There is a problem I encounter more and more often, and it does not involve people who do not think. It involves those who do think, who fight to change things, who invest genuine energy. Disillusionment, demotivation, and exhaustion become the logical consequence when 80% of the people around you act without critical thinking, and sometimes without thinking at all. The understandable reaction is to retreat into simple solutions: “Maybe it was better before”, “Maybe we should ban it”, “Maybe we should just get rid of it.” But is that a solution? No. It is a patch. If the method does not change, if the way of thinking does not change, nothing gets resolved.
When these people tell me “I am tired, I do not want to fight other people’s battles”, can I blame them? Honestly, no. But can I help them see things differently? Maybe. And that is where everything comes into play.
Eight Philosophers, One Framework
Over time I have built a philosophical framework with eight philosophers that activate when needed, Kant, Socrates, Aristotle, Plato, Hegel, Dewey, Wittgenstein, Gadamer. It was born in professional contexts, in work, in coding, in teaching, but it is becoming something more pervasive. A way of being in the world, not just of working.
The difference between using a framework consciously and truly internalizing it is subtle but enormous. Using it deliberately requires effort. Internalizing it means it activates on its own, naturally, even in everyday conversations. Even in the ones you never planned for.
Kant’s Gate and How I Failed It
A few days ago I found myself in a discussion about technology, education, and how certain tools get perceived as problems rather than opportunities. A legitimate conversation, with different positions, all in good faith.
I failed the opening gate.
Kant and his categorical imperative ask us to reason in a universalizable way, not to start from prejudices we could not apply to everyone. Instead I entered the conversation already biased, with rigid mental categories about who defends the status quo and who does not, about who is willing to change and who is not. I applied labels before I even listened. I failed the gate, and that failure conditioned everything that followed.
I tried to recover. I applied Socratic maieutics, asking questions instead of imposing answers. I used Wittgenstein, observing how certain words landed on the other person’s language games and adjusting my register accordingly. I brought in Dewey’s pragmatism, looking for a concrete landing point. But the failed gate had already left its mark.
The Best Solution Was Not Mine
The most interesting moment came at the end. After the whole process, the most pragmatic and intelligent solution did not come from me. It came from the other person, who took what I had been trying to explain, reworked it in their own way, and arrived at something better. More balanced, more applicable, less ideal and more real.
This is the rhizome working. Not convincing, but creating the conditions for the other person to reach their own conclusions, perhaps better than yours. Dewey was right: learning is co-creation, not transmission.
I failed the gate. But the process still worked, partially. And compared to the past, where that conversation would have ended in a pointless wall of opposing positions, something moved.
Naming Things Strengthens Thinking
Many of these philosophical concepts already live inside us in intuitive form. We apply Kant’s categorical imperative when we say “do not do to others what you would not want done to you.” We use Socratic maieutics when we ask questions instead of giving answers. We live Wittgenstein’s language games every time we shift our register depending on who we are talking to. Hegel’s Aufhebung, the supersession that preserves, happens every time we find a third way instead of choosing between two extremes.
But naming them changes everything. Naming means recognizing. Recognizing means applying consciously. Applying consciously means improving over time. It is the difference between driving on autopilot and driving knowing exactly what you are doing.
The framework is not academic material. It is a tool for communicating better, for understanding where you go wrong, for creating the conditions so that certain Go stones produce effects that go beyond the single conversation. Even with tired people, those ready to give up, if they receive the right inputs they can integrate something and do surprisingly good work.
I am beginning to see the stones take shape. And naming this awareness, writing it down, helps me keep it alive.