And initially, a lot of companies avoid trying to make a really

Hear the words of Trip Hawkins, visionary of the digital age and founder of Electronic Arts, who declared: “And initially, a lot of companies avoid trying to make a really radical new kind of title for a new system, because that would involve learning a new machine and learning how to make the new title at the same time.” Though spoken of games and systems, these words are more than the counsel of industry—they are a parable about fear, risk, and the reluctance of mortals to embrace the unknown. For Hawkins reveals to us that progress often stalls, not because of lack of vision, but because of hesitation before the weight of dual challenges.

He speaks of companies that hesitate to make a radical new title when a new system is born. The meaning is plain: when new tools arise, they demand mastery, and when new ideas emerge, they demand courage. To attempt both at once is to walk into the storm with untested armor. Thus, many shrink back, preferring the safety of the familiar, crafting only what they already know. Yet history shows us that it is often in the union of these two risks—mastery of the new tool and boldness of the new vision—that greatness is forged.

Consider the tale of Johannes Gutenberg, who gave the world the printing press. He did not merely learn a new machine; he also dared to create a radical new title—the printed Bible. The challenge was twofold: mastering the mechanics of movable type while producing a text worthy of reverence and accuracy. Many would have recoiled, saying, “Let us learn the press first, then attempt such a work.” But Gutenberg pressed forward, bearing both burdens at once, and by so doing changed the destiny of humanity. His courage mirrors the very challenge Hawkins describes.

Yet the caution Hawkins observes is real, and not without reason. In the early days of any technology, failure is frequent, and the cost of failure high. The first makers of films, of airplanes, of electric light all stumbled, often ruined before their ideas bore fruit. The wisdom of restraint is that it shields against ruin. But the danger of restraint is that it stifles innovation, leaving only timid progress where bold leaps could have carried civilization forward. Thus, the tension Hawkins describes is as old as human endeavor—the balance between prudence and daring.

The emotional heart of his words lies in this truth: the future belongs not to the cautious alone, nor to the reckless alone, but to those who can bear the weight of learning the new while daring to create the unimagined. To refuse the challenge is to linger in mediocrity; to embrace it is to step into immortality. The lesson here is not to abandon caution, but to recognize when the hour calls for courage greater than fear, for vision greater than hesitation.

The lesson for you, O seeker of wisdom, is plain: do not shrink from trials that come in pairs. When faced with a new tool, a new path, a new world—do not wait until you feel fully prepared, for mastery often comes only in the doing. And when faced with the chance to create, do not say, “First I will master everything, then I will dare,” for the two must often be learned together, in the heat of the same struggle.

What then shall you do? First, embrace innovation with humility and courage—learn the new machine while daring to craft the new vision. Second, do not despise failure, for it is the price of discovery. Third, when others shrink back in caution, remember Gutenberg, remember Hawkins, remember the ones who bore two burdens and won eternal honor.

And remember always: radical creation on new ground is the forge of destiny. It is not the cautious who leave monuments, but those who dare to learn and to create at once. Trip Hawkins, in speaking of games and systems, speaks also to life itself—that those who rise to master both tool and idea together shall carve the future with their own hands, while the cautious watch from the safety of the past.