim of charity cannot, therefore, be considered “charitable” in the full moral sense, even if it produces an increase in charitable donations.

Could Sontag’s evolution between 1977 and 2003 merely be attributed to a changed zeitgeist between the two eras? #

Sontag’s intellectual evolution between On Photography (1977) and Regarding the Pain of Others (2003) certainly reflects personal growth, but it is also deeply intertwined with the shifting cultural, political, and philosophical landscape of those decades. The change in her perspective can indeed be viewed as not merely a development in her own thinking but also as a response to the evolving zeitgeist between the two eras.

1. 1970s Context and the Skepticism of Representation

In 1977, when Sontag published On Photography, the cultural atmosphere was shaped by skepticism, especially regarding media, representation, and the role of images in shaping public consciousness. Several factors from that period influenced her more critical stance:

• Postmodern Critique of Representation: The 1970s marked a time of significant philosophical and intellectual shifts, particularly under the influence of postmodernism. Thinkers like Jean Baudrillard and Roland Barthes critiqued how images, simulations, and symbols had begun to dominate reality. Baudrillard, for example, argued that media had created a “hyperreality” in which images replaced and distorted the real. Sontag’s On Photography resonates with this intellectual climate, critiquing how photographs distance people from reality, turn suffering into spectacle, and create passive observers rather than engaged participants.

• Vietnam War and Media Skepticism: The 1970s also saw the aftermath of the Vietnam War, which was the first war to be heavily mediated through photography and television. By the time Sontag wrote On Photography, there was widespread disillusionment with how media represented (and often sanitized or distorted) violence, suffering, and political reality. The critical tone of On Photography can be seen as a reflection of this disillusionment, particularly with the role of mass media in commodifying suffering and turning it into a spectacle.

• Rise of the Critical Viewer: The late 1960s and 1970s were also a period of growing awareness about the power of images to manipulate perception. The civil rights movement, feminist activism, and anti-war protests cultivated a critical viewer who questioned the authority of visual representations and their impact on social and political issues. In On Photography, Sontag’s critique of photography as a passive and alienating medium aligns with this critical atmosphere.

In this context, Sontag’s skepticism toward photography as a tool of alienation, commodification, and emotional desensitization reflects broader cultural concerns about representation, media, and the politics of seeing.

2. 2000s Context and the Shift Toward Humanitarianism

By the time Sontag wrote Regarding the Pain of Others in 2003, the global and intellectual climate had shifted in significant ways:

Post-Cold War Humanitarianism: The late 20th century saw the end of the Cold War and the rise of a new global humanitarianism. The 1990s were marked by high-profile humanitarian crises—such as the genocides in Rwanda and Bosnia—and a greater global awareness of human rights violations. This period saw a shift toward the idea that witnessing and bearing testimony to atrocities was an essential component of moral and political engagement. Photography, which had once been seen as distorting reality, was now increasingly seen as a crucial tool for documenting and drawing attention to human suffering.

Sontag’s more nuanced view in Regarding the Pain of Others reflects this shift. Rather than seeing photography as purely alienating, she acknowledges its potential to bear witness to suffering, provoke reflection, and even inspire moral action. Her engagement with images of atrocity in Regarding the Pain of Others resonates with the 1990s emphasis on the moral obligation to confront and remember violence and injustice, especially in the context of humanitarian crises.

The War on Terror and New Media: The early 2000s were also shaped by the aftermath of 9/11 and the beginning of the War on Terror. This period brought renewed attention to the ways in which media and images of violence shaped public consciousness. While the Vietnam War fostered skepticism about the media’s role in manipulating representations of suffering, the post-9/11 world confronted the question of how images of violence—such as those of the terrorist attacks or the U.S. invasion of Iraq—could either provoke empathy or incite further violence.

Sontag’s more ambivalent view in Regarding the Pain of Others—that photographs can both desensitize and provoke genuine moral engagement—reflects this era’s grappling with the power of images in a world where violence was again a dominant theme in global politics. Her emphasis on the need to critically interpret images, rather than dismiss them outright, mirrors the increasing complexity of global media in the early 2000s.

Technological Evolution and the Proliferation of Images: Between 1977 and 2003, the world experienced a rapid expansion in the availability and circulation of images due to advances in technology. The rise of the internet, 24-hour news cycles, and early forms of digital photography changed the media landscape significantly. By the early 2000s, the proliferation of images meant that photographs of suffering were more readily available and harder to escape. This contributed to the need for a more refined understanding of how images function in a saturated visual culture.

Sontag’s reflections in Regarding the Pain of Others show a deeper awareness of this new media environment, where images of war, disaster, and suffering were no longer rare or exceptional, but constant. Her concern with the ethical consumption of images reflects this context, as she navigates the complexities of a world where suffering is endlessly documented and displayed.

3. Philosophical and Personal Evolution

It’s also essential to consider Sontag’s personal and philosophical development. By 2003, she had lived through further wars, atrocities, and political shifts, and her view on the moral responsibility of photography had evolved in response to these experiences. Her later work suggests a deeper recognition of the power of photography to do more than alienate—it can also provoke moral responsibility and historical memory, albeit with risks of oversimplification and desensitization.

Sontag’s evolution is not merely a change in opinion, but a philosophical response to the profound transformations in global politics, media, and ethics during this period. In Regarding the Pain of Others, she doesn’t entirely abandon her earlier skepticism, but she tempers it with a recognition that images of suffering can, under certain conditions, inspire moral reflection, historical consciousness, and even action.

Conclusion: Zeitgeist and Sontag’s Shift

Sontag’s shift from the skeptical tone of On Photography to the more ambivalent and nuanced perspective of Regarding the Pain of Others does indeed reflect broader changes in the cultural zeitgeist between the 1970s and early 2000s. The late 20th century’s postmodern skepticism, media critique, and post-Vietnam disillusionment evolved into an early 21st-century context shaped by humanitarian concerns, the politics of witnessing, and the ethical dilemmas of a world saturated with images of violence. While Sontag’s intellectual evolution was undoubtedly personal, it also mirrored these larger shifts, as both eras demanded a reconsideration of how we engage with images of suffering and the ethical consequences of seeing.

Her journey illustrates how intellectual positions are often shaped not only by individual reflection but by the prevailing cultural and political currents of their time, revealing the intertwined nature of personal evolution and historical context.

I find your conclusion odd, as I see the early 2000s as more skeptical of the inherent qualities of truth and more comfortable with endless interpretations compared to the 1970s. #

Your observation raises an intriguing point, and you’re correct to highlight that the early 2000s can be seen as even more skeptical of “truth” and more comfortable with multiplicity and relativism than the 1970s. This complicates the idea that Sontag’s later work is merely tracking with the prevailing cultural mood of the early 2000s. Let’s break this down and reconsider how the zeitgeist evolved between these two periods.

1. The 1970s: Postmodern Skepticism Emerges

While the 1970s saw the rise of postmodernism and skepticism toward grand narratives, particularly in intellectual and academic circles, society was still grappling with the aftermath of the radical social movements of the 1960s, such as civil rights, feminism, and anti-war protests. This era was indeed marked by a critical stance toward media, authority, and truth, particularly as the disillusionment with institutions (e.g., government, media) was accelerated by events like the Vietnam War, Watergate, and the global rise of protest movements.

However, the skepticism of the 1970s, especially regarding photography in On Photography, was rooted in a burgeoning awareness of how images could distort or commodify reality. Sontag’s critique in 1977 emerges from a time when the postmodern distrust of representation was beginning to take shape. This skepticism, though critical, still focused on photography’s potential to obscure or alienate, to separate the viewer from the lived reality of suffering. It reflects a more traditional modernist discomfort with the idea of simulation and surface-level interaction with reality.

2. The Early 2000s: Relativism and Fragmentation

By the early 2000s, the cultural skepticism about truth had deepened in significant ways, largely driven by the proliferation of digital media, globalization, and new forms of communication. This period was marked by an intensification of the postmodern condition:

• Digital Revolution and Information Overload: The internet, 24-hour news, and digital photography had radically altered the media landscape. Truth was now fragmented across multiple platforms, and the ability to manipulate and distribute images and information created an even more complex relationship with reality. The early 2000s were characterized by fluidity in interpretations, where multiple perspectives coexisted without a central truth, in part due to the growing ubiquity of image manipulation and spin.

• Rise of Relativism: This era embraced a more fluid and relativistic view of knowledge, where the idea of objective truth was increasingly questioned. By the time Sontag published Regarding the Pain of Others in 2003, relativism and the “post-truth” tendencies that became prominent later in the decade were already visible. Political discourse in the early 2000s, especially post-9/11, involved competing narratives, where reality seemed malleable based on ideological or media framing. The attacks on truth during this period were not merely skeptical; they leaned into the idea that “truth” could be manufactured, spun, or endlessly interpreted depending on one’s vantage point.

3. Sontag’s Position: A Countercurrent to the Zeitgeist?

Given this shift, it’s important to recognize that Sontag’s more measured, ambivalent stance in Regarding the Pain of Others doesn’t necessarily reflect the broader cultural mood of her time. Instead, it could be seen as a countercurrent to the radical relativism and fragmented nature of truth that had come to define the early 21st century. Rather than fully embracing the postmodern dissolution of truth into multiple, coexisting interpretations, Sontag engages in a deeper reflection on the ethical responsibilities tied to witnessing suffering and atrocity. In this sense, her work seems to push back against the excesses of relativism.

Against the Comfort of Endless Interpretations

In Regarding the Pain of Others, Sontag acknowledges the complexity and multiplicity of meanings that images of suffering can generate, but she doesn’t entirely surrender to the idea that all interpretations are equally valid. She still insists on the possibility of ethical engagement with images of suffering, even if she is aware of the risks of desensitization and voyeurism. For Sontag, while images may not offer absolute truths, they can still bear witness to real suffering in ways that demand a moral response. This marks a subtle but important shift from her earlier skepticism in On Photography, where she largely focused on photography’s distancing effects.

Sontag seems to be searching for a space between naive belief in the transparency of images and the complete relativism of the postmodern moment. In doing so, she implicitly critiques the growing ease with endless interpretations, particularly the tendency in the early 2000s to treat images of suffering as just another form of spectacle, ripe for consumption and multiple, often disengaged readings.

4. Ethical Engagement in the Age of Fragmentation

Sontag’s work in 2003 recognizes the dangers of the proliferation of images and the multiplicity of interpretations, but it also calls for a form of ethical attention that is more demanding than passive consumption or relativistic dismissal. In this sense, her later work can be seen as grappling with the implications of the fractured media landscape of the early 21st century, where the flood of images and information could overwhelm viewers and lead to moral disengagement.

However, unlike the full embrace of relativism that characterized the intellectual climate of the time, Sontag resists this tendency. She challenges readers to not only critically interpret images of suffering but to also take seriously the ethical implications of those images. She moves from a position of pure skepticism to one that, while still wary of manipulation, acknowledges the potential for images to evoke a moral response, even in a fragmented world.

Conclusion: Reassessing the Zeitgeist

In light of your observation, it would be more accurate to say that Sontag’s shift between On Photography and Regarding the Pain of Others is not purely a reflection of the changing zeitgeist but rather a critical engagement with it. While the early 2000s were indeed more skeptical of the idea of inherent truth and more comfortable with multiplicity and endless interpretations, Sontag does not fully endorse this relativism. Instead, she offers a more ambivalent and complex stance, recognizing both the risks and the potential power of images in a world where truth had become increasingly fragmented.

Her evolution could thus be seen as a reaction against the excessive relativism of the postmodern and early digital age, seeking to reclaim a space for ethical engagement and moral clarity, even in a context where truth is no longer as straightforward as it once seemed. In this sense, Sontag’s later work, rather than merely tracking the cultural shifts of her time, challenges the comfortable acceptance of endless interpretations and demands that we take responsibility for how we engage with the suffering of others, even through the mediated and ambiguous lens of photography.