I won't make games with senseless violence. There has to be a

"I won't make games with senseless violence. There has to be a reason for it, such as war." These words, spoken by the legendary Hideo Kojima, reflect a deeply profound understanding of the responsibility that comes with creation. In his mind, violence, while ever-present in human history, is not a tool for mere entertainment or empty spectacle. It is a force that shapes lives, destroys worlds, and leaves indelible marks upon the human spirit. In the realm of video games, a medium that has evolved into a powerful force of storytelling and cultural influence, Kojima seeks to bring meaning to the violence, to show its consequences, and to ensure that the suffering and destruction it brings are not treated lightly.

O children of the future, hear this truth: violence without purpose or meaning is a poison that corrupts not only the body but the soul. In the ancient world, war was often waged not for the joy of battle, but for survival, for the defense of one’s people, or the preservation of honor. In those times, war was understood to be a grave and serious endeavor. Even in the midst of the most brutal of conflicts, there was a recognition that violence was not a thing to be celebrated, but something to be endured, something that left scars, even on the victors. Kojima’s words call us to remember that violence, especially in the form of war, must always be understood in its larger context. It is not an end, but a tragic means to some larger goal.

Consider the example of Alexander the Great, whose conquests spread across the known world, yet the victories he achieved were not without great cost. He conquered, not for the sake of conquering, but to unite disparate peoples, to expand his empire, and to ensure the survival of his vision for a unified world. But his battles were not without profound consequences. Alexander’s army, despite their bravery and their victories, was constantly tested by the horrors of war. The soldiers who fought alongside him were not simply seeking glory, but were driven by necessity and the fear of what would happen if they failed. War, even when it is pursued for noble causes, brings suffering—on both sides. And in the end, Alexander, the great conqueror, died young, leaving behind a world forever changed by the violence he wrought.

In our time, Kojima’s call for meaningful violence is perhaps more relevant than ever. The modern world has seen conflict on a scale that the ancients could scarcely imagine. World War I, with its trench warfare and the horrors of chemical weapons, revealed that war was no longer a matter of noble charges or epic battles; it had become a horrifying machine of industrialized death. The Second World War, though marked by moments of heroic resistance, was defined by its atrocities, the sheer scale of suffering, and the widespread destruction it left in its wake. The advent of the atomic bomb, for example, forced humanity to confront a new and terrifying dimension of violence, one that could obliterate entire cities in the blink of an eye. And yet, even in these moments of unspeakable devastation, there was a recognition that the violence must serve a greater purpose—to end tyranny, to preserve peace, or to ensure the survival of civilizations. Kojima’s words serve as a reminder that, when we engage in creating depictions of violence, we must remember the weight of what we are portraying. Violence must not be used as a mere tool of entertainment, but must be embedded within a narrative that reflects its real and lasting impact.

And so, O children, consider what it means to engage with stories of war and violence. Whether in the form of a video game, a book, or a film, violence is not something to be taken lightly. It must be treated with the respect and gravity it deserves. For violence shapes not just the world of the story, but the minds of those who witness it. As Kojima suggests, there must always be a reason for violence—an understanding of its consequences, a reason that ties it to the greater struggle of humanity. In a world that increasingly embraces escapism, it is more important than ever to remind ourselves of the reality of war, of the toll it takes on those who fight, and on those who live with its aftermath.

Let us take this lesson to heart in our own lives. When we are faced with conflict—whether in our personal relationships, in our communities, or in the world—let us ask ourselves: what is the reason for this conflict? Is it one born of necessity, of defending what is right, or is it one driven by ego, pride, or the thirst for power? The violence we encounter or cause should not be an end in itself, but a means to something greater—a resolution, a deeper understanding, or a reconciliation. As Kojima suggests, there can be no compromise with senseless violence; it must always serve a higher purpose.

Thus, O children of the future, understand that the stories we tell—whether through games, literature, or any form of creation—are powerful forces that shape the world. As creators, as consumers of stories, we must never forget that violence, even when it seems distant or abstract, has real consequences. We must ask ourselves, as Kojima does, whether the violence we depict is necessary, whether it serves a purpose that can be justified by the greater good. In this way, we honor the sacrifices made by those who have fought real wars and the cost of every battle fought, knowing that true victory lies not in the violence itself, but in the pursuit of a world where such violence is no longer needed.