How do we understand complexity? Well, we simplify. Take, for example, Darwin’s theory of evolution. What is it all about? We can simplify its complexity through a short formula, like “the survival of the fittest.” But that’s quite intricate, too, for what’s “fitness”? The simpler “strongest” can do just fine, and also sounds better. Except, we should now decide what “strength” is all about, and learning from history, we may employ a proxy like physical prowess or military might.

And so, we take three short steps from a corroborated scientific observation—organisms develop, across generations, random traits, some of which are more environmentally adaptive, thus helping them (and their more adaptive genes) survive—into a pseudo-scientific and readily politicized prescription. Take, for example, the Israeli premier Benjamin Netanyahu's statement that “The weak crumble, are slaughtered and are erased from history while the strong, for good or for ill, survive.” That we attach to such political propositions the name of the scientist who pioneered the theory—“social Darwinism”—just adds insult to injury (Becquemont 2011).

Netanyahu is not alone; we all do it. But we have no dedicated psychological concept for this cognitive slippery slope. There are, however, helpful ingredients. Reductionism is one, but it doesn’t quite capture it, for in distorting evolution we don’t merely disaggregate complexity into small, simple pieces, which is often quite useful (Barendregt and Van Rappard 2004); we engage an iterative and nested simplification that obscures our minds.

Satisficing is another useful term. Nobel laureate Herbert Simon (1956) coined this portmanteau of “satisfy” and “suffice” to indicate that rational choice theory falters without psychology. Decision-makers never follow a fully rational script; they settle for just enough information to make up their mind and move on. But satisficing, too, falls short. We are dealing here not only with decision-making but also with any attempt to know complex realities. More importantly, it’s not a single move; again, it’s iterative and nested. This is where a better metaphor comes along: The Matryoshka doll captures well the (over)simplification we use when facing complexities. Invented in 1890, the wooden nested doll has become a smashing success. Recently, it even got its own emoji.

Why?

Perhaps because the biggest, outer doll is itself nested in something else, hidden, and bigger still: our passions. The unraveling of the doll feels good since it simultaneously quenches our thirst for knowledge—and satiates our hunger for power. For the uninitiated, and before you notice its seams, the outer doll seems like a big, opaque entity, an object of curiosity. But once you see the seams and the first doll comes apart, it morphs.

Whether you treat the doll as a metaphor for motherhood, the mind, or the body, it delivers a problem and swiftly promises a fun, hands-on solution, inviting you to quickly get to the core/cœur of the matter. You may feel, if unconsciously and for a fleeting moment, that you’ve just resolved some of humanity’s greatest paradoxes and philosophical quandaries: between the chicken and the egg, between one and many, between the illusion of change (Parmenides) and the illusion of continuity (Heraclitus) (Lovejoy 2009).

This is self-deception. You have not resolved, but hollowed out, the original problem, and the answer you’ve ended up with may seem smaller, but it is just as opaque as the original one you faced, only now you’re left with no seams to break it apart.

The Matryoshka doll fallacy pervades our private and public lives with fatalities. The erosion of democracies worldwide is one such casualty. Democracy has always been a “mission impossible” sort of craft, trying to reconcile liberalism and fascism—defending and fostering individual rights on one hand; enshrining and leveraging the unified collective on the other. In principle, democracy shakes both hands; in practice, it sees them arm wrestling. Should we embrace the individual as “the one” or champion “E pluribus unum”? (Out of many, one.) Democracy is greedy or modest enough to want both. Greedy, for how can these two contradictory forces ever go together? Modest, for considering the human condition, how can they not? Democracy is an unspoken tragic hero, almost destined to fall apart, and nowadays it often does.

It's partly because of the Matryoshka doll fallacy. The psychology of populist rhetoric is quite cunning, masking every round of breaking at the seams as a seamless, sensible, almost obvious move. This rhetoric breaks open the outer doll of (1) democracy to reveal that inside lies (2) the rule of the people, which manifests (3) popular will, revealed through (4) majoritarianism, inferred by (5) accidental electoral majority that creates (6) a parliamentary plurality of members who endorse (7) a government, headed by (8) the leader. The latter can then be hailed as democracy incarnated (often turning the matriarchal Matryoshka patriarchal). The bigger doll of democracy is set aside, hollowed out.

For now, we can conclude with a parable that strikes me as a reversal of the Matryoshka doll’s false promise. The modern condition is to face the human condition, then run away from it—in vain. We realized our inherent freedom—that we’re neither dolls nor puppets—only to try and escape it into godlike or doglike delusions. Few capture it as well as Franz Kafka (1925), who tells us about the man standing Before the Law, seeking entrance, and instead is greeted by the gatekeeper, who warns him: “I am powerful. And I am only the lowliest gatekeeper. But from room to room stand gatekeepers, each more powerful than the other. I can’t endure even one glimpse of the third.”

Would we dare to enter? Playing the Matryoshka doll, while not allowing its fallacy to dull our mind, is one small smart step to take before we dare.