The Finger

I have been doing some soul searching since yesterday morning, the impetus of which began with Bill Maher's show on Friday night.  Rest assured, this isn't about Maher; I have a love/hate relationship with the comedian that doesn't need elaboration, except to say that while I agree with many of his opinions, he's often stupid enough to believe that the presence of people like Anthony Scaramucci on his show can be called, in any way shape or form, "discourse."

On the far left of the image, however, you'll see a fellow named Tom Nichols, with whom I was not familiar ~ and yet, having my peculiarities, I liked the few things he was able to say and decided to google him.  That took me to this book launching of his work, The Death of Expertise.  The greatly enjoyed his talk, finding that the hour long video went by awfully fast ... and so decided to look for his book.  This I also found on youtube.

I've heard the whole book now and I feel ... informed.  It is a brilliant, brutal indictment of intelligentsia and those who believe they're intelligent, one that has me asking the question, do I really know what I'm talking about?  Who am I to call myself an expert on anything?  Maybe, I'm a deluded git with a blog who writes well but little else.  By what standard do I measure myself, when there is no standard I can point to in D&D, except for people whose work I dislike and did not find at all useful in running my game?  And as I write this, I am forced to recognize that criticism of such standards as, say, Gary Gygax, is part of the problem.

Nichols' position is that too many of us think we're experts, when really we're not.  As Nichols puts it in his book launching,

"We've gone from a healthy skepticism about experts to something different.  We've gone to a kind of epidemic of narcissism where we all think we can replace experts.  We all think that what experts do can't be that hard, and we could probably do it better ourselves."

When I started playing D&D in 1979, the notion that the game's rules were a "guideline" was not something I learned from reading the books, it was already a part of the culture.  It was something my DM at the time knew, it was something that the owner of the game shop The Sentry Box knew, even when that game show was a virtual non-entity on Crowchild Trail, with virtually no lighting and crummy carpet, hunkered in a space the size of a bedroom, it permeated the conversations I had with every person.  The game was meant to be adjusted, fixed, fitted to our campaigns, with gusto and without hesitation.  Without question, that element in the culture, that certainty that change was right and proper, both ensured the survival of the game and the entitled spawning of a generation of narcissists.  Because obviously, knowing that the game was there to be changed, and not necessarily knowing how, was something bound to end in a disaster of mythic proportions.

The principle dialogue today about D&D is not one about change, but about wrongness.  The act of defining wrongness, of calling it out, comes from a certainty that we know what "right" is.  And yet the definitions we have for "right" make no sense.  "Rules as written" is an idiotic platform, given that we have endless rules for multiple games scattered over dozens of publishers who all claim legitimacy through association, if not direct employment, with the originating company.  Every fired or discharged ex-contractor or ex-employee that ever worked with anyone is out here on the internet, claiming expertise, pointing the finger at wrongness, producing their own rules and redefining what the rules as written mean like so much 2nd century Christian theology.  No one can play the rules as written because no one, anywhere, has all the rules, or can hold all the rules in their head, a task made obviously harder in that the rules disagree endlessly with one another.  Yet there is a whole force out there claiming expertise in the obedience to rules, like Sufi muslims claiming inheritances in countries that have been conquered a dozen times since Fatima.

"Old School" is an equally ridiculous dogma, one that immediately demands a definition for the term itself, which cannot be agreed upon by anyone, even the discorporated entity that invented the concept.  I can point to arguments I had with people in 1980, before many supporters of the Old School were even born, by which the definition of the term would have been impossible to settle then, when certainly everything up to 1980 would have to be included in any definition made in 2019.  The ideal is narcissistically ridiculous ... yet people claim it, because it empowers the ability to point at wrong with pseudo-expertise, as though the words themselves conveyed a divine right available only to those who dare to evoke the shibboleth.  "Old School" is a myth.  I am no more Old School (though I am often defined as that by commentors seeking to put me in a box) than I am a child of the 60s Era.  I happen to have been born in the 1960s.  I happen to have played D&D in 1979 and 1980.  That is as much relevance as it has to my present existence or my present view of the game.

Any of us who are defined by this finger of wrongness feel the unfairness of its decree.  We are all so certain that we're the expert, we're the holder of the finger, we're the ones who have sacrificed the hours and made the mistakes and done the learning that distinguishes us from all these others around us who have clearly not learned from their mistakes.  They, not I, have taken their games down the wrong path.  They, not I, have fucked up alignment or class systems, point buys and worldbuilding.  I did the work.  I saw the right path.  And if we see someone whose path deviates from what we built, what we created, what we right now believe, out comes the finger of wrongness that declares that user unclean.  We are the expert.  Everyone should listen to us.

Speaking on the subject of politics, Tom Nichols notes:

"There are many examples of these brawls among what pundits and analysts gently refer to now as 'low-information voters.'  Whether about science or policy, however, they all share the same disturbing characteristics: a solipsistic and thin-skinned insistence that every opinion be treated as truth.  Americans no longer distinguish the phrase, 'you're wrong,' from the phrase, 'you're stupid.'  To disagree is to disrespect.  To correct another is to insult.  And to refuse to acknowledge all views as worthy of consideration, no matter how fantastic or inane they are, is to be close-minded."

This is not only true of politics but of every discourse on every subject everywhere on the internet.  My sins begin with describing multiple points of view on D&D as wrong, then in failing to acknowledge hundreds of frankly abusive, distracting, derailing or otherwise useless comments delivered to my rhetoric as something I needed to debunk and correct.  I went into the blogging field with the belief that I could teach and failed to recognize that people who already believe they're more expert than I could ever hope to be.  And who am I to say that I am not exactly like them?  Upon what do I base any right myself to correct or teach anyone?

Do I point to my intelligence?  Intelligence can easily be a delusion.  As David Dunning wrote, regarding the Dunning-Kruger Effect,

"In many cases, incompetence does not leave people disoriented, perplexed or cautious.  Instead, the incompetent are often blessed with an inappropriate confidence, buoyed by something that makes them feel like knowledge."

That could easily be me.  My whole existence could be based on a set of beliefs and decisions that I've made that are leading me into actions that I define as "right" but which are only a misunderstanding ~ one that I have perhaps perpetrated for 40 years.

Do I point to my readers, those who support me on Patreon?  Is that really the measure I want to rely upon for my credibility?  Defining value based on one's followers seems a frightening path.  I don't mean to disparage you, my generous readers, but I am profoundly uncomfortable defining my worth by what others think of me.  I would far rather have something more concrete to point to ~ assuming that any rock I might find isn't just one of my own imagination, conveniently erected in the sea for me to stand on.

The question is made worse by the very nature of the role-playing field.  It is barely recognized by game theorists.  The official makers and distributors are willing to do whatever it takes to monetize the occupation, including dumbing it down so that children as young as four can play it.  There are no accredited sources, no examples of play that are not tainted by the stain of commercialism, no scientific studies and no doctoral theses that I know about discussing the effects of the game on child rearing, developmental education, social impact, inter-relational psychology or any like research I might postulate.  The "experts" who are often named, such as Gygax or David Arneson, either didn't live or barely lived to see 4th Edition and were not even here when 5th Edition was launched ... and yet 5e is named as by far the most popular version of the game now being played.  There are no new independent experts to take their place.  Who exists to comment on the game whose bread and butter doesn't ultimately depend on the game?  Accreditation, and any chance of recognition of same, is a fantasy.

And so why not feel that any of us are "the expert" ~ who is to say we are not?  Except, of course, all the other "experts" who snarl endlessly in the Reddit and Twitter pits over the tiny bones of gameplay.  What atmosphere is this to provide for the value of any opinion?

"The death of expertise is like a national bout of fueled temper.  A childish rejection of authority, in all its forms, coupled to an insistence that strongly held opinions are indistinguishable from facts.  Experts are supposed to clear up this kind of confusion, or at least serve as guides through the thicket of confusion issues, but who are the real experts?"

Based on premises put forward by Nichols, without quoting every line, I'd like to start with the reasonable dictum that we cannot all be experts.  I'll admit and confess as well that my agenda here is to put forward the case and the evidence for my being an expert, without defacto stating that I am not.  Perhaps I am not ... and certainly there are many, many people who believe that case is settled.  I do not do this to convince others, but to convince me.  I am the jury ~ and if I cannot find sufficient evidence to convince myself, than I am the first who should condemn my behaviour and assign myself to rehabilitation.  I am at least self-aware enough to know that many would not, or could not, conceivably think in such a manner:  the aforementioned Dunning-Kruger effect would discount any possibility of that, since I should believe that I'm absolutely an expert were I so deluded.  On the contrary, I'm ready to admit I've been wrong, and could be wrong again, about things I believe and hills I've been prepared to die on.

We don't need to propound upon the evidence: it is here on my blogs for the eyes of any reader to examine at will.  But there will be some need to trot it out and make it dance for the court.

Experts have specific skills.  I need not question my skill as a writer, it is proclaimed for me by others almost daily.  I need not question my skill as a fantasy map-maker, it is, again, proclaimed by others routinely, whenever I post a map.

I have a clear skill as an online DM.  Were I able to restart my campaign today, I am not in doubt that my players would be happy to join and would only not do so due to their commitments and my own inconsistencies as a reliable DM.  If my online campaign fails, it is because I am not running it, and not because I do not know how.

When I write, I typically sketch out a thousand words or more on a subject; if I feel I haven't made my point, I will write more.  Often I write multiple posts on a single subject.  If I find some flaw in the material, I will write on the subject again, pointing out the flaw.  Where I have a shortcoming in some ideal, or where I'm unable to explain it sufficiently, I stop trying to explain it ... until I find a new approach.

I have now failed to sufficiently describe my proposed regional development concept three times.  Whereas most bloggers would carefully never discuss the concept again, or perhaps rush to admit that it was a bad idea from the start, to bury it forever, I am merely rethinking it.  It is on the drawing board, not in the trash.  Often, I take a position today on something that disagrees with something I said five or six years ago.  When I am accused of disagreeing with myself, I own it.  I do disagree with me.  Old me is not as smart as present me.  And I know that present me is not as smart as future me.  That is why I seek out books like The Death of Expertise and why I search to discover something about random people who turn up in television talk shows.  Because I am always searching, always looking for other people to teach me and turn me into future me.

I am often accused of arguing there is "one true way" to play D&D.  This is odd, since I don't play D&D right now the way that past me played it 30 years ago, 10 years ago, 5 years ago or even 2 years ago.  I don't believe all the same things past me believed when pass me said them ~ and past me did not believe all the things that super-past me believed.  I can point to a hundred ways that I have played the game; so where is this "one true way" that I'm accused of?  I don't even play D&D "my" way.  Or won't, two years from now.

This relates to another thing that experts do.  Experts create "new knowledge."  I am not merely trying to move a pile of dirt three feet to the left and calling it a different pile.  We are familiar with megadungeons.  Is there anything "new" about a new megadungeon?  Have we a "new" way to design a game module?  If so, I'm not seeing it.  Are we advancing the science or practice of dungeon mastering?  When I see "experts" in D&D talk about DMing, I see language equivalent to the self-actualization of self-help books.  We are told to believe in ourselves.  To do it "our way."  To "have fun."  To surrender ourselves to the impulsivity of doing whatever seems necessary in the moment to create "a good game" ~ be that fudging or changing the game world to fit whatever the players said five seconds ago or to practice godmodding.  D&D is used as therapy for those who are having a hard week.  Behaviour rules at game cons strategize to offer players "self-care" and "safe space" in enable their free and friendly socialization in an environment populated by complete strangers.  The rhetoric is turning itself on its head to provide healthy coping skills for DMs and players alike and calling this  a pathway to better game play.

Is this right?  Playing the game with my friends, both on and off line, did I find myself wanting more strategies enabling me to care for the social and entertainment needs of my players?  I can't say that it was.  Going back as far as I can remember, it has always seemed that we all wanted to play and that our reasons for play were not part of the dialogue.  That it has become part of the dialogue is not in doubt.  DMs are told how to run by their players, who want the DM to "be in charge" but yet to consent to their demands unequivocably.  And I have read rules from game stores and game cons that threaten to cast out DMs who do not accede to this expectation.  These rules are themselves being written by people like John Stavropoulous, inventor of the x-card, who has become famous overnight.

I can say without hesitation that this is not my D&D.  But is it D&D?  Yes, today it is.

I believe that I am creating new concepts in D&D but it is not this.  I am concerned with the game itself and not its participation, its popularity, its social function, its public relations or in the welfare it provides for thousands finding their one night of solace in a week of stress and discouragement.  My concerns about a player's mood surrounding the game has everything to do with their attention and focus.  I am not responsible for the contentment of other people ~ and charges that I am stem from Nichols' words, quoted above, that argues that holding the player to a standard is calling the player stupid, that denying a player an action for game reasons is disrespect, that adhering to the rules is insulting and that my choice not to run my game with the sole intention of satisfying the player is a personal, vindictive, emotional attack on everything they believe about themselves.

I won't argue that it isn't.  Upon what basis would I use to argue such an assumption, other than my opinion?  I'm in a box.  If I don't service the player, the exact way the player expects to be served, then I'm wrong.  And since I cannot ever truly know what the player expects, as the laws of the physical world do not supply me with that capacity, I am at the mercy of the player, who is free to tell me when I am wrong and why, without fear of in turn being wrong or having to explain themselves.

I have only one answer to such a charge.

Get.  Out.

To have the freedom to give this answer, I cannot ever run a game in a space I do not control.  And likewise, to write freely as an individual, whether or not I am an expert, I must write in a space that I control.  Or in a space where another person who believes what I believe about social behaviour agrees to support my unrestrained freedom to DM as I will, or write as I will.  No other option is available.

Final argument.  I want to be an expert on game play and upon methods of comprehending and running D&D as a game.  Towards that end I work to educate myself and follow the dictates of fields where expertise is accredited ~ and where that expertise can be quoted and interpreted in how it affects D&D.  In a field where no expert exists, and everyone is an expert, this is my sole means of enlightening myself and others towards something better than writing another self-help book for DMs.