If the symbolism in Magritte’s The Son of Man has fascinated you for years, you’re not alone.
Every time I look at Magritte’s The Son of Man, I feel like he’s teasing me. A man in a bowler hat, a calm sea behind him… and a green apple floating right in front of his face. It’s such a simple image, and yet it’s one of the most mysterious paintings in modern art. The more you look, the more it seems to hide
What always strikes me first is the face we can’t see. Human beings read identity through the face, it’s how we connect, how we understand someone’s emotion, their mood, even their soul. Magritte blocks that completely, and it creates a kind of tension. We want to know who this man is, but we’re not allowed to. And that’s where the symbolism starts: we rarely see people fully. Everyone carries something hidden, intentionally or not.
Magritte often used ordinary objects to block what viewers wanted to see. He said: “Everything we see hides another thing.”
Why do you think the artist allows a glimpse of the eye behind the apple?
Maybe it means that we’re never supposed to see the whole truth. The man’s eye does peek over the apple, just slightly. Maybe Magritte wanted to remind us that even when something blocks our view, a fragment of truth still slips through.
It’s such a tiny detail, but it changes everything. Instead of a fully hidden identity, we’re given just enough of a glimpse to know someone is behind the barrier. It suggests that even when something blocks our view, a symbol, a mask, a persona, the truth has a way of slipping through. It raises an interesting question: how much of ourselves do we allow others to see, even when we think we’re hiding?
For some, it recalls the story of temptation, knowledge, and disobedience. The painting begins to feel like a commentary on how easily we project meaning onto familiar symbols. Perhaps the apple is not just hiding the man, but also hinting at the parts of ourselves we’re afraid to confront
While Magritte obscures the man’s face with a floating apple, Dalí bends reality in The Persistence of Memory through melting clocks draped impossibly across a barren landscape.
Both paintings use a single, striking detail to disrupt what we expect from the world, inviting viewers to question the boundaries between reality and imagination. Where Magritte hides identity behind the ordinary, Dalí warps time itself, yet in both cases, the familiar becomes uncanny, and the ordinary reveals deeper, surreal truths.
For a deeper dive, read my blog breaking down the symbolism of Dalí’s The Persistence of Memory.
And through all of this, the painting keeps its signature Magritte mystery.
There’s also something unsettling about the man’s body once you notice it: the left arm bends in a way that doesn’t quite make sense. It’s easy to miss, but once you see it, the whole figure feels slightly distorted beneath the clean suit and calm posture. That odd bend creates a subtle tension, as if the exterior doesn’t match the inner state. It invites the reader to wonder where they, too, feel “put together” on the outside while something feels misaligned beneath the surface.
The apple is its own riddle
It’s impossible to look at it without thinking of the biblical apple, temptation, forbidden knowledge, the moment humanity chose curiosity over obedience. But this apple isn’t being eaten; it’s preventing us from seeing. It’s almost as if Magritte took the symbol of temptation and turned it into a symbol of obstruction. Something ordinary becomes something powerful simply by being in the way.
What I love about Magritte is how he uses normal objects to make you question reality. The man himself is dressed in a neat suit and bowler hat, the picture of respectability. But that floating apple breaks the logic of the scene. It’s a tiny surreal twist that transforms the painting from ordinary to uncanny. You find yourself questioning not only what you’re looking at, but how you look at anything at all.
The Son of Man
It sounds biblical, like a portrait of a modern Christ figure.
Yet it also simply means “a human being.” That ambiguity is classic Magritte. Is this man supposed to represent all of us? Is he a symbol of identity? Mystery? Spirituality? Or is he simply a man being blocked by a piece of fruit? Magritte lets us sit in the gap between meaning and mystery.
Then there’s the detail many people miss: you can still see a tiny sliver of the man’s left eye peeking around the apple. That little glimpse feels intentional, like Magritte reminding us that nothing is ever fully hidden. Even when something blocks our view, parts of the truth slip through.
But maybe the most interesting thing about this painting is that Magritte called it a self-portrait. And suddenly the whole piece becomes a commentary on the artist himself, the man behind the canvas who gives you images but never gives you everything. He remains partially concealed. He refuses to let you fully know him.
The more time I spend with this painting, the more I start to see it as a reminder that every person carries a hidden world inside them. We see each other through symbols, objects, clothing, fragments.
But the whole truth? That always stays just a little out of reach.
