So, according to the Lumpley Principle, System is the means by which the contents of the SiS is negotiated into place. The purpose of System is not to model the physical properties of the contents of the SiS... although the mechanical component of System *may appear to do so.*

The guys who first started playing RPGs as such (i.e., with rules, as opposed to plain old "let's pretend") were probably (I would say certainly) not aware of the Lumpley Principle in the way that we articulate it. The original rules that Gygax and Arneson came up with may or may not be very good, but I don't think that anyone can argue that D&D was presented in terms of anything other than setting. "Here's what the environment is like, here's what the people (and critters) who live there are like, here's what they can do, here are the tools available for them to do it with." We may look back and say, for example, that hit-points are a meta-game effectiveness mechanic for facilitating Gamism, but they're not presented that way in the rules. No way.

So, why? Why did the RPG patriarchs present the rules in terms of setting? For that matter, why was the precursor of RPGs - miniature wargaming, which is, after all, a more basic for of SiS construction - presented in terms of setting?

Here's why:

A genre is basically a way of classifying a body of work in terms of similarities. The root of all this is *communication.* We organize and categorize things so that we don't have to list them individually every time we want to refer to a group of similar things. If I say my game is "Cyberpunk," then you know, more or less, what you're getting into, before we start discussing specific details (assuming you're familiar with the CP genre, that is).

A rule that informs the SiS (let's assume Ralph's points about implicit acceptance are in force here) is basically the game designer pre-loading the imagination of the players.

This finally brings me around to the issue of player ignorance.

For a long time, I wondered how anyone could possibly get any kind of use out of GURPS sourcebooks in terms of actual play. There's just so much *stuff* in there. I viewed a GURPS setting book as basically a whole bunch of pre-fabbed SiS. And I never wanted to play in any game using a GURPS setting book (or any other similar setting-heavy game) because I couldn't *remember* all the stuff that was supposed to already part of the SiS. I was scared of forgetting about some setting content (lots and lots of setting content, actually, given the amount of stuff there is to forget in your standard GURPS book), contradicting it, and screwing up my game.

I now realize that GURPS books are pretty crazy in terms of sheer volume of information, and that most people don't use them as Complete SiS Truth, but instead mine ideas from them.

But the basic idea holds: Any time a game designer makes a rule about "what the setting is like," he's trying to inject his own input into the SiS. As long as the players don't ditch the rule, the result is that the designer has informed the act of play. The players know how the SiS *should* behave, according to the desire of the game's author.

So, what is this *should?* Originally, with historical wargaming, the SiS was intended to be a mirror of reality. Gaming was a procedure to find out *what really would have happened* given a set of fictional input parameters. A lot of games (especially computer games) are still marketed like this... what would have happened if *you'd* been commanding at Gettysburg?

This is important. The whole purpose of this early mechanical component of System was to limit the process of negotiation to plausible propositions. It was sort of like a filter on the negotiation process... propositions that did not mirror reality were (in theory) excluded by the mechanical component of system.

Of course, since no mechanical representation can actually completely encompase reality, there were lots of arguments about which system did what better, based on lots of conflicting personal experience, statistical data, anecdotes, and so on.

And then, you add fantasy into the mix, and sci-fi, and so on down the evolution of gaming, and things change. Since your inputs are, a lot of the time, based on "what the designer thinks it would be cool to imagine," you lose the whole reference point of real-world plausibility. How do we figure out how much Superman can lift? Does it really matter?

The real point of this post is, *know your target audience.* Give the players information that will reinforce the genre that they bought into in the first place. Every time you include a setting-based rule in a game, you are telling the potential players of your game what they should imagine. You may be telling them stuff they don't already know. A lot of people don't know what it's really like to swing a sword, shoot an automatic weapon, pilot a hovercraft, cast magic spells. When you make a setting rule, you're telling your players what it's really like to do that, in your vision of the SiS. Your vision may be wrong, in terms of comparitive reality (i.e., swords in your game weigh 10 - 20 lbs each, real swords weigh 2 - 5 lbs each). Or it may be totally fictional (i.e., magic). The players will either do it your way, or reject you out of hand (maybe your whole game, maybe just that one rule).

ADDENDUM: So, this post is sort of stream of thought from me. Just to clear up a few things, the idea is that genre expectations have replaced the historical "mirror of reality." Originally, when a designer made a rule, it was to enforce the correlation of reality and the SiS. Now, when a designer makes a rule about setting, it's to enforce the correlation of the SiS and designer's expectations WRT the genre in question. If the players do what the designer said to do, and if the designer did a good job constructing his game, the result is that the shape of the SiS will adhere to the genre the players were expecting.

When you make a setting rule, you're telling your players what it's really like to do that, in your vision of the SiS.

So, according to the Lumpley Principle, System is the means by which the contents of the SiS is negotiated into place. The purpose of System is not to model the physical properties of the contents of the SiS... although the mechanical component of System *may appear to do so.*

Hello,

The system is not the means by which the contents of the SIS are negotiated into place, but by which the events of the SIS are negotiated into place.

It's a very important distinction.

System establishes time in the Shared Imaginary Space. Hence: change, events, perceptions by the characters, and similar.

Best,
Ron

Noon,

Pretty much, yeah.

Ron,

I know you've said that, but I don't buy it, at least, not in the sort of proto-form your explanation of it has taken so far. Maybe your ideas already incorporate what I'm talking about, and I just haven't seen you articulate them yet.

Basically, I game a lot without a pre-established setting. We just kinda make stuff up as we go. Negotiating the contents of the SiS is very much a part of the system in these games. In terms of technique, it's all about acceptable uses of director stance, as per the local incarnation of the social contract. From the minute I say "What kind of game are you guys in the mood for tonight?" to when Josh says "Does iron hurt my vampire?" and I answer "Let's roll and see." (Or I answer "no," and Josh says "That sucks dude, it should burn my hands and stuff.")

I think this kind of SiS content establishment negotiation happens a *lot.* Mostly, it's just less visible than the way I do it, like when a player wants a fire extinguisher and the group has to somehow decide if the SiS contains one at this particular juncture.

It also bothers me that, with your distinction, you get this weird situation where you have rules that aren't part of the system.

In the long run, though, I don't think the distinction detracts from my point that much, even if the distinction holds. When a designer writes a rule that defines the setting in some way, he's making a statement about genre expectations. "This is how it works in the real world." "This is how it works in the Star Wars universe." The players either go with it, and get what the designer intended (hopefully, if the design actually supports the intent), or they trash it and do their own thing.

Ron Edwards wrote: Hello,

The system is not the means by which the contents of the SIS are negotiated into place, but by which the events of the SIS are negotiated into place.

It's a very important distinction.

System establishes time in the Shared Imaginary Space. Hence: change, events, perceptions by the characters, and similar.

Best,
Ron

Paganini wrote: Just to clear up a few things, the idea is that genre expectations have replaced the historical "mirror of reality." Originally, when a designer made a rule, it was to enforce the correlation of reality and the SiS. Now, when a designer makes a rule about setting, it's to enforce the correlation of the SiS and designer's expectations WRT the genre in question. If the players do what the designer said to do, and if the designer did a good job constructing his game, the result is that the shape of the SiS will adhere to the genre the players were expecting.

Uh... John, did you read the whole post, or just the addendum? The part about "mirroring reality" was specifically in the context of historical wargaming. A major part of my point was that, when you move from historical wargaming to role-playing, you open up the envelope of setting from "what things are really like" to "what things I think are cool to imagine."

And, BTW, I defined "genre" in my post:

I wrote:
A genre is basically a way of classifying a body of work in terms of similarities. The root of all this is *communication.* We organize and categorize things so that we don't have to list them individually every time we want to refer to a group of similar things. If I say my game is "Cyberpunk," then you know, more or less, what you're getting into, before we start discussing specific details (assuming you're familiar with the CP genre, that is).

Ron Edwards wrote: Hello,

The system is not the means by which the contents of the SIS are negotiated into place, but by which the events of the SIS are negotiated into place.

It's a very important distinction.

System establishes time in the Shared Imaginary Space. Hence: change, events, perceptions by the characters, and similar.

Best,
Ron

Paganini wrote: I defined "genre" in my post:

I wrote: A genre is basically a way of classifying a body of work in terms of similarities. The root of all this is *communication.* We organize and categorize things so that we don't have to list them individually every time we want to refer to a group of similar things. If I say my game is "Cyberpunk," then you know, more or less, what you're getting into, before we start discussing specific details (assuming you're familiar with the CP genre, that is).

If you look over my post again, you will find that I'm not saying that "genre is currently dominant." I'm saying that when a designer writes a rule that defines setting, that rule is equivalent to an offer of a particular genre convention. The game designer is making a proposition about the content of the SiS that defines *how things work* in the game world. The players have to choose whether to accept that input (usually implicitly) or reject it.

Paganini wrote: Any time a game designer makes a rule about "what the setting is like," he's trying to inject his own input into the SiS. As long as the players don't ditch the rule, the result is that the designer has informed the act of play. The players know how the SiS *should* behave, according to the desire of the game's author.

M. J.

There's no confusion. I'm not talking about setting description, I'm talking about mechanics that define setting. Your final sentence is almost an exact rephrasing of my original point. :)

M. J. Young wrote: The confusion arises in part because we think that the setting description is the setting; it isn't--it's an authority which offers a definition of the setting. The confusion arises also in part because we think that the rules elements attached to the setting must be part of the setting or of the system, one or the other, when in fact they aren't part of either--they're again authority to which we can refer to resolve our negotiations.

M. J. Young wrote: And as much as it pains me to say this, the game designer has no input into the shared imaginary space. His input is into the authority to which the participants will refer in defining the shared imaginary space.

In response to my comments, John Kim wrote: However, I think it is going overboard to say that the game designer has "no input" into system or setting. The game designer clearly has input, but she does not have control.

Perhaps I could clarify my meaning if I wrote: the game designer has no direct input into the shared imaginary space.

M. J. Young wrote: Clearly in defining the authority on which the setting is based, he has a great deal of input into what will be done in the game. However, just as the book cannot speak its content into the shared imaginary space, neither can the game designer--he is not there, and cannot create anything within the shared imaginary space directly. What he creates is an authoritative reference, in the not entirely unreasonable hope and expectation that the people who are contributing to the shared imaginary space will follow his advice on the subject.

John, I don't think you and MJ are really disagreeing here.

I doubt MJ would try to argue that the spoken word is the only process by which something enters the SiS.

Rather the distinction I see being made (and I tend to agree with it) is that nothing enters the SiS without passing through one of the players acting as gate keeper.

In all three of your examples above it was the GM providing that role of gatekeeper. The GM is submitting the item for approval, the players (through active assent or silence) approve it.

It doesn't matter whether what the GM submits is his own spontaneous invention, his own carefully crafted written work, or a game designers carefull crafted written work. None of those things has any special meaning until some human being submits it to the group.

Valamir wrote: Rather the distinction I see being made (and I tend to agree with it) is that nothing enters the SiS without passing through one of the players acting as gate keeper.

In all three of your examples above it was the GM providing that role of gatekeeper. The GM is submitting the item for approval, the players (through active assent or silence) approve it.

Yeah, this is where it enters dangerous waters.

A fully functioning Shared Imaginary Space has to be...shared. Meaning that within acceptable tolerances (defined by the individual and group) the content of the imaginary space must be shared by everyone at the table.

If we assume that not only has each player read the books, but we've all discussed them amongst ourselves and have a pretty mutual understanding of them (frex we all agree that the real story of the book is that of Sam and Frodo, etc.) then yeah, submitting "lets play a game set in Middle Earth during the War of the Ring" and the subsequent acceptance probably does bring alot of material into the SiS all at once.

However, if I think the real story is Sam and Frodo and you think the real story is the fall and return of Isiludur's line then we are probably putting very different emphasis on different parts of the books and so what I assume to be part of the SiS might be different from what you assume.

This is even greater if instead we're going to play during the 2nd age and all I've read are the books and you've made a detailed study of the Simarillion. Our individual imaginary spaces aren't going to overlap as much as they probably should to be truly considered shared.

Same if you've read the Decipher take on things and I haven't. Might have different ideas about various important elements (like how magic works, etc).


I think this is the reason that there is emphasis on material being added to the SiS as it is directly verbalized in play. Because that increases the likelihood that the imaginary space is indeed shared pretty thoroughly.

The key, I think, is getting everyone on the same page. If you can be reasonably certain of accomplishing that with a mass info dump I don't see that as a problem. Its just another technique. The only problem is in situations where a group makes the mistake of assuming everyone's genre expectations are the same.

But John is right in principle. In fact, all communicative means invlove packages of meaning that carry more symbologically than just a few words might seem to allow. That is, if you say, "The sky is green," in four words you've said only so much. But if you say, "Let's Play Middle Earth," you convey a lot more in the same space. This is no different than saying, "It's like Modern Earth." Either way you're creating a lot of meaning with a small amount of signal.

Yes, the more you shortcut, the more potential there is for interference in the channel. But some shortcutting has to occur, because one cannot deliver an entire world in short order (short enough to play in). So, using something like an established textual world is often as effective as you can get. Sure, anything will be more clear with more communication about it. But it's always a matter of the ratio of information that's attempted to be communicated over the channel, vs. the size of the communication.

Note, I use the term channel from communication theory here because it's appropriate. Often these days, I communicate things about the SIS via email or other channels. I daresay that modes other than verbal are common. Pictures, of course, have been used since the beginning with more or less success (remember "graphic typoes," however?).

Mike

I'm posting mostly to say that Ralph has expressed my position accurately.

I have argued in the past that there may be elements within the shared imaginary space to which I have implicitly agreed without knowing what they are--they are known to at least one player, and will be revealed in time, but by social contract I've already committed to accept these. The simple example is that in module play, I've agreed that whatever the module says is in room 27 is what I will find there.

On the other hand, whatever is in room 27 is going to be expressed by the referee, and at that point it becomes known to me--presumably when I enter or otherwise observe that room. However, it still remains possible that there are things in room 27 unknown to me--the secret door on the west wall, the hidden panel in the desk, the invisible pixie watching from the top of a cabinet. There is a degree to which I've accepted the presence of unknowns, and so made them part of the shared imaginary space without knowing what they are.

So I'll concede that not everything in the shared imaginary space must be communicated verbally, nor even universally known among the players in all forms of play; but the only way anything gets into the shared imaginary space is via the minds of those doing the imagining, and their interactions, even if it comes from some external source.

I'm hoping this makes sense, because I'm too tired to be doing this right now and have several people trying to talk to me about several other subjects, all of whom I am attempting to politely ignore. My apologies if this is incoherent.

--M. J. Young