Truth Isn't Contained in Concepts
Truth isn't found in traditions, teachers, or this blog!
You are not a concept — Reality is not a concept
The Cardinal Rule of Self-Investigation: Take every concept you hear, no matter the source, and test it directly; measure it against your direct experience. Concepts can only indicate the truth, not contain it. Seek with an open heart and mind, yet employ sound reason. Let curiosity be your guide and experience be the teacher.
A concept is something that represents something-other-than-itself. Words, numbers, and symbols are all concepts and, therefore, all concepts are words, numbers, symbols, or combinations thereof. The word “rock” is a concept; but if you pick up a rock you can notice it is not a concept. It doesn’t represent anything other than itself — it just is what it is. And, if you’re sensitive and attentive enough, you’ll realize it’s impossible to say what-it-is at all.
Some concepts are very simple: water, rock, fire, dirt. Some concepts are inherently complicated: god, love, truth, consciousness, awareness, nondual, maya, shunyata, nonconceptual, infinity, epiphenomenon, and so on. But even the most complicated concept is still a representation of something other than itself. It is a stand-in, a label, or a partial/limited description. Concepts by their very nature are finite, discrete, factitious, and purely representative. They have no “self-substance” or “self-nature.”
A key element on the spiritual seeking journey is learning to tell the different between concepts and nonconceptual experience. The word “nonconceptual” is, of course a concept. The word “nonconceptual” is a label indicating: “that which can’t be expressed in mere concepts.” Here are some examples to highlight the difference between the conceptual and the nonconceptual.
Your name is a concept. You, however, are not a concept. You aren’t a static image that represents something other-than-you or has some symbolic meaning.1 You are a process: a ceaseless activity, ever-flowing and alive with experience.
The word “water” is a concept. It can be written or spoken. It is a symbol that represents a clear liquid that we must drink every day or we die. That-which-we-drink in order to stay alive is not a concept. It doesn’t symbolize or represent anything. If you actually try to describe it comprehensively with concepts you will need to speak for eternity.2 More importantly, if a person is lost and alone in arid wilderness and dying of dehydration, no amount of conceptualizing or saying/thinking the world “water” will help them. Only by actually drinking the mystery that we call “water” can they sate their thirst and save their life.
Another common example: contrast the difference between a menu you that order off of, and the dinner that you subsequently eat. The menu is a very helpful conceptual tool representing various options for food. The actual food, the dinner, is altogether different; it’s something you eat in order to stay alive. If one were to attempt to eat the menu it would be completely lacking in any nutrients/nourishment and probably taste awful. And yet “eating menus” is exactly what many academics (especially many philosophers and scientists) spend much of their careers doing. Taking what these very intelligent-but-deluded people are saying too seriously is a sure-fire way for a seeker to get deeply confused on the investigative journey. One must exercise caution and skepticism (see the “Cardinal Rule” above).
Many times I have come across academic philosophers spouting pure nonsense where these points are concerned. Here’s a general example that attempts to correct what they get wrong: The word “coffee” is a concept. The taste and smell of coffee are not concepts.3 The taste of coffee doesn’t represent anything. It IS the thing itself; and, contrary to what some philosophers say) there IS flavor and smell. If I take a sip of coffee, then there is this taste and that smell — but I can’t say (i.e. express in concepts) what they are. They are precisely, exactly what they are; branching in innumerable directions, literally infinite in detail and depth, and ceaselessly shifting. It should be obvious that the word “coffee” will never taste or smell like coffee.4 Or like anything, for that matter.
If I take a sip of coffee, and then could magically take a 150ms “snapshot” of that taste experience (i.e. just the “raw” sense data), it would take me 1,500 words just to begin describing the taste (i.e. using concepts). Even if I bothered to do that (which I wouldn’t) the taste experience utterly shifts in the blink of an eye! And the aroma is more complex than the taste.5
Some academic philosophers insist that the thing we call “experience” is entirely due to our ability to conceptualize or, even worse, nothing more than the activity of our conceptualization itself. This is utter horseshit. A baby is not born with a head full of concepts. It must learn concepts.6 But it is born with the ability to taste and smell just as well (for argument’s sake) as an adult. Babies aren’t conceptually taught which tastes to like and dislike. Any parent who feeds their baby can tell the baby is entirely capable of deciding if it likes or dislikes any given taste without conceptual coaching. Any philosopher that foolishly insists that taste experience is (due to) nothing more than our conceptualization of things should be blindfolded, ear plugged (so as to prevent them from preconceiving what is to come), tied to a chair and then have generous helping of surströmming stuffed in their mouth… Once they come out of that experience, I’d like to have them try to convince me that they smelled/tasted nothing.
Given all the rigamarole above, those of us trying to indicate the fundamental nature of reality/self (which are not conceptual) to the seeker find ourselves in a bit of a bind. Most of the time we are stuck with using only conceptual tools to try to point out that which is not conceptual in any way. This is not a lost cause! But it is a grossly misunderstood one.
The map is not the territory.
- Alfred Korzybski
A map is purely conceptual; it’s only attribute is that it represents the real world (a territory); and there is no inherent aspect of the territory/real world that is, of itself, conceptual. Therefore, map represents the territory, but the map is not, and can never be, the territory. The territory is benchmark; the territory is what’s “true.” Of course, we can debate whether a map is “relatively accurate” or “relatively inaccurate.” And a relatively accurate map can be very useful. But to say something is “relatively accurate” is equivalent to saying that same thing is not, in fact, true. Hence, there is the pointer: “All maps are false.”
All the scriptures of all the religions in the world are purely conceptual. Barring poetry, they are exactly the same kinds of things as maps. But nothing in the real world — and nothing fundamentally in your nature — is conceptual. As with maps, all scriptures are, therefore, literally false. That doesn’t mean they’re not useful. That doesn’t mean they aren’t “relatively accurate.” That doesn’t mean they aren’t beautiful or inspiring. But, fundamentally, they aren’t true. The only “truth” that there is is reality itself. But, as far as you know, the only reality that there is is what you are — whatever that ends up being! So scriptures may be helpful in exploring your fundamental nature, but they will never be the same thing as your nature.
Obviously, this doesn’t mean there’s no value in scriptures, religions, or traditions. But if a seeker truly wants to get to the bottom of what they are, then, at some point, they must let go of the maps — they must actually explore the territory they find themselves in, which the maps merely represent. The territory itself is the point. Reality and you are the point. Because of this we can say: all scriptures are false. All religions are false. They themselves are not the reality you’re looking for. YOU already are the reality you’re looking for.
And, as I do come down hard on traditions frequently, let me throw myself in that to-be-discarded heap. All of my pointers are literally false. There is no truth to be found in the words you read on these pages in-and-of-themselves; YOU are the truth! It is your very nature that gives these words their true meaning. Once you realize your nature, then these words become worthless. As Peter Brown said:
…“[S]piritual” teachings… are ultimately about nothing other than YOUR nature, which already exists just as it is: objectively, right here, right now, not depending on any tradition or philosophy… You are what you are, and although various traditions may attempt to describe this, they are meaningful solely due to what YOU are, not the other way around.7
We should not presume “what” you are. But that you are should already be a perfect certainty. Discovering the “what” that you are is the whole point of the investigation. Regardless of answering that “what” question, you already are and you can investigate. What you will investigate is the only reality there is, as far as you know. This reality is the “field” of your experiencing, which is not a “thing” but an active process. You know it intimately because you are it. There is no barrier between “you” and “your experience.” Those two are mere concepts that arise within the unitary totality of your experiential reality.
Take whatever maps you like, and get ready to begin exploring the territory of what you are! I’ll offer you a few maps myself. Just think of me as a poetic tour guide that speaks only in metaphors :) My words cannot be “The Truth,” but I sincerely hope they are helpful in the search of finding The Truth within yourself.
Although this is exactly what your “self-image” is. And the source of “suffering” is the mistaken belief that you are merely your self-image.
Can you imagine trying to describe comprehensively: every form water can take, every location it can be found in — which includes every kind of organism that can exist because of it — and every natural process it takes part in, etc.?
Even if you could reach the descriptive point of talking about the “fundamental” particles that constitute the subatomic particles that constitute the chemical elements that form the covalent bonds that form water, we literally have zero idea what the “fundamental” subatomic particles are. They are just abstract concepts: labels/symbols representing something that we think exists in the real world, but we have no idea what they are or why they are there. We merely presume they are there because they seem to be there and, in practice, are utterly inscrutable. Presuming them thusly, we are able to talk intelligently about what they do. That is to say we can describe patterns that we observe. This ends up being incredibly useful, but it’s fundamentally built on arbitrary, conceptual fiat, not “truth.”
The same discussion holds for any taste and/or smell; no taste and no smell is conceptual, nor is any sense experience whatsoever. “Conceptual” (that which is symbolic or representative) is exclusively restricted to the realm of thinking. Not all thinking is conceptual (e.g. remembering the taste of coffee as best you can) — but all conceptual activity is merely thinking.
More accurately — and in sharp contradiction to what I’ve heard several philosophers erroneously say — there is no such thing as “the taste of coffee” or “the smell of coffee” in the abstract. There is only ever the smell of this particular cup of coffee — the taste of this particular cup of coffee. And those sense experiences will change sip-to-sip and moment-to-moment!
I remember a particularly idiotic discussion along these lines given by Daniel Dennett and recounted by Andy Clark in his book The Experience Machine. Dennett was instructing people to ‘imagine the taste of honey’ and, arguing that there was no difference between this mental exercise and that actual taste of honey.
Per Clark (first edition, hardcover, page 121, apologies for not properly writing down the publisher information), and note when he says “responses” he’s referring to behaviors and thinking, not an actual “taste response/experience:”
This specific and elusive “taste of honey” is nothing but the subtle complex of responses it happens to evoke in me… [it] is then simply the way I label things that predictably evoke, in me, that specific complex of… responses. …the facts about my web of possible responses are not the result of the experienced taste. Instead, when that web is in place, that is what I intuitively call “the taste.” The web of behaviors and responses comes first, and the puzzling, ineffable taste is really just a handy label for that web.
I was stunned to read that — not only did people not laugh at the absurd implication that thinking of the taste was effectively the same thing as tasting, which is preposterous — they then credulously went along with his erroneous instruction that essentially denies there is an experience of “taste” at all. Anyone that denies the reality of the sense of taste should be dismissed as a credible source to talk about anything that relates to cognition and experience. Perhaps SOME people have no sense of taste. But the vast majority of us do have a sense of tastes as plainly as we have vision and hearing.
As if that wasn’t enough to dismiss this stupid line of reasoning, then surely it is obvious to anyone that bothers to pay attention: there is no such thing as “the taste of honey” in the abstract. There is only the exact taste of the particular honey you put in your mouth. If you don’t put honey in your mouth (which they were not doing during that instruction with Dennett), then you are not tasting — and cannot imagine the “taste of honey.” You can only conjure some vague simulacrum of taste based on memory. After tasting various honeys multiple times one will entrain a memory of some of the general characteristic of the tastes of the honeys. But there is a marked difference between those memories of tastes and the experiential moment of actual tasting a honey.
In exactly the same way, one can remember the experience of pain that accompanied slamming their finger accidentally in a car door. But that memory of pain is a pale simulacrum compared to the actual experience of pain that occurs when you accidentally slam you finger in a car door a second time. Ask me how I know. To the skeptical philosopher advocating for “illusionism”, I would highly recommend they conduct this experiment on themselves to confirm or deny the assertion.
Now I happen to live very close to the largest honey producer/packager in my state and their farm store sells literally dozens of different honeys. So perhaps my experience with honey lies outside most people’s? In that case, here is a way to translate Dennett’s absurdity into more relatable experiences in order to maximize the deceased equine flagellation:
Let’s say a hypothetical philosopher is going to pose the same kind of “honey” instruction to different people. This philosopher must tell the sommelier to “imagine the taste of wine.” Tell a experienced barista or roaster to “imagine the taste of coffee.” Tell an award-winning brewer to “imagine the taste of beer.” Tell someone like me to “imagine the taste of pizza.” The philosopher will receive exactly the same response each time: a facial expression that is a mixture of nonplussed bemusement and incredulity. In merely suggesting the notion, the philosopher has clearly demonstrated they have no meaningful experience pertaining to what they are referencing. Which wine? Which coffee? Which beer?
Even if the philosopher told me: “imagine the taste of pepperoni pizza.” I can’t! What kind of crust? What kind of sauce? Whose pepperoni? What kinds of cheeses? How was it baked? I literally cannot imagine “the taste of pepperoni pizza” in the abstract. I can only have some basic gustatory themes I can draw on from memory. But none of them come close to the actual taste of an actual piece of pizza — and no actual taste of pizza will ever perfectly conform to the general, gustatory memories. To call those abstractions “the taste of pizza” would be like calling horticultural knowledge “a garden.” To do so demonstrates one doesn’t know what “taste” or a “garden” are.
How many pet peeves of academic thought can I bring up in one essay? One more, apparently! There are those who claim we only have five tastes. Why is this not universally decried? Taste is a sense with infinite spectrum and nuance. Yes, the receptors may preferentially respond to the relative presence of five distinct flavor attributes. But that doesn’t mean there are only five flavors/tastes in experience. I would think personal experience would be more than enough to make anyone laugh at this notion! Yet it doesn’t get laughed at even though it’s utterly preposterous. Why?
By that academic rationale, we should only see three colors in the visual field. After all, cone receptors in the human eye only preferentially respond to one of three distinct color wavelengths (hand-waving the very rare cases of tetrachromatic vision). Yet we don’t see three colors. We see an infinity of colors. Taste is exactly like that, but with five degrees of freedom, not “just” three! As a very young child I knew the “only five tastes” canard was bullshit. I am amazed that, to this day, I still don’t hear the notion lambasted universally, as it should be. In fact, I’ve never once heard anyone decry it. What a shame. And, yes, smell is much more complex still.
The pre-existing fact of phenomenological experience is the means by which concepts can ever be learned in the first place. A philosopher might (should?) agree that you can’t teach a rock arithmetic. Presumably, they would agree the rock doesn’t have a great deal of phenomenological experience. If experience is entirely due to, or nothing more that conceptualization — as the philosopher of”illusionism” would assert — the by what means can a baby learn numbers and yet a rock can’t?
A baby can learn numbers because phenomenological experience is the context within which such learning takes place. Thanks to neurological binding, without prior conceptual understanding, a baby can see visual images and hear a parent say: “one, two, three…” Intelligent perception includes pattern recognition. Perception does not require concepts; perception informs concepts during learning. If a baby didn’t have experience in the first place, it never could learn concepts. If Helen Keller didn’t already have phenomenological experience, she never would have learned to read and write.
A dog can’t speak English, but it can learn to understand “sit” in exactly the same way a baby learns anything. As with a baby, even though dogs lack the ability to speak they still obviously possess conceptual, linguistic intelligence. As do countless other animals. Once a concept is learned, then it can influence perception, of course. But the concept isn’t fundamental, the perception is.
Essence of Recognition, Peter Brown, The Open Doorway, 2020, Introduction (no page number).