On Matters of
True and Everlasting Depth, and Why I've Nicknamed my
Diplomacy set "Sigmund"
by Conrad von
Metzke
The following article has been
written for entry in a contest involving a cash prize. On that basis, it would
be to my distinct advantage to focus on the predilections of the judges.
Regrettably, the chief judge has revealed to us that, while he will accept
submissions in any relevant genre, he "naturally lean(s) towards S&T
articles”... This makes a meaningful contribution difficult, inasmuch as
strategy and tactics are at best peripheral issues in the play of Diplomacy.
This is not to dismiss those
components outright. Save for "parlour" games of pure
luck, e.g. Snakes and Ladders or Uncle Wiggly, there isn't a game in existence
that doesn't require some elements of strategy and tactics. But some games
require those elements in plentitude, and others merely in passing. Being
understood primarily as military terms, particularly when taken as a single
phrase, "strategy” and "tactics" obviously connote games derived from military
foundations, be they the direct-replications (D-Day, Gettysburg), the more
generalized canvasses (chess), the abstracted derivations (go, draughts) or the
fantasized embellishments (Dungeons and Dragons).
Diplomacy is none of these things.
It is, foremost and overwhelmingly, a game of human psychology. Never mind that
it uses a map and, ostensibly, armies and fleets; that it vaguely emulates the
First World War; and involves "attacks" and “convoys" and all manner of
other militaristic terms. It is NOT a war game! It is a game of interpersonal
relationships, garbed in warrior's clothing.
On its face, this appears to be a
preposterous statement. The rules of the game, almost five pages (1992)
excluding the sample game, devote exactly two paragraphs to the
“psychology" aspect of the game. The printed literature derived from
hobbyists is similarly overwhelming; by contrast with the stack of tactical
articles, one would need a magnifier to see the pile of human relations items.
But on further reflection, there's
a good and obvious reason for this: People who write articles tend to focus on
the finite, on the quantifiable, on matters about which fabulous charts and
tables can be prepared. This allows the writer to come across as a richly gifted
mentor, and permits the reader to bask in the misapprehension that he is
actually learning something significant. What is really happening is that the
mechanical aspects of the game are being raised to undeserved levels of
importance, merely because the REAL fundamentals – deceit, manipulation,
inscrutability, lying, cheating and stealing - cannot be taught at all. Manuals
on poker can teach you how to count cards and predict odds, but they cannot
teach you to bluff. Equivalently, manuals on Diplomacy can teach you how to form
a stalemate line, but they cannot teach you how to twist the opposition around
your little finger.
Consider for a moment the summary
course of a game. Seven persons are cast together as opponents. Of these, only
one can win. (A draw is not truly a finished game, but is instead an agreement
to stop playing. Remember that there is no such thing as a true stalemate which
renders a win truly impossible.) For a winner to emerge, combinations of
opponents - enemies, if you will - begin by assisting one another in
gaining strength, which will ultimately be turned against one another. In other
words, to defeat the opposition you must first help it achieve greater power to
defeat you.
There are very few games in which
one is constrained by the rules to operate this way, and it is this Janus-like
feature which in my opinion gives Diplomacy its popularity and seemingly endless
variety. The thrill is not in planning the orders, or formulating the Grand
Design; rather it is in the constant mental see-saw with the other players,
individually and severally. It is not in the pushing around of wooden blocks,
but in the scheming and negotiating to push them around (hopefully) in such a
way that you gain more than the opponent-cum-ally who is nevertheless lulled
into thinking that he got enough. And ultimately, the thrill - and by extension
the durability - of this game and its outgrowth hobby are in the personal
relationships that devolve from the interactive nature of the play. I have a
strong sense that few other gaming groups, at least those that operate by post
or online, achieve anything resembling the level of familiarity and bonding
which Diplomacy's adherents attain. The game itself makes it so: it is simple
cause and effect. As a "wargame,” a test of one's
tactical skills, Diplomacy is of no great moment. As an exploration of involvement with the
vagaries and complexities of other human beings, it is a wondrous game indeed.
The above is not, you understand, to belittle strategy and tactics overmuch. They are very useful little skills, well worth the trouble of analysis and understanding. But they do not make Diplomacy the game that it is. That honour is reserved to people who play it. And the testament to the brilliance of Mr. Calhamer’s invention, and Dr. Boardman’s application of it, will never be in the ratings lists and opening gambits charts and exhaustive dissections of stalemate lines, but rather in the friendships and warm feelings that survive long after the charts have been filed and the game box returned to the shelf.
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