When I was watching Scott’s Thoughts YouTube video on Vespiquen in a Pokemon Platinum solo run, he said something interesting. He was talking about how we need to save the bees, which I entirely agree with. But for those saying that such a discussion doesn’t belong in a Pokemon video, his response is that these games are all about people coexisting with the natural world. 

This got me thinking about a new direction for rewriting my old Pokemon articles. I’d considered toying with the “Philosophy of Pokemon” in mind, but more when it came to game design philosophy than natural philosophy. However, it seems that Scott gave me an even better idea. What can we learn from Pokemon that we can apply to our daily lives, beyond the inherent math, obviously?

Indeed, Pokémon has always been about how we interact with the world and each other, not just catching critters and steamrolling gym leaders. I realized, I may be sitting on a treasure trove with this idea. There’s a complete philosophy we can develop here. It can model how we must grow as individuals, how we form connections with others, and how we build strategies for a complex world.

The Internal Journey: The Philosophy of the Self

The most obvious metaphor in Pokémon is evolution, but what I find fascinating isn’t the mechanic itself, but its exceptions. The game quietly teaches us that growth has its own phases. Every Pokémon evolves in its own time—and some, like Pachirisu, that icon of defiant cuteness, never evolve at all. That’s a powerful mirror for how we grow. Life isn’t linear. Some of us bloom late, or sideways, or never get the EXP we feel we deserve—but we can still work our way into the party and be valuable.

Of course, that growth is never free. It’s built on a foundation of work that the game doesn’t shy away from. The grind is real. In the game, there’s EV training to focus on your Pokemon’s strengths. You have Mint farming to tame your Pokemon’s nature towards enhancing its best stat. Then there’s endless walks and berry feeding to raise friendship and perfect stat spreads. In daily life, that’s like waking up, brushing your teeth, setting your goals, and discovering your boundaries. The work isn’t glamorous. But it’s what lets you survive Victory Road and ultimately your run at the Elite Four.

This is where the metaphor could break. “Just grind it out” is a hollow platitude in a world that isn’t always fair. But Pokémon doesn’t ignore that, either. In fact, it leans in. There are some tragic backstories behind some of these creatures: Cubone’s grief, Type: Null’s trauma, Mimikyu’s desperate longing. These creatures carry heavy backstories, yet they still fight and  seek connection. The game seems to suggest that your past doesn’t invalidate your power. In fact, it can be the source of it.

The External Journey: The Philosophy of Connection

All of the internal work is the foundation for the game’s core theme: partnership. The world of Pokémon argues for coexistence, not domination. While the mechanics involve “capture,” the philosophy promotes partnership over conquest. You don’t “own” Pokémon. Rather, you befriend, train, and grow with them. When we apply that to our own lives, our relationships (with people, pets, or even projects) shift from being tools for resource extraction and toward being collaborations built on reciprocity.

The game even mechanizes this philosophy, reminding us that communication is greater than control. In many of the main series games, Pokémon will refuse to obey if your badge count is too low. You can’t force loyalty. Respect must be earned, not demanded. This was originally a mechanic to prevent players from trading in a high-level monster to rip through the game, but its philosophical implication is deeper. You must earn your team’s affection and trust to unlock their potential. The obedience mechanic has changed over the years in its application, but the idea is the same; you need to earn your monsters’ affection and trust.

This philosophy of connection is most sharply tested by our rivals. Whether it’s Blue, Silver, N, Hop, or Nemona—your rivals shape your growth. They’re the mirrors who reflect your own progress through the adventure. They challenge your assumptions and force you to build new strategies. While many of the rivals aren’t much of a challenge, even Hop who was a pushover for much of Sword and Shield becomes formidable in the postgame. Nemona in Scarlet and Violet may be the toughest rival character in the series. In any case, a healthy rivalry isn’t about beating someone to a pulp; it’s about becoming your sharpest self because of their presence. They serve as the other half of your growth, an external force that validates all the internal work.

The Applied Journey: The Philosophy of Strategy

After learning how to ground ourselves and adopting a philosophy of connection, we still need a practical strategy to “win” the game. This is the “metagame” of life, and Pokémon’s game design has a lot to say about it. The game mechanics consistently punish you for trying to run through with just your starter; they push you toward building a balanced team. Having balanced typing gives you synergy and adaptability. The life lesson here isn’t subtle. You need different kinds of support—intellectual, emotional, and logistical. You’re not weak for needing help; you’re just approaching life strategically.

At the same time, the game imposes a hard boundary. There’s a limit to what you can carry. Your team has always been six Pokémon max from the days of Generation 1’s Red and Blue. More importantly, each Pokemon can only know four moves at a time. While the very limited bag storage, that required the PC to save key items, wasn’t a factor after Generation 2, the team limit and moveset size have never changed. These are core Pokemon mechanics that teach boundary-setting for our personal inventory, whether it be physical, emotional, or energetic. While being a generalist can help expand our knowledge, to truly win we need to work to our strengths, but not just individually. 

We also need to understand how our strengths can work in the context of our team and the specific challenges we face. Sometimes these strengths aren’t obvious, especially when it comes to supporting moves and type-coverage. These strategic limits force us to realize that even the weakest can win. Creatures like Magikarp, Shedinja, and Ditto may be legends, but not for their raw stats. Their power is niche. Magikarp evolves into Gyarados, Shedinja’s Wonder Guard makes it invulnerable to most attacks, and Ditto can create the perfect mirror match if utilized correctly. As the metagame shifts, the heart of the message doesn’t: underestimated doesn’t mean unworthy. You just need the right context or the right T.M.—which, in our world, is often just the right education (preferably self-taught).

Finally, the game teaches us that this entire strategy—your team, your limits, your niche skills—must adapt. Every region has a vibe. Kanto is steeped in nostalgia, Sinnoh in ancient myths, and Galar in pure showmanship. The world changes, and so do the rules and the various gimmicks you must learn to master. The art of good Pokemon training is in adapting without losing your essence. The more you explore, the more you see how culture shapes identity—a lesson even our real-world selves struggle to grasp.

Closing Thoughts

Viewing the game through this lens—as a single, complete philosophy of the self, of connection, and of applied strategy—feels like the treasure trove I was searching for. It’s a way to discuss the game that moves beyond “catching critters and steamrolling gym leaders” and into the deep, natural philosophy of “coexistence” that Scott’s video first highlighted.

This essay is just the start. I could easily turn this into a much larger project. My plan is to use this as a foundation, perhaps to go into various Pokemon species and break down the philosophy and aesthetics for each evolution line.

This is a major shift from my competitive-focused Pokemon articles of the past. Those guides are brittle; they become obsolete as the metagames shift. But this approach feels different. By focusing on these more human lessons, I think this new direction can be not just more evergreen, but more useful for all of us.