This is not an article

You ever look at your reflection in a spoon and think "that's me, but also... not really me"? That's exactly the kind of moment René Magritte was going for with his famous 1929 painting "The Treachery of Images."

Ceci n'est pas une pipe

Picture this: a simple painting of a pipe, beautifully rendered, with elegant French words beneath it that translate to "This is not a pipe" ("Ceci n'est pas une pipe"). At first glance, you might think, of course it's a pipe! Except... well, can you actually smoke this particular pipe? Can you hold this picture of a pipe in your hand as you would any other pipe, pack it and smoke it?

What we're looking at isn't actually a pipe - it's paint on canvas arranged in such a way that our brains go "Ah yes, pipe!" It's a representation, a symbol, an image that points to the idea of a corresponding thing. Just like how the word "pipe" isn't itself a pipe (try smoking the letters P-I-P-E and see how far you get), the painting is just a sophisticated form of visual language.

This concept, which philosophers call "semiotics" (the study of signs and symbols), gets really interesting when you start applying it to everything around us. Think about emoji - that little heart you send isn't actually love, it's just a tiny digital picture that we've all agreed represents affection. Or consider paper money - that $20 bill isn't actually worth anything inherently; it's just paper we've collectively agreed represents value.

but... why?

Magritte's pipe painting wasn't just meant as a clever artistic trick - it was an important wake-up call about how much of our reality is built on successive layers of representation and meaning. He was essentially saying we need to notice how we navigate through forests of symbols every day, treating images and words as if they were the actual things they represent.

It's like that moment when you suddenly become aware that you're dreaming while still in the dream - there's something both unsettling and fascinating about realizing the gap between representation and reality. And once you start seeing it, you can't unsee it. Every advertisement, every road sign, every interface icon becomes a little reminder of Magritte's pipe, cheerfully announcing "This is not the thing itself.”

You know how sometimes you'll be scrolling through social media, and you'll see a photo of a sunset that looks absolutely magical - perfect clouds, golden light, vibrant colors - and you think "There's no way that sunset actually looked like that in real life"? That's where we start to see the "treachery" Magritte was getting at, but it goes way deeper than just Instagram filters.

The word "treachery" here is fascinatingly loaded. It suggests not just deception, but a kind of betrayal - as if images have made a promise to us that they can't actually keep. And in a way, they have! We've collectively built this assumption that images show us "reality," when really they're more like unreliable narrators in a story.

But here's where it gets really interesting: the treachery isn't just about deliberate deception (though that's certainly part of it). It's about the fundamental gap between reality and representation that exists, even when everyone is trying their absolute best to be "truthful." Even the most precise, technical photograph of a pipe isn't the pipe itself - it's a two-dimensional pattern of light and shadow that our brains interpret as "pipe-ness."

This loops back to something more profound than just "images can lie." It's about the inherent limitations of human perception and communication. Every image, even a "faithful" one, is already:

• A selection (what's in frame vs. out of frame)
• An interpretation (through the choices of medium, style, perspective)
• A translation (from three-dimensional reality to two-dimensional representation)
• A simplification (reducing the infinite complexity of reality to something manageable)

So when we talk about propaganda or manipulation, that's actually adding extra layers of intentional distortion on top of the inherent distortions that are already there. The real "treachery" is that we can't escape this fundamental gap between reality and representation, even when we try.

This is different from "death of the author" (which is about meaning and interpretation) and from hard solipsism (which questions our ability to know reality at all). Instead, it's pointing at something more specific: the way our tools for representing reality - images, words, symbols - are simultaneously essential and inherently limited.

Think about how we use emojis to represent emotions. The "joy" emoji 😂 isn't actually joy - it's a cute, crude, pictographic symbol that we've collectively agreed represents a complex emotional state. But we use it anyway because we need these imperfect tools to communicate. The treachery isn't that images lie to us - it's that we need them to lie to us just to make sense of the world.

Magritte was pointing at something fundamental about human experience: we live in a world of representations that are simultaneously necessary and inadequate. Every image is a kind of beautiful lie that helps us understand truth, even as it necessarily distorts it.

This gets even more mind-bending when you consider how much of our modern world is built on these representations. From corporate logos to user interfaces to social media profiles - we're swimming in an ocean of images that aren't the things they represent, but which we treat as if they were, in order to function in civilization.

So maybe the real treachery isn't that images deceive us - it's that we can't help but be deceived, even when we know better. Just like you're probably imagining a pipe right now, even though we've spent this whole conversation talking about how an image of a pipe isn't actually a pipe.

bringing it back to reality

Now this isn't all to give you a complete existential meltdown! Think about stubbing your toe on a very real coffee table while lost in thought about whether coffee tables are just social constructs. That sharp pain? That's reality checking in to remind you that regardless of how we label, represent, or think about things, there's still a fundamental bedrock of physical existence that couldn't care less about our symbols and interpretations.

It's a bit like swimming - you can theorize all day about the nature of water and what it means to be "wet," but jump in a pool and the water will do what water does, completely indifferent to your philosophical musings. Gravity doesn't stop working just because we've decided to call it something else or represent it differently in physics textbooks.

But here's where it gets really interesting: understanding the gap between reality and representation doesn't make reality less real - it actually helps us navigate it better. It's like being a savvy media consumer who can appreciate a beautifully edited photo while also understanding that real skin has texture and pores. Or like understanding that money is a social construct while still recognizing that you need to pay your very real rent.

This awareness of how symbols and representations work is kind of like having a superpower. When you understand that images and symbols are tools rather than truths, you can use them more effectively while being less likely to be used by them. You can appreciate propaganda as a craft while seeing through its mechanisms. You can enjoy Instagram without letting it destroy your self-image. You can engage with brands and logos while maintaining your critical distance.

So maybe the real lesson from Magritte's pipe isn't that nothing is real - it's that we need to understand both the power and the limitations of our symbolic tools. Because at the end of the day, a real pipe will still let you smoke real tobacco, regardless of how many paintings or photographs you have of it. The map is not the territory, but that doesn't mean the territory doesn't exist - it just means we need to be thoughtful about how we read our maps!

wrapping up

The key insight isn't that images are useless or deceptive, but rather that understanding their nature as representations makes them more useful, not less. Magritte's point was about awareness, not abandonment. Images are powerful tools for learning and communication precisely because we can understand both their capabilities and their limitations. It's similar to how understanding that a map isn't the actual territory makes you a better navigator, not a worse one. The "treachery" only becomes problematic when we forget the distinction between representation and reality.

The next time you encounter an image - whether it's a news photograph, an advertisement, or a social media post - pause for a moment. Ask yourself: What am I really looking at? Not just what it represents, but how it represents it. What choices were made in its creation? What was left out of frame? What reality lies beyond this representation?

This isn't about becoming cynical toward images, but rather developing a more sophisticated relationship with them. Understanding that an image is not the thing itself doesn't make it less valuable - it makes it more useful. Like any tool, images work best when we understand both their powers and their limitations.

In our increasingly visual world, this awareness isn't just academic - it's essential. The better we understand how images work on us, the better we can use them to understand our world, while remaining grounded in the physical reality that ultimately shapes our existence.

co-written with Claude, prompted curated & edited by me