Biology teaches that we don’t see the tip of our own nose because the brain filters out stable stimuli. Evolutionary efficiency, they say. But if evolution had even a hint of irony, it would add a footnote: “An organism does not perceive what is too familiar, too embarrassing, or too close—especially if it’s its own elongated snout.” The nose tip is the first casualty of this strategy. It sticks out—moist, hairy, and sniffly—but the brain deletes it like an inconvenient paragraph from an annual report. Not for efficiency. For reputation.

And that’s exactly how larger organisms work—political structures, for instance. They don’t have a mere nose tip; they have an entire proboscis of nasal dementia (pardon, demagoguery), yet every part of it is carefully filtered out so as not to disturb the aesthetic of power. If it were visible, someone might ask why it’s swelling, why sweet nectar of vested interests keeps dripping from it, and why it so closely resembles Pinocchio after Act I of a new electoral term. Biology calls this sensory adaptation. Politics calls it strategic adaptation. Pathology calls it an advanced stage of self‑deception with metastases into public administration.

And so, in the organism known as the state, a fascinating process unfolds: everything that is inherent, stable, and embarrassing becomes invisible. The more embarrassing it is, the faster it disappears from consciousness. It’s an autonecrosis of truth: a process in which the tissue of power absorbs its own ailments without ever undergoing treatment. Over the decades, the political organism has developed a full translational apparatus that converts pathologies into medical terminology:

• Clientelism → “cultivation of tribal bonds”
• Chaos → “plurality of dynamic solutions”
• Incompetence → “the human dimension of management”
• Promises without results → “long‑term communication with reality”
• Corruption → “optimisation of decision‑making processes”
• Populism → “responsive politics close to the people”

The nose tip is gone. And with it, reality.

Everything else, however, is seen with perfect clarity:

• The opposition? 4K with digital zoom on wrinkles, including suspicion‑sensitive thermal imaging.
• Brussels? IMAX with surround sound threats and slow‑motion playback of diktats.
• The media? X‑ray with colour-enhanced left‑wing agenda.
• The voter? A microscope reveals only an ungrateful cell with no vision and a tendency toward irrational behaviour.
• One’s own responsibility? That’s the organ drawn with dotted lines in the anatomy textbooks of power, because it’s assumed to have gone extinct in nature long ago—along with conscience, shame, or the ability to remember one’s pre‑election promises for more than three metabolic cycles (read: three days).

Blindness as an Evolutionary Paradox

And this is where biology laughs the loudest. Because the brain works the same way: everything outside is a threat, everything inside is taken for granted. Evolution taught us to react to predators, not to our own festering sores. Politics adopted this as its core management competency. It’s the genius of degeneration: an organism that survives only because it stopped perceiving its own decay. In biology, this would be a terminal state. In politics, it’s called continuity.

If the political organism had even a hint of self‑reflection, it would only need to lower its gaze. But that would go against biology—and against habit, the habit of self‑excuse that has become its main metabolic process, its fuel, and its waste product all at once. A closed cycle of perfection.

The Content of the Article

Thus, the greatest evolutionary advantage of power is neither strength nor intelligence, but the ability not to see the tip of its own nose—even if it’s long enough to:

• tie itself to donor interests,
• bend around the law like an Olympic gymnast,
• pat a party colleague on the shoulder,
• bump into the boundaries of decency (without it counting),
• pull all its friends out of a crisis at once,
• measure the distance from voters (steadily increasing).

Perhaps it even trips over it. Perhaps it bumps into it every morning in the mirror. Perhaps it has already extended it into the next room. But no one sees it.

Biology filtered it out. And politics enthusiastically approved this biology as party doctrine and the essential characteristic of a functional system. Anyone who sees the tip of their own nose is evidently too critical—which, in the diagnostic nomenclature of power, is synonymous with unstable.

Treatment? Contraindicated. The organism has long adapted to its defect as if it were the norm. And as we know, norms cannot be treated. The ability not to see the tip of one’s own nose is transmitted genetically from a biological perspective, and environmentally with high precision from a democratic one. Evolutionary biology would call it perfect conservation of a maladaptive trait. Political science calls it democracy.

A biologist would conclude: “A fascinating case of adaptation to one’s own dysfunction.”
A political scientist: “Standard system functioning.”
A voter: “I don’t even know what to say anymore.”

Because when the organism stops seeing the tip of its own nose, and the voter stops seeing that they should see it, nothing remains but collective blindness—rebranded by the system as consolidated stability and celebrated as the achievement of a mature democracy.

And the nose tip? It has meanwhile grown to the proper length.

Organs and Life Around Us

Umbilical cord: the connection to the budget; cannot be cut, only extended and multiplied. In advanced stages, it coils around the taxpayer’s neck.

Appendix: an organ known to be useless, yet removing it risks infecting the entire system. A coalition partner, for example.

Tumorous tissue: loyalty that grows faster than functional organs and metastasises into oversight mechanisms.

Immune system: the media and judiciary—if paralysed by chronic allergy to power or long‑term exposure to phone calls from higher places.

Phantom limb syndrome: the feeling that you still possess a limb amputated years ago. Very common among long‑serving politicians.

Parasympathetic nervous system: the part responsible for relaxation. In the political organism, completely nonfunctional and replaced by a hyperreactive PR apparatus.

Atrophy: the process by which muscle decays from disuse. In politics, it affects critical thinking, self‑reflection, and memory for promises.

Plasma: the fluid carrying nutrients. In the political body, composed of obedient media, creatively distributed subsidies, and creatively interpreted statistics.

Homeostasis: the ability to maintain internal balance. In politics, achieved by adjusting all indicators so they show balance.

Gangrene: tissue death caused by insufficient blood supply. Typically affects distant regions from which central power still extracts taxes but delivers no resources.

Coma: a state of deep unconsciousness. The voter after the fifth repeated lie.

Neural network: an adaptive filter of reality that, instead of sharpening vision, optimises blindness. In the political organism, it functions as a digital cornea that lets through only the light flattering to power. AI learns from the data the system provides—its own blind spots. The result is an algorithmic version of the same trick: the nose tip disappears even before the brain has time to ignore it. Biology calls this perceptual adaptation. Politics calls it “modernised communication.” In practice, it’s outsourcing self‑deception to the cloud.

PS: Apologies for the length. The inspiration was a simple article about the real reasons we don’t see the tip of our own nose.