Practitioner Knowledge

(This post serves as a rebuttal to some of the discussion around terminology in Ludology 278.)

How we talk about games changes based on our audience. General audiences need accessible language and the fewest specialized terms possible. For instance, the word 'drafting' does not appear in the rulebook for Sushi Go!. Enthusiast audiences tolerate a high amount of terminology, the acquisition of which is considered part of the initiation process. However, enthusiast audiences don't necessarily tolerate nuanced, under-the-hood process discussions. For instance, discussing whether colonial themes are appropriate narratives to keep returning to in new games is seen by a large section of this audience as "limiting the artistic process." (In my opinion, the problem here is showing the enthusiast audience part of how the sausage is made, rather than the whole process or not at all.) Academic writers and audiences use highly specialized terms that borrow from other academic fields and can be incomprehensible to non-academics. When we talk about games we should use the language that fits best with the audience we are speaking to.

The final group in our subset of gaming languages is practitioners. Practitioners are those who work in a field at a practical level. Practitioners exist between enthusiasts and academics. Enthusiasts receive many of their terms from practitioners, as do academics. However, practitioner language has a unique purpose. Practitioner language must be practical, precise, and internally consistent. Academics can define terms to mean certain things in different papers. Practitioners don't have the luxury of listing their definitions every time they use a term. Practitioners must also be more precise than enthusiasts. Overtime, practitioner language can become as incomprehensible as academic language, only more specialized because it serves a single field. 

Sometimes this means that practitioners will rename words that are in common use elsewhere. For example, in theatrical lighting the word 'lamp' refers to what non-practitioners would call a 'bulb.' At the same time, it is common for theatre sets to have floor and table lamps onstage. However, those lamps are usually referred to as 'practicals' (or practical fixtures, i.e. a light source that is visible to the audience). Specialized fields use their own names for the things they work with even if those things already have commonly used names. 

As board game design develops as a practice, terms will evolve to be more precise and to meet the needs of the practitioner, in this case the designer. As a result some terms will change, some will be created, and some will be discarded. This is normal, especially in specialized artistic fields. As texts are written, many of these words will be codified. A shared language enables practitioners to do their jobs efficiently and with as little confusion as possible. 

When I write about definitions and concepts on this blog, I am writing to the practitioner. Neither consumers nor academics need to know the difference between an associated action and a metaphoric action. On the other hand, practitioners need to know precisely what is meant by theme, immersion, resonance, and simulation—all terms that are currently used to mean a wide variety of things. Selecting a single practitioner definition (and creating more terms to fill in the gaps) is not arrogant; it is practical. It is also inevitable. (Trust me, you don't want to say 'light bulb' in front of a theatre lighting person.)

We need to be more clear about who our audience is (and by extension what type of information they have access to) and tailor our language accordingly. But we also have to develop our language as practitioners. Language shapes knowledge. The more precise words we have in our shared language, the more our knowledge can grow. 

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.