Whenever I design any variant, or when anybody sends me one, I

The strategist and game designer Fred Davis once offered this humble yet profound insight: “Whenever I design any variant, or when anybody sends me one, I always say if at all possible within the context of the game, don’t have two home supply centers touching each other.” To the uninitiated, these words may seem a mere technical suggestion, a rule of design for the board game Diplomacy, which Davis helped shape and expand. Yet beneath their surface lies a wisdom far older and deeper than the game itself. For in this principle—the separation of home supply centers—there is a reflection of the eternal truth that strength thrives in balance, and that harmony, not proximity, sustains the order of all things.

In the realm of Diplomacy, a home supply center represents power, territory, and the means to grow. To have two such centers touch is to invite chaos—to blur the lines between defense and aggression, between one’s foundation and one’s frontier. Davis understood that when power is too tightly packed, it breeds instability. Rivalries ignite too quickly, alliances falter too soon, and the delicate rhythm of strategy collapses into turmoil. Thus, his counsel was not merely about the map of a game—it was a lesson in designing equilibrium, in giving each force the space to breathe before it must contend.

This insight mirrors the ancient philosophies of governance and life itself. The Greeks spoke of the golden mean—the middle path between excess and deficiency. The Chinese sages taught that when the yin and yang lie too close, unbalanced, the world tips into disorder. And in politics, as in games, when powers sit too near without boundaries, conflict becomes inevitable. Consider the tragedy of Europe before the Great War, where mighty nations, their borders and ambitions pressed tightly together, found themselves unable to move without striking a neighbor. What began as a network of alliances and interests soon became a trap from which none could escape. Just as Davis warned against neighboring centers, so history warns against unchecked proximity of power.

There is also in his quote the spirit of the architect and the philosopher. To design well—whether a game, a city, or a life—is to understand spacing. Gardens need pathways between trees, houses need air between their walls, and hearts need distance to preserve affection. Overcrowding, whether of ideas or ambitions, suffocates the design. Davis’s wisdom speaks to the subtle art of balance and proportion, the recognition that even in play, structure must reflect nature—and nature herself thrives through measured separation.

One might recall the work of the Renaissance master Leon Battista Alberti, who wrote that beauty arises not from ornament, but from proportion. Davis’s rule embodies that same harmony in the world of strategy. For a game, like a society, becomes great not by the magnitude of its powers, but by the elegance of its relations. Where balance is preserved, creativity flourishes; where forces are too close, destruction follows. In this way, his rule becomes a parable: to separate is not to weaken, but to sustain.

And yet, there is also humility in his words. Davis does not command, but advises: “If at all possible within the context of the game.” Here he acknowledges the context, the living nature of creation itself. Not all maps, nor all lives, can follow perfect geometry. Wisdom lies not in rigid adherence to rule, but in discerning when the rule must bend to the spirit of the design. The greatest creators—whether of games or nations—are those who know when to honor the principle and when to adapt it, keeping harmony as their guide.

Thus, the lesson stands clear for all who would design, lead, or live: give space for balance to thrive. Do not crowd your ambitions until they choke each other, nor let your strengths overlap until they turn to rivalry. Whether you are crafting a system, building a team, or nurturing relationships, allow room for growth without collision. The architect leaves room between stones so that a building can breathe; the strategist leaves distance between powers so that peace can endure.

And so, in the spirit of Fred Davis, let all who create remember this sacred principle of play and life alike: harmony is born of separation, and order arises from respect for space. When power presses too close, it consumes itself; when it flows with balance, it becomes eternal. The wise designer, like the wise ruler, knows that the spaces between are as vital as the structures they surround—for in those spaces dwell the possibilities that make the game worth playing.