You have to design and program differently. Combat action in an

“You have to design and program differently. Combat action in an MMO is so different to combat in a first-person shooter.” – John Romero

Hear these words, O architects of the digital realm, from John Romero, the legendary craftsman of worlds, whose mind helped shape the foundations of modern gaming. His statement is not merely a reflection on software, but a philosophy that reaches beyond screens and code—it is a lesson in adaptation, understanding, and the art of creation itself. When Romero declares that one must “design and program differently,” he speaks of a universal truth: that every challenge, every craft, every form of creation demands its own rhythm, its own wisdom, and its own way of being approached.

To design and program differently is to respect the nature of what one creates. The MMO—the massive, living world shared by thousands—is a dance of persistence, community, and endurance. Its combat is not only about speed, but about strategy, teamwork, and balance over time. The first-person shooter, by contrast, is a moment of intensity, a heartbeat of chaos, where precision and reflex reign supreme. Both require mastery, but they live by different laws. The one is a marathon, the other a sprint. To confuse their design is to misunderstand their soul. Thus, Romero’s words remind us: the wise creator does not impose one solution upon all problems, but learns to listen—to the nature of the medium, to the needs of the moment, and to the truth of the system before him.

Think, O reader, of the builders of the ancient world, who knew that form must follow purpose. The architects of Greece built temples that sang to the heavens, using proportion and light to honor the gods. The Romans, by contrast, built roads, aqueducts, and fortresses—monuments to power, endurance, and order. Each civilization mastered its craft not by imitation, but by understanding the demands of its design. The Doric column and the Roman arch—different expressions of the same yearning to create, yet each born from its own logic and purpose. So too in Romero’s worlds: what works for one genre, one system, one people, cannot simply be transplanted into another. The act of creation demands humility, the willingness to adapt, and the courage to start anew.

In truth, Romero’s words speak not only to programmers, but to all who strive to build or lead. The warrior must learn new techniques for new battlefields; the poet must find new language for new times. To repeat what has worked before, without reflection or reinvention, is to stagnate. The world changes, technology evolves, and human desire itself shifts shape. To cling to the old way is to fall behind. But to understand that every challenge must be approached with a new mind—that is the essence of mastery. The true craftsman does not fear difference; he thrives within it.

Consider also the lesson of Miyamoto Musashi, the sword saint of Japan. In his Book of Five Rings, he taught that a warrior must see beyond the weapon. Each encounter, each opponent, demands a different stance, a different flow of energy. To rely on habit is to die; to move with awareness is to live. So too does Romero’s teaching echo across centuries: whether in combat or in code, one must perceive the structure of the battlefield—digital or physical—and design accordingly. The difference between an MMO and a shooter is not simply mechanical—it is philosophical. One asks, “How do I survive this instant?” The other asks, “How do we endure together?”

And yet, there is a deeper harmony that unites these opposites. For though the forms differ, the spirit remains the same: the pursuit of immersion, connection, and excellence. The creator’s task is not to copy, but to translate that spirit into each new form. Just as an artist must change his brush when painting water instead of stone, so too must the game designer change his methods when shaping worlds of different scales and purposes. This is the eternal truth of creation—to understand difference, and through that understanding, to create unity.

So let the lesson of John Romero’s words echo in your mind: learn to adapt, to listen, to honor the uniqueness of every challenge. Do not bring the same design to every problem; do not wield the same tool for every task. Whether you are a coder, a leader, a writer, or a builder, learn the nature of what lies before you, and design accordingly. For wisdom is not found in repetition, but in discernment. The master’s greatness is not in knowing one way—but in knowing that there are many.

And thus, O children of invention, remember: every system, every life, every art form has its own heartbeat. To create within it, you must learn to hear that rhythm, to design not by habit but by harmony. For as Romero teaches, creation without understanding is emptiness—but creation with awareness becomes eternal.