First Principles: How to Think Like a Greek and Build Like a Founder

There’s an old saying in Silicon Valley: when in doubt, invoke physics. And so the term “first principles” has become one of those phrases—like “disruption” or “pivot”—that is routinely abused by people who’ve never used a soldering iron. Everyone wants to think from first principles. Few know what that actually means. Fewer still do it.

Let’s fix that.

First principles thinking, at its core, is a method of reasoning that seeks to reduce problems to their fundamental truths—statements so basic they cannot be broken down further. Instead of reasoning by analogy (which is how most people operate: “We do X because company Y does X”), first principles thinking forces you to ask: what is absolutely, undeniably true? And then you build up from there.

Aristotle wrote about it. Descartes wrestled with it. Elon Musk popularised it in engineering circles when he wondered why rockets cost so much. Instead of assuming they had to, he broke down the cost of raw materials and realised you could build one far cheaper. The result was SpaceX. Also flamethrowers, but that’s another story.

First principles thinking sounds glamorous. Philosophical. Maybe even visionary. But here’s the truth: it’s tedious. It requires dismantling your assumptions piece by piece. It means asking embarrassing questions in meetings. It means replacing mental shortcuts with long detours through logic, maths, and sometimes Wikipedia.

But the reward is clarity. And in business, clarity is a weapon.

Let’s look at a mundane example: pricing.

Most startups set prices by looking at competitors. If Company A charges $99/month, we’ll charge $89. Boom. That’s called “reasoning by analogy.” And it’s why most SaaS pricing is indistinguishable from a gym membership.

First principles would ask instead:

• What is the value we’re delivering?
• What are the marginal costs of serving one more user?
• What’s the customer’s willingness to pay, and how can we test it?
• What’s the downside of charging too little?

You might still end up charging $89. But now you understand why. And that “why” gives you a foundation to adjust, defend, and experiment. You’re not copying. You’re building.

This applies everywhere. Hiring. Fundraising. Strategy. Want to raise $5 million? Don’t just say it because “that’s what seed rounds are.” Ask: How much do we need to reach our next milestone? What does that milestone actually cost? Can we do it leaner? Or faster, with more capital?

Want to expand to a new market? Don’t assume it’ll work because “Germany is similar to France.” It’s not. Nothing is. Ask instead: Who are the actual buyers? How do they purchase? What regulations apply? Where is the bottleneck?

Yes, it’s slower. Yes, it’s annoying. But it’s also what separates you from the herd of founders regurgitating whatever the last VC blog post said.

At Capital for Cures, we try to bring this mindset into our events, partnerships, and platform building. Not because we want to be contrarian for its own sake (though that’s always fun), but because the traditional models for convening capital and healthcare simply aren’t working. Spray-and-pray pitch events. Panel discussions with ten minutes of Q&A. Generic investor databases. These are not sacred cows. They’re just habits that ossified into norms.

So we asked: what actually helps founders? What do investors really need? What does a high-quality introduction feel like—not just look like on a spreadsheet? And from those questions came a different kind of structure. Smaller rooms. Curated audiences. Actual follow-ups. Nothing revolutionary. Just built from the ground up, not copied from the brochure of someone else’s mediocrity.

The great thing about first principles is that they’re portable. You can apply them to everything from your hiring plan to your next weekend project. The bad news is they’re lonely. When you stop doing what everyone else is doing, you will confuse people. You will look slow. You will be told, repeatedly, that “this isn’t how it’s done.”

But as any engineer—or philosopher—will tell you: that’s exactly the point.

So the next time you’re tempted to benchmark, mimic, or guess, pause. Ask yourself what you actually know. Not believe. Not assume. Know. And if the answer is “very little,” congratulations. You’re thinking clearly. Now, build from there.

Welcome to the cult of clarity. Coffee’s in the back. And no, we don’t have branded mugs yet. That would require copying someone else’s swag policy.