The rule designer who distrusts authority: Gavin Wood, from Lego enthusiast to Web3 world architect!

If you break down Gavin's life, you'll find an extremely clear, almost stubborn main thread: he has never been someone who "uses the system," but rather someone who "invents the rules."

At five or six, he explored the world on his own with second-hand Lego sets that came without manuals;

At nine, he wrote his own "first line of destiny" on his first computer in his bedroom;

In his teens, he wasn't satisfied with just playing games—he created "Dark Times" and a homemade version of "Bomber Man," turning classmates and magazine judges into players;

Later, he taught himself AMOS, C++, OpenGL, wrote games, built websites, tinkered with electronic samplers, and designed handmade board games—again and again turning the worlds in his mind into systems others could actually "enter."

These experiences may look like a geeky teenager's list of hobbies, but looking back today, you'll see something even more important: Gavin stopped believing in the "world given by authority" from a very early age; what mattered to him was—could he design a fairer, more fun world himself?

Whether it's the open-world rules of games, or later Ethereum, Polkadot, and the cryptoeconomic and governance designs behind JAM, it's essentially the same thing:

• It's not about giving people a path, but about building an entire world where they can "walk and explore" on their own.
• It's not about blind faith in authority, but about letting the rules themselves challenge authority.

So, when we talk about Gavin today, it's not just as "the founder of a certain public chain" or "a tech guru," but as someone who started practicing with Lego and eventually stretched his imagination into games, hardware, board games, social systems, and Web3—using his whole life to answer the same question:

If rules are not meant to control people, but to unleash their creativity, what kind of world could be redesigned?

This is what makes the following conversation truly fascinating.

From Lego to Code: How Gavin Wrote the World's "First Line of Destiny" at Age 9

Gavin: I started playing with Lego bricks when I was very young, around five or six. Now I see my kids also love Lego, but I was a bit different from them when I was little—my family couldn't afford many boxed Lego sets, most were second-hand, and there were no building instructions, so I had to figure out how to build things myself. But actually, that was great—it really sparked my imagination.

Around seven or eight, I first encountered computers. There were two people around me who had computers at home—one was a neighbor across the street, the other was a family friend. Through them, I became deeply interested in computer programming. I knew playing games was fun, but programming was even more attractive to me. You could create things through programming and make the computer run according to your ideas and designs. It's actually a lot like playing with Lego, but the "creativity ceiling" of programming is much higher—you can solve all kinds of problems in different ways, whereas Lego can only build physical models.

About a year later, I got my first computer. At first, the neighbor across the street taught me programming and showed me a few simple programs, but after that, I was basically self-taught and didn't receive much more guidance. A year or two later, I upgraded to a better computer. To debug the new device, I borrowed an old programming manual from another friend. Although I only had it for a few days, it was enough for me to teach myself the entire programming language. I was really enjoying myself at the time—programming was what I wanted to do most. I occasionally went out to play, but most of the time I stayed in my bedroom writing programs—I was about nine or ten years old then.

Throughout my childhood, I changed computers several times, but programming was always something I stuck with. As a teenager, I played games too, but later I started developing my own. Not because I couldn't afford the games I liked, but because making games was more interesting to me—it's a much better form of creative expression than just playing.

Pala Labs: What kind of games did you make?

Gavin: I made several games over the years. The first one I was really satisfied with was called "Dark Times," a medieval-themed game. It was a bit like an early version of "World of Warcraft," but there was no 3D technology back then, so it used a top-down view, and players could freely walk around the game world. The world was procedurally generated and unique every time you entered—the scene layout and character positions were all different. You could fight or trade with NPCs, search for supplies in houses, or hunt beasts in the forest. There was a lot to do.

For me, this was a form of creative expression. I didn't think much of it at the time, but later I shared the game with some friends at school, and they all said it was fun and suggested I show it to the computer shop owner. Back then, computer shops were different from now—they were more like gathering places for enthusiasts, not just places to sell games for profit. There were usually demo machines in the store, and if you met a friendly owner—which I did that day—you could not only play on the demo machine but also show off your own software.

My next game was also 2D (they were all 2D games back then), a bit like the popular game "Bomber Man." The reason I made it was simple—I played "Bomber Man" at a friend's house but couldn't afford to buy it, so I made my own version. But since I wanted to be creative, my version ended up being even better than the original—I added lots of new features, various weapons and items, and enemies with different AIs. The process was really fun—I was about 14 at the time. I even sent the game to a national magazine's competition for the computer I used. I didn't win first place, but I got second. The judges said that if it had been any other issue, my game would have won, but that time another contestant achieved a technical breakthrough—the first time that technology was used in a game—so the top prize had to go to them. But the judges also specifically mentioned that my game was much more fun than the others. I was really happy to get that recognition. Unfortunately, I don't have a copy of it anymore. It was stored on my grandfather's garage desk, but the garage was very damp, the disc got moldy, and it was ruined in the end.

I developed a few more games as a teenager, but my favorites and best works were still those two.

Not Just Coding: How Gavin Extended Childhood Creativity to Games, Hardware, Board Games, and Social Systems

Pala Labs: Did you always use the same programming language?

Gavin: From about age 12 to 17, I did only use one language for game development—AMOS, or AMOS BASIC. BASIC is generally slow and not suitable for complex programs. To be honest, my games weren't that complex, but even so, the original language was too slow. Later, though, an extension tool was released—a compiler that made games run ten times faster. With that, making fun games in AMOS became feasible.

Around 17, I replaced my old Commodore Amiga with a self-built PC—an IBM-compatible machine. Everyone was doing this at the time; building your own PC was cost-effective, and you could get better specs for less money. My PC was basic and cost only 100 pounds. It wasn't high-end, but it was good enough for me to explore new things. I got a lot of help from a classmate's father, who ran a systems engineering company and had lots of spare old hardware. He gave me the case, motherboard, and even a monitor, so I only had to buy the CPU and maybe a sound card. Building a PC like that for 100 pounds was pretty good.

After getting the new PC, I started learning C++, a truly "professional" language, totally different from BASIC. I kept making games, and the one I remember most was a computer version of the board game "Catan." To make games like that, I had to learn graphics programming—which is completely different from text programming and not easy to do in C++. There are many ways to do graphics programming, and many are incompatible with certain hardware. Later, I learned some OpenGL, which finally allowed me to make games with graphical interfaces.

After that, I briefly switched to web development and made some websites, like one for my music collection. I uploaded all my music and added reviews and other content—it was quite fun.

Later, I wanted to make another game but never finished it. As a kid, I loved a space game called "Frontier: Elite 2," which was a bit like a single-player "EVE Online." When it was released on the Commodore Amiga, it was one of the first high-quality 3D games and was groundbreaking in many ways. I used to play it a lot, so I wanted to recreate something similar on PC, using the latest graphics technology while keeping the open-world feel of the original. I had the design and architecture in mind when I was 18 and still in school. By the time I was 23 or 24, graphics cards had improved enough to render near-photorealistic scenes in real time, so I finally had the chance to work on it. I did make some good graphics demos, but unfortunately, I never had enough time to finish it. That was probably the last time I seriously developed a game in my spare time.

Interestingly, I later went to work at the company that made "Frontier." But unfortunately, I didn't actually work on game development there—I was responsible for developing the audio technology behind the games. Still, I hope to return to game development as a hobby in my later years.

Pala Labs: So before you got into blockchain, was most of your creative work computer-related? Did you ever make anything physical?

Gavin: I did. I tried electronics projects in technology class, like making a sound sampler. People might not know what that is now, but in the early '90s, during the 16-bit era, you needed such a device to record audio into a computer. Computers now have built-in microphones or Bluetooth, so recording audio is easy, but back then, home computers could only output audio—play music or sound effects—and couldn't record audio at all.

There were dedicated audio input devices on the market, not too expensive—about 50 pounds—but that was still out of my budget. But I found that the microchip for such a device was cheap, about 1.5 pounds, though you needed lots of other components to connect it to a computer. I found the schematics for the sampler and tried to build it myself—three times in total, but never succeeded. Still, I got a good grade for the project because I made a wooden case with metal inlays and knobs. The device didn't work, but the craftsmanship, working knobs, and proper labeling got me a B or A.

Pala Labs: Sounds like you've always loved creating—not just playing with ready-made toys, but making things yourself, like with modeling clay, and enjoying it.

Gavin: Yeah, like I said, my family wasn't well-off. We never went hungry, but for Christmas or birthdays, most of my gifts were second-hand, especially anything computer-related. I couldn't just play the same old games over and over—that would be boring. So I always had this urge to imagine, create, and make things. That creative passion ran through my whole childhood, in many different forms.

For example, as a kid I designed a board game after playing one called "Talisman" at a friend's house. It was a lot of fun—we played it every week for months. I thought it would be cool to make a similar game with new elements and different rules, so I did. We played it a couple of times, but it never got fully developed. But from childhood, game theory and designing new modes of interaction have always interested me.

Actually, this relates to political science, sociology (or some branches of it), and even behavioral psychology. In short, I've always liked thinking about how people behave in different scenarios. Because of this, I later designed another board game. I was about 27, maybe 28 or 29—I can't remember exactly. I had a few close friends who loved board games. I had an idea for a game that didn't exist on the market—a geometric building game. The gameplay was about building cities, with scoring rules based on geometric principles, especially the ratio of area to perimeter and the number of adjacent walls. It was a novel mechanic—I hadn't seen it in any other board game, so I wanted to try making it. The process took two or three years, not full-time, since I had other things to do. Over those years, I kept testing, optimizing the rules, and simplifying the gameplay until I was happy with the experience.

When it was finally finished, I was about 31 and even wrote a clear rulebook. I asked one of my friends to help make the physical game—he was very handy. I did the game and graphic design, he did some of the illustrations, and he made the wooden pieces himself. Over about a year, we made 42 sets by hand. We didn't have much money—if we'd ordered thousands from a board game company, each set would have cost 10 to 15 pounds, but that was still out of reach. Plus, making them ourselves was fun, so we chose to do it by hand. I still have a set, and he probably has one or two. I played it again recently and found it was still fun—I'm still proud of it.

What's more, a well-known German board game magazine gave it a very good review. They said they'd publish something about it, but I never checked to see if they did. Still, once we finished the prototypes, finalized the rules, and were happy with the product, we didn't take it any further.

I think this actually marks the watershed between two very different abilities:

• One is the ability to go from zero to one, turning ideas in your head into real things;
• The other is going from one to one hundred, promoting and operating it so more people know about it and buy it, which involves marketing and business development.

These two things usually require very different personalities, and I'm clearly the type who's good at going from zero to one.

The Rules Aren't the Point—Emergent Effects Are

Pala Labs: So, designing board games and designing blockchain networks based on cryptoeconomics have a lot in common?

Gavin: That's right, they really do. Today's blockchain networks are very different from ten years ago. Besides the split between short-term and long-term thinking in the industry, there's also a divide between pure cryptography and cryptoeconomics. Some now argue that we should build large systems relying only on complex cryptography, not cryptoeconomics, but that's still just a discussion in the industry. Personally, based on current data and the latest reports, we're not yet at the stage where we can abandon cryptoeconomics and rely entirely on pure cryptography.

But to be honest, cryptography is extremely hard—way beyond my abilities. It requires very strong mathematical thinking, which I don't have. I know people who do and work closely with them, but I'm not that type. I'm more of a game theorist and engineer than a cryptographer.

You're right—designing an interesting board game and designing a secure, practical cryptoeconomic system are fundamentally very similar. The commonality is: the goal of designing rules is to achieve the "emergent effects" those rules produce, not the rules themselves.

This is key, and it's also what sets us apart from politicians. When politicians and lawmakers make rules, they often don't consider the emergent effects—they just "patch" the social problems they see. They often don't realize that the simple rules they think will solve problems may have completely unexpected results. Sometimes they don't solve the problem and even make things worse; sometimes, even if they solve the original problem, they trigger a chain reaction that's worse than the problem itself. So, in these cases, making rules (or laws) isn't wise.

As game theorists, our job is to understand the relationship between rules and emergent effects. This relationship is usually nonlinear, even random, and very hard to predict. Especially when many rules interact, the complexity is like the three-body problem—chaotic and impossible to predict from first principles. You can only put it into practice, let participants get involved, and observe the actual results. It's a bit like protein folding or developing new materials—you can guess at a formula or invent a new recipe. You can use experience to guess which ingredients go together or which cooking techniques work, but you have to try it to know for sure (practice is the only test). Even top chefs can ruin a dish with the wrong combination.

The key is, it's a process of "rational guessing + serendipitous discovery + repeated trial and error." You have to accept that the first try will almost never be perfect. But sometimes you find a direction with great potential, so you keep tweaking and optimizing it.

That's how it was when I designed that board game: I started with a core mechanic I thought had potential, then spent three years revising and testing, observing its emergent effects—was the game fun? Did people like it? Was there a clear winning strategy, or was it all luck? Through lots of feedback and iteration, I finally found the best solution, and once it was set, it was done.

Essentially, it's more like an art.

Unfortunately, I think many current social rules aren't based on consideration of emergent effects, but on lawmakers' short-sighted views.

Gavin: I Never Worship Authority, Nor Do I Want to Become Authority

Pala Labs: It seems like there's a consistent philosophy behind all your developments—from Ethereum to Polkadot (your "world computer"), and now JAM. The projects you've been involved in all seem to follow a consistent philosophy. Do you think this philosophy formed gradually in your teens and twenties, or was it rooted in you from the start?

Gavin: I think some core elements of this philosophy are indeed deeply rooted. People often ask who my idol is, and until recently, I never had a good answer. I've never really had a clear idol, nor do I blindly worship authority. In my view, there are all kinds of systems—some run well, like science and academia; others not so much. But as for specific individuals, I don't have anyone I particularly worship—though I do have respect.

But after reading some philosophy books and broadening my horizons, my thinking changed a bit. Now I do have some people I admire and learn from. One is Richard Feynman—a Nobel Prize-winning physicist. I read his autobiography and was deeply moved; he's a great role model and a spiritual idol. But overall, I've never really fit the concept of "authority"—whether being told to obey or being put in that position myself.

I think a world without authority, where blind trust isn't needed, might be better. In such a world, people would take the time to examine and analyze everything around them and make reasonable decisions based on facts, not just follow orders or indoctrination from authority figures. I remember when I was eight or nine, my stepfather said he'd send me to the army at 15. That idea terrified me—I really didn't want to enter such a hierarchical, authority-worshipping system. I don't know why I had such a strong aversion—maybe I had bad experiences with authority as a kid. But the idea that "we should build a society where everyone is equal, all individuals, not followers and authorities" has always been my core belief.

This attitude is reflected in everything I do, even in the games I want to make—whether it's the space trading game or the early medieval game "Dark Times," both are open-world at their core. In these games, there is no authority, no hierarchy, and no "final boss" you have to prove yourself against. There may be good and bad things in the world, but you live for yourself, and the core gameplay is exploration. I've always thought these games are more fun, and the same applies to life—life is more interesting when you explore the world as a free individual and make your own decisions. It's not always easy, but I think it's the ideal way to live.

Pala Labs: Is this your persistent pursuit of a free world? This belief that you hold so passionately, which has continued to inspire you after 11 years?

Gavin: I think it's a principle deeply rooted in my heart and probably won't change in this lifetime. People say you get more conservative as you get older—maybe I'll change in the future, but for now, my belief is as strong as ever. Especially over the past two years as I've focused on JAM and other projects, this pursuit has become even clearer.

In fact, Polkadot's original design fully aligned with Web3's core principles, like decentralization, but its implementation was somewhat compromised—mainly because of our fundraising model and the legal compliance structure we built, which restricted us to some extent.

Polkadot's development was more like a "sprint," with the main goal being to finish and deliver the product as quickly as possible, and the process didn't fully follow those principles. Polkadot was developed solely by Parity, and even now, its main client is still the Parity version—there are other clients in development, but Parity is still dominant. The whole project, from design to development, was basically done by a single team, essentially a product- and software-delivery-driven model.

But JAM is different—we're deliberately returning to a more thoroughly decentralized model, which fully matches my long-standing belief in "equal collaboration." Like I said before, I don't fit into obeying authority, nor do I like being an authority myself. The reason I'm still here creating is, besides loving to build things, mainly to reduce people's dependence on authority. If I became an authority myself, wouldn't that defeat the purpose? I'll do my job as best I can and share my views—I'm grateful if people want to listen, but I don't want to be idolized or worshipped. That would make me uncomfortable, even want to hide. I prefer solitude and a certain degree of academic purity. In the field of cryptoeconomics, giving individuals enough autonomy is crucial for innovation.

Of course, it's necessary to seek others' opinions and collaborate, but those original, groundbreaking ideas can't be decided by committee. If everything is discussed collectively, it's easy to get stuck—everyone has different ideas, no one wants to push one plan, and people just keep coming up with new ideas and passing the buck, so nothing gets done. So, the initial ideas are best pushed by one or two people who have the drive to shape them. Of course, you can iterate and take feedback, but there must be clear core drivers.

But when the project enters the construction phase, or once the plan is prototyped, proven feasible, and shows real value, then you must push for decentralization—the core drivers should hand over to the community for further deployment. Like I said before, these two stages require different personalities, and I'm clearly better at the early pioneering work.

But the problem is, it's hard to precisely time when the core drivers should hand over control and let the community take over for decentralization. The person involved may know, but others may not agree. In reality, many people prefer to trust authority—it makes things "easier" for them.

If they can trust a leader, they don't have to think for themselves—they just follow orders. I understand that—it's personal freedom—but if most people in a community do that, it can cause problems—everyone blindly follows the leader, and they may all end up in trouble together.

Because the interview video is long, we'll publish it in two parts!

This is the first part; the second part will be released tomorrow. Stay tuned!