Is Critical Thinking Enough in the Age of AI?

 

In the last few years, especially with the rapid rise of AI, critical thinking has become one of the most talked-about ideas in education and public discourse. It is often described as one of the most important skills required to survive in the 21st century. Critical thinking is usually defined as the ability to analyse information, reason logically, understand different perspectives, and reflect on one’s own biases.

Yet, when I look at the world around me, I feel uneasy. When I watch the news or see the massive scale at which misinformation is spread—often by those in positions of power—I find myself wondering: is critical thinking really something that can be cultivated widely? At the same time, we are hearing new words like “brain rot”, used to describe how social media platforms and excessive dependence on AI may be dulling our ability to think deeply and critically. This leads me to ask: will critical thinking become a rare commodity, or even a rare talent?

As I reflect further, a more uncomfortable question emerges: has critical thinking actually helped us as a society so far?

Over the last hundred years, modern education systems across the world have emphasised logic, scientific reasoning, and analytical thinking. Earlier, education was closely tied to religion, and reason and logic were not taught through secular systems in the way they are today. Never before has formal education reached so many people. And yet, we must ask honestly: has this mass education delivered a critically conscious society? What has society truly gained from individuals who are trained to think critically?

I have slowly come to believe that critical thinking by itself is not enough. It undoubtedly benefits individuals. It can help someone secure a better job, make more informed personal decisions, or develop a coherent worldview. But does individual success translate into social transformation?

Paulo Freire used the term conscientization to describe the development of deep social awareness that leads people to question injustice and act collectively to change it. I do not think individual critical thinking automatically leads to such consciousness.

When critical thinking is framed as an individual achievement, it often feeds into the idea of meritocracy. Meritocracy presents itself as fair and neutral, but in reality it creates new hierarchies—between those who are seen as intelligent, capable, or deserving, and those who are not. Such a system may empower a few individuals, but it does little to free those who remain trapped in long-standing structures of inequality.

Freire argued that critical consciousness emerges through praxis—a continuous cycle of learning together, acting together, and reflecting together. Without this collective process, critical thinking remains private. It may sharpen individual minds, but it rarely shifts social realities.

A simple example from school makes this clear. A class topper may demonstrate excellent logical reasoning and academic skill. But does her success help the rest of the class learn better? Often, it does not. Instead, it reinforces competition and hierarchy. Other students may feel discouraged, resentful, or labelled as less capable. In some cases, studious children are even mocked as “nerds.” The celebration of merit, rather than improving collective learning, ends up dividing students.

This is why I believe we need something more than critical thinking. We need critical collaborative thinking—the ability to think, learn, question, and reflect together.

From early childhood, most of us are trained to pursue merit. We are praised for winning and shamed for losing. Rarely are we rewarded for helping others think better or for working collectively. Our school systems, competitive examinations for government services, and promotion structures in workplaces all prioritise individual performance. Collaboration is often mentioned, but seldom meaningfully recognised.

The confusion becomes even more evident when we talk about leadership. Often, one person is labelled a leader, and when collaboration happens, the credit is attributed to that person’s “leadership skills.” This raises an important question: if one person is the leader, what are the others—followers? Or are they fellow collaborators? In practice, such leadership models often undermine genuine collaboration and limit the possibility of shared critical thinking.

Recently, I have been reading Marshall Rosenberg’s work on Nonviolent Communication (NVC). To me, NVC offers something essential: a compassionate language for thinking together. Without learning how to listen with empathy, express disagreement without violence, and recognise shared human needs, it is difficult to imagine real collaborative thinking.

When combined with Freire’s idea of praxis, nonviolent communication holds deep transformative potential. This is especially hopeful when we think about children. If children grow up learning how to listen, reflect together, and act in solidarity, we may witness the revival of the spirit of Ubuntu—the understanding that I am because we are. Such an approach could also help ensure that the benefits of AI are shared widely, rather than remaining concentrated in the hands of a small, powerful minority.

Imagine if nonviolent communication and collective praxis became the foundation of civic action. The civil society sector would look very different. Today, frontline workers—those closest to communities and lived realities—often receive the least attention and investment in capacity building. They are treated as implementers or tools, while more educated professionals are seen as the “thinkers” and “leaders.” And yet, frontline workers are often the real agents of change.

Perhaps the deeper issue is not that we lack critical thinkers, but that we have over-invested in individual cognition and under-invested in collective consciousness. Our systems of education, governance, and development continue to reward those who think well alone, speak well alone, and rise alone. In doing so, they quietly reproduce the very hierarchies they claim to challenge.

From a post-development perspective, this is not surprising. Development has long trusted experts, leaders, and high performers more than communities, relationships, and shared wisdom. Critical thinking, when separated from compassion and collective practice, risks becoming just another form of expertise—respected, rewarded, and largely harmless to power.

What may be needed instead is a shift in the questions we ask. Not how can individuals think better? but how can societies think together? Freire’s praxis and Rosenberg’s nonviolent communication point toward this shift—not as techniques to master, but as ways of being with one another. They remind us that thinking is not only a mental activity, but also a relational and ethical one.

If critical thinking is to matter in the age of AI, it must move beyond individual brilliance and towards shared social capacity. Perhaps this is what it would mean to reclaim Ubuntu today—not by rejecting technology, but by refusing to let intelligence, human or artificial, remain disconnected from justice, dignity, and collective freedom.

Disclaimer: I used ChatGPT to help with articulation and flow. The questions raised here, the discomfort they may cause, and the positions taken are entirely mine. Like most thinking, this too emerged in conversation—but responsibility for the thought rests with me.