Wednesday, October 3, 2012

What Live-Tweeting Means To Me

via Sue Waters
I know the very last thing the interwebs needs is another post discussing what some have dubbed #Twittergate (how the mind reels at such creative nomenclature), yet that is exactly what I find myself writing this morning.  The reason?  I think it's important someone steps forward and explains, in a non-patronizing tone, just why live-tweeting conference presentations, or really any live event where ideas are exchanged, is so vital to people like me.  You see, I'm a former graduate student who now finds himself working as an 'independent researcher' (again, a rose by any other name).  Live-tweeting was the lifeline that kept me connected to current ideas being exchanged in conferences I couldn't afford to attend, in addition to giving me the ability to build a professional network that, quite honestly, my department never really never could help me cultivate.  That's not a knock on my former department- it's just the reality for many graduate students that networking comes easiest to those who can travel and stay on top of current trends, a process that is often self-fulfilling as only those who can afford to pursue these things have increased access to their sustained returns.  If you're shut out of the loop, you can grow quite lonely on the outside looking in.

Not located next to a major metropolitan center?  Good luck finding cheap airfares or affording increasing hotel prices.  Are your department's coffers running low?  Good luck receiving help to pay for conference visits.  Since we all know how competitive the academic job market can be, graduate students need every bit of help they can muster as every line on the CV is scrutinized by hiring committees.  If you can't attend conferences and build your experience in giving presentations and asking questions, well, good luck getting a job.

Now Twitter can't replace actual conference attendance and actual presentations given in front of an audience of one's peers.  But it can make you a meaningful participant in such presentations, and it can give you access to people's work that otherwise would be denied.  From my own experience, this can be a valuable proxy in lieu of physical presence.  It can even lead to you having a physical presence in said conferences.

Last April, I attended the Theorizing the Web 2012 conference where I presented on 'textual dualism' in Russian history.  It was an incredible forum where diverse disciplines gathered to debate ideas that were fresh while tackling new issues digital culture brings to our daily lives.  How did I know about this conference?  Twitter.  Specifically, I was able to connect with one of the organizers, Nathan Jurgenson, through my engagement with his ideas discussed on Twitter.  Chances are, on my own, I would never have encountered Nathan's ideas.  I wouldn't have met his co-organizer, PJ Rey, and I certainly would not have been exposed to the sociological debate they both pursue (among many other talented contributors) on their Cyborgology blog.  I can't say the cross-pollination of ideas between us has been equal- I can only say that I, personally, have benefitted greatly from engaging with debates and ideas both Jurgenson and Rey and so many others contribute to their Twitter accounts and academic blog posts.

This past summer one of my blog posts, 'Going Beyond the Textual in History', was selected for publication in the Journal of Digital Humanities (JDH).  This was my first article published in a peer-reviewed journal, a minor, yet important, stepping stone in building my larger academic career.  How did my work come to the attention of the JDH?  Twitter.  Specifically, other followers in my Twitter network saw my tweet about my post and retweeted it to others, a process that eventually put my work in front of the editors of the JDH and netted me a spot in their summer volume.  The thing is, I'm not a well known voice on topics of gaming and history.  Without my Twitter network, the ideas I wrote about in my post would most likely have been seen by a few friends and maybe even a few professionals who shared my interests- but that would have probably been the extent of it.  To be honest, without Twitter I wouldn't have come across the original journal article which inspired my blog post in the first place.

I realize that some people have reservations with their conference presentations being tweeted to the larger world.  I don't understand their fear, the idea that they might have their thoughts stolen and used by others in a more advanced position to publish work in a peer-reviewed journal, or that the ideas presented represented a work-in-progress and not one's final analysis worthy of announcement.  As a Humanities practitioner, I believe the process of one's work is as valuable as the work itself.  Still, I can understand why someone would demur on such publicity.

However, what I want those who rally against live-tweeting to understand is just how important having access to ideas can be for someone in my position.  I may not have Ivy league credentials, or be a member of good standing in the PhD club- but I can hold my own and even give something back to discussions that tread on what I've researched or read about.  Many others can too- but only if they are let in on the process.  Are there questions regarding proper citation and attribution when using Twitter?  Of course.  But just because the format is nascent in 'serious & credible discussion' (a point which I'm not sure applies anymore to tweets in general) doesn't mean we should ban or obstruct their use in furthering discourse.  Because of Twitter, I can participate in conferences hundreds of miles away, learn about new articles or books that fit my area of research, find new ways to combine ideas into something greater than the sum of its parts, feel like my efforts are worth a damn, meet new and interesting people- all while making connections to other scholars and fields that just isn't possible when you live in one town and research in one library.

That's what live-tweeting means to me.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Help Wanted

via The Year of Mud
Seems like anything goes these days.  In light of the recent brew-ha-ha regarding live-tweeting at conferences, look at what I found in a 'Help Wanted' ad this afternoon (details removed to protect the innocent):
Heading to (REDACTED) conference and need help in keeping my ideas in the room.  I mean it- not one word uttered from my lips should leave the room, be it in note, electronic, or thought form.  As such, I'm looking for an intellectual property enforcer.  Candidate must be familiar with Twitter, but in no way use it in the service of stealing ideas.  Retweets are stolen ideas, and candidates must be willing to find every person who tweets or retweets what I say at (REDACTED) conference in order to threaten them with legal action and/or name calling if they surreptitiously steal one of my ideas, which they most certainly did if they tweet at my presentation.  Please don't tweet this add, as someone might steal my idea and hire you before I can do so.  I take my position as an enlightener of minds very seriously, and thus cannot abide by the fact that so many of my very helpful ideas could be stolen and given to people for free on an odious platform like Twitter.  Feel free to follow me on Twitter at (REDACTED) or email me at (REDACTED), but please don't tell anyone about this ad- I'm growing steadily more convinced that my ideas could be stolen through 'loose lips' as well.

Monday, October 1, 2012

Games & the Word, part I: The Epistemic Reservoir

via Fotopedia
In his essay 'Grace and the Word', Carl Schorske argues that the liberal ascendency in Austria, having coherently linked its distinct political, scientific, and aesthetic cultures, nevertheless came to a fractious cleaving by the end of the 19th century.  It was then, as the promise of early liberalistic pursuits for rationality and rule of law began to wither under the reality of masked absolutism, that aesthetic culture turned away from the enlightenment fueled axioms found in politics and science and moved towards a baroque model rooted in counter-reformation ideals of the 17th century.  The aesthetic split and turn to the baroque was not without justification.  Schorske claims that the educated Austrian bourgeoisie cultivated a unique cultural aesthetic precisely because the printed-word based reformation ideals, built upon an enlightenment rationale, did not take hold in Catholic Austria as it did in Protestant dominated Northern Europe.  Instead, counter-reformation ideals, built upon a baroque rationale that sought to incorporate the spiritual in art, informed the Austrian aesthetic and gave the Central European power exquisite examples of what Schorske termed the "applied and performing arts: architecture, the theatre, and music, wherein the spirit was concretely manifested."

Selecting two institutions, the theatre and the university, Schorske demonstrates how this streak of counter-reformation infused aestheticism fractured the alliance between grace and the word in Austrian elite culture.  As disaffection with liberalism began to manifest around 1870 due to ethnic, social, political, and economic frustrations, this union began to loosen, then break, as the youth looked to the arts for divining meaning in their time.  Once freed from rationalism, the Austrian aesthetic culture searched for a more divinely inspired source of defining the self, holding the 'instinctual' as foil to the 'rational' and in doing so "challenged and eroded the authority of liberalism as a socio-cultural value system."

Of course, without knowing it, Schorske tapped upon a conflict only now becoming vogue and more seriously investigated, that being the inherent assumptions found in dualist and augmented configurations of reality.  Nathan Jurgenson, in an article titled 'When Atoms Meet Bits', outlined what is at stake in the augmented versus dualist debate, particularly regarding integration of digital technologies into our daily lives.  Those that view the digital and physical to be separate epistemological realms of knowledge uphold a digital dualist perspective on reality, and believers include ranks of cyber-utopians and dystopians who see in the digital a new world:
"Indeed, digitality promised a Wild-West like frontier built without replicating the problem of our offline world; fixing the oppressive realities such as skin color, physical ability, resource scarcity, as well as time and space constraints."  
Alternatively, Jurgenson advances the augmented conception in which the digital and physical are intermeshed.  Occurrences and affordances of the digital impact the physical and vice-versa, and although the epistemological operations of both differ, their interactions are joined through constructed knowledge transition points, or handoffs.
"The physicality of atoms, the structure of the social world and offline identities 'interpenetrate' the online.  Simultaneously, the properties of the digital world also implode into the offline, be it through the ubiquity of we-connected electronic gadgets in our world and our bodies or through the way we understand and make meaning of the world around us."
Conflict between Baroque and Enlightenment ideals in Austria, couched by Schorske as resurgence of counter-reformation influences in the face of liberal dissatisfaction, can also be seen as a conflict between dualist and augmented conceptions of reality, albeit not in digital but rather textual terms.  In an age before the appearance of widespread near-instantaneous communication networks, it was the written word, personified in manuscript or print form, that provided the catalyst for dualist conceptions of reality through the tax registers, passports, and census records authorities zealously sought to collect during the modern turn in governmental reason.
via Alexander Staubo
Documentation, however, is only as good as the validity of the data recorded.  Lived reality of subjects during the 17th-19th centuries could often radically differ from the documented projection of these populations and this fundamental asynchronicity between the document and the lived expression not only fueled creation of disciplinary societies, one subject of many explored by Foucault, but also the textual dualist conceptions of reality that went hand in hand with the rise of liberalism and rationalism as Enlightenment-centered philosophies.  Schorske's essay 'Grace and the Word' should be taken to mean 'Augmented Grace and the Dualist Word', as the baroque reaction of Austrian aesthetic culture represented a turn towards augmented conceptions over those of the dualist, word based claims of the enlightened cultures of Austrian politics and science.

Understanding how the modern era is both shaped and impacted by ongoing debates between dualist and augmented conceptions, the likes of which Schorske's essay details, is no simple task.  The sheer spectrum of subject matter involved- reality itself- boggles any attempt at succinct summation.  Even my paltry efforts of description in the paragraph above begs more exploratory depth.

One means of reducing the scope of investigation, without sacrificing theme, would be to find a common institution or cultural construct that has roots in baroque and enlightenment ideals of the 17th century, as well as a continued, evolving form from that period and up to the present day.  Surprisingly, board games fill this needed role nicely.  While their origins trace back thousands of years, it was the 17th century when a shift in what playing a board game could inform, that is the epistemological boundaries of play, became intertwined with the rise of modern social, political, and governmental techniques and disciplines.  Whereas previous games, like Go or Chess, produced knowledge through play, this knowledge was considered abstract and often tangential to the real world.  One had to literally translate the lessons of Go to make use of its knowledge on the battlefield.  As such, these early games presented a dualist version of reality, a distinct knowledge sphere related to, but separate from, the knowledge sphere of real life.  

Then, in the 17th century, Ulm patrician Christoph Weickmann had the idea for his 'King's Game' which introduced a de jure possibility for board games to present an augmented reality conception, a process that hinted towards a meaningful interaction between knowledge produced through play and knowledge directly applicable to real life.  From here, board games of various types would struggle, unequally, towards the production of de facto knowledge, with wargames leading the way and more socially-focused games only recently catching-up.  Realization that games are de facto knowledge producers first appeared in literature, then in actual game design, with Hesse and Coover providing bookends of this realization in novel form and games like Twilight Struggle and Andean Abyss integrating this logos into their ludic expression.  Implications of this analysis demonstrate a precise need for more serious studies on the design, play, and experiential aesthetics of board games in the modern period.

The first part of this essay, 'The Epistemic Reservoir', will define the terms de jure and de facto augmentation and focus on how Weickmann's visionary design proved that board games could become augmented, not just dualist, sources of ludic knowledge.  However, while Weickmann's game laid the foundation for future iterations of augmented design, it also provided a field of knowledge upon which Enlightenment ideals could take hold and spread.  The second portion of this essay, 'The Limits of Dualism', looks at the implication of augmented ludic knowledge for Enlightenment ideals and how these ideals suggested textual dualist discourses in all but the military spheres of life up to the 20th century.  Extensive use of documentation techniques by authorities to define the self led to extreme dissatisfaction with liberal ideals that empowered documentary efforts.  As dualist regimes reeled at the end of the 19th century, there was casting for a new, augmented reality and the third portion of this essay, 'The Augmented Turn', looks a how literature and board game design of the 20th-21st centuries reconceptualized the board game as a de facto augmented ludic knowledge producer.

Part I: The Epistemic Reservoir

It is no coincidence that the 17th century in European history, a period that saw the emergence of both Baroque and Enlightenment ideals, found in games what Phillip von Hilgers termed "an epistemic reservoir."  Under the influence of the printing press, at this point firmly entrenched in the European intellectual scene, Enlightenment thinkers began advancing new ideas on the role of the self and individualism, the political contract between subject and ruler, and the growing presence of an educated, professional class that could aid governments in administrating grand conceptions of civil society.  It was the beginning of the modern era when new problems and possibilities emerged, demanding new answers and configurations.  Yet before we can address how board games helped provide these new answers and conceptions, we must first establish definitions on the types of epistemic reservoirs games could provide.

via Paul McCoubrie
Broadly defined, there are two states of knowledge games produce; dualist and augmented.  Because dualist conceptions claim to constitute their own epistemic field of knowledge, the execution or embodiment of those conceptions, even while governed by rules of their own operation, nonetheless remain isolated from reality.  The real question for dualist conceptions lies in their points of contact with reality, the knowledge handoffs that remain discreet and fire-walled yet facilitate interaction between the realms.  In contrast augmented conceptions are intermeshed with reality, thus shifting the question away from knowledge handoffs specifically, although they are still vital, and towards the type of knowledge those handoffs facilitate.  Nor is it a question of measuring the degree to which augmented knowledge intermeshes with reality, be it a scanner densely or thinly as it were.  When analyzing the types of augmented knowledge produced, qualifiers like de jure and de facto help demarcate the influence these constructs held in connection to the lived experience.

What does it mean to say there is a difference between de jure and de facto augmented knowledge?  De jure knowledge is that which claims an epistemological linkage to truth, but also on grounds not fully realized due to either the structuring of the augmented construct or the normative reality surrounding the construct's operation, which can obscure the veracity of the linkage produced.  De facto knowledge is a smooth elaboration of the rough form hewn through de jure means.  Not only is the epistemological linkage to truth made stronger and resolute, but the structure of the augmented construct becomes reflective of the normative reality surrounding its operation, offering a potential for reflection, critique, and occasional prescience.  This, in turn, raises a new question; how do games fit into this schematization?  Some descriptive examples should help clarify the terms at hand.

Although it is a broad statement to make, for the terms of this essay it can be said that board games up to the 17th century embraced dualist modes of knowledge production.  Several factors necessitated this design aesthetic.  Without widespread literacy or available printing technology, it was difficult to create a board game of great complexity and homogeneity at the level required for augmented knowledge production.  Extreme abstraction and simple, geometric design overcame these obstacles at the cost of distancing the game from the lived reality of its players.

The Tablut Game Board
Tablut is a good example of a board game constructed in this dualist aesthetic.  First recorded by Carl Linnaeus during his travels through Swedish Lapland in the 18th century, Tablut is a derivative of the Tafl family of board games whose pedigree stretches back hundreds of years.  Tafl games are asymmetric, depicting a smaller, defensive force against a larger, offensive force closing in on the center of the board and trying to capture a 'king' piece.  Linnaeus recorded that Tablut pitted the lighter colored 'Swede' pieces against the darker colored 'Muscovite' pieces.  The goal of the 'Swede' player was to move the King piece to specific portions on the edge of the game board, while the 'Muscovite' player must surround the King piece with four pieces of their own.  It is an interesting game that hints at a deeper cultural narrative, yet playing the game yields knowledge related just to the game itself.  A player may glean strategic considerations applicable, at some translative cost, to situations outside the ludic reality of Tablut, but often the greater balance of knowledge accrued informs only the ludic reality of Tablut.  To put it simply, playing Tablut mostly makes you a better Tablut player.

Other games, like Chess or Go, fall into the same dualist category occupied by Tablut.  They represented cultural influences or narratives that made up the lived reality of their creators and initial players alike, but the telescopic perspective employed kept these games from directly intermeshing with this same lived reality.  This is not to say that dualist games are inferior to augmented ones or that augmented games supplant dualist designs, only that dualist games hold at their core the notion of distinct epistemologies demarcating the ludic from the real.  These two worlds interact through knowledge handoffs, such as the notion of cunning gameplay being equated to raw skill or the way Go interacts with military philosophy through design mechanics, but these linkages are often described as ephemeral and tangential to the experience of the real.  Rather than viewed as detraction, the 'escapist' elements of dualist games often provide a compelling factor for their sustained longevity through the centuries.

Augmented games, by comparison, are relatively youthful in presence, the foundations for their emergence secured only with the arrival of both baroque and enlightenment ideals circulating through Europe, beginning in the 17th century.  Particularly in Northern Europe, where Reformation theology promoted greater individualistic and rationalistic intellectual pursuits, thinkers advanced configurative tools for analyzing the surrounding reality, rapidly divulging its long kept secrets to philosophers and natural scientists alike, in new and innovative ways.  Mathematical breakthroughs in calculus, statistics, and probability readily lent themselves to novel, penetrating analyses of society that opened up such fields as demography and mortality studies.  Baroque influences, focused in Spain but reaching out to other Catholic and even non-Catholic states, brought about a divergent ideal that the spiritual, then under assault by humanistic inquiries, was not illusionary or explained away by rationalism, but rather that the spirit could imbue art, architecture, theatre, and more- you may recall from Schorke's essay discussed above that Austrian aesthetic culture of the 19th century pursued baroque configurations embodied in the performative arts- with an inspirational feeling that drew upon the soul-nourishing wellspring of divine grace for both execution and effect.  Although the Baroque was initially fostered by the Catholic Church as a means to combat Reformation influence, in part, through an all out aesthetic assault on the senses, the larger philosophical implications surrounding this unleashing of the divine into the unified field of art produced reverberations felt even to this day.  Within this heady cauldron of 'grace and the word' stewed the late 17th and early 18th centuries, their complexity first revealing, then demanding, new forms of governance and new ways of viewing populations.  These challenges, in turn, required new analytical models and techniques wholly different from those utilized in the past.

Leibniz
Enter Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz.  His work found in games a new potential for knowledge, elevating design aesthetics to an augmented level that, for the first time, granted ludic knowledge a credible link to epistemologies feeding the real, lived experience.  He managed to accomplish this philosophical feat through careful blending of both enlightenment and baroque ideals.  "Men are never more ingenious than in inventing games," wrote Leibniz in 1715, the statement revealing his supreme affection for ludic creation as an exemplar of enlightenment reason embodied in perspective.  Yet, as Deleuze reminds us in The Fold,
"For Leibniz…perspectivism amounts to a relativism, but not the relativism we take for granted.  It is not a variation of truth according to subject, but the condition in which the truth of a variation appears to the subject.  This is the very idea of Baroque perspective."
A game does not reveal a singular truth through play- it reveals the possible range of truths that could have been and might still be.  Leibniz himself acknowledged this idea when discussing how newly created 'war games' of the 17th century could allow the replaying of historic battles: 
"…one could represent with certain game pieces certain battles and skirmishes, also the position of the weapons and the lay of the land, both at one's discretion and form history…thereby one would often find what other missed and how we could gain wisdom from the losses of our forerunners."
Again, it was the 17th century which first saw games assume positions as augmented knowledge producers, free from the intrinsic separateness embodied in dualist designs.  Philip von Hilgers notes as much with his discussion on the transformation of games during this period in his book, War Games: A History of War on Paper:
"In the games of the seventeenth century, representational forms suffer a breach.  In their place, semiotic operations are promoted to the prosperous switch point of knowledge.  Games are themselves released from purposelessness.  They can change at any point into a teleological model entrusted even with foregrounding underpinnings of the state: Fortifications and theatre buildings, firearms and fireworks, or mathematics and games are skills are skills that find representation in the very same books."
The rise of Enlightenment inspired rationalism and Baroque perspective went hand in hand with the rise of games as augmented knowledge producers because not only did new techniques engendered by these philosophical traditions allow for greater simulative capability, but they also allowed for players and designers alike to experiment with notions of time and space in ways that dualist games could not achieve.  As board game design began to move away from telescopic perspective, the prospect for analyzing time and space as discreet units became possible and it is perhaps this characteristic, above all others, that distinguishes the augmented from the dualist in terms of ludic experience creating applicable knowledge.  Military affairs, discussed in greater depth in the second portion of this essay, were natural extensions for utilization of this new, augmented ludic knowledge described by Leibniz, but augmented games of the 17th century also sought to inform social matters then being hotly debated in royal courts and town halls around Europe.  In the years just previous to the rise of Leibniz, a revolutionary board game created by Christoph Weickmann, a patrician of the German state of Ulm, paved the way for board games to become de jure knowledge producers for the social sphere.

'Great King's Game' Title Page
Titled the 'Newly Invented Great King's Game', Weickmann's design came to him in a dream partially inspired, no doubt, by the lengthy games of chess played the day previous to his nocturnal sojourn.  Over the span of two written volumes, Weickmann elaborated the rules, boards, pieces and justifications used to inform the grandiose design.  What we would term the 'rules of play' only constituted a sixth of the total writings devoted to the Game's explanation.  Philip von Hilgers notes that the majority of Weickmann's prose centered on sixty 'observations' of baroque prolixity, using historical examples and authoritative, military missives in order to provide reasoning behind the combat and movement allowed in the game.  Instead of the sixteen figures found in Chess, the 'Great King's Game' provided players with thirty pieces and fourteen different types of movement, all of which are depicted on the game board whose graphical representation shifts away from the traditional square and into varied configurations depending on the number of players engaged.

Weickmann's 'game' was not altogether a novel epiphany, as previous work by Augustus the Younger (penned under his pseudonym Gustavus Selenus), published in 1616, described the play of chess as an informative activity that could advise King's of the 17th century on issues of governance and military affairs.  However, Weickmann's game differed from Selenus' work in several important respects.  Not only were there more pieces and extensions/alterations of the traditional Chessboard, but there was also an elaboration of represented roles for the pieces (the Marshall, the Chancellor, the Soldier, among others) that mimicked the, then, growing presence of a professional service class among the courts of Europe.  Even though Weickmann, who dedicated his game to Augustus, clearly was influenced by the nobleman's idea that chess could inform real life situations, he brought more immediacy and realization of this idea through lengthy 'justifications' of his design, sourced in contemporary and ancient observations, in addition to providing rule mechanics that allowed pieces to become promoted via capture of an enemy figure.
Various pieces found in Weickmann's game
On face, these differences amounted to a more complicated version of chess.  But the intent of the game reveals a deeper level to this novel amalgamation of (then) contemporary modernity.  Weickmann stated in his written manuals that, "through this game a high-ranking person could thus investigate and interrogate all distinguished officials' temperaments easily and without any effort, which cannot happen so easily."  Playing the 'Great King's Game' could inform more than strategic considerations- it could reveal, to the careful observer, the personal workings and mettle of a potential candidate for service in the name of the King.  As von Hilgers notes, this mirrored the reality facing rulers just after the Thirty Years War, when absolutism began its inevitable decline and more egalitarian models of representation and governance came to the fore.  The rise of a civil service, or at least a professional middle class, brought potentially untested and unknown (read: non-noble) candidates to greater positions of power.  It was therefore a pressing need which Weickmann's game served to address; with psychological techniques only nascent in their development, the board game remained one of the few constructs capable of both time compression and augmented knowledge production relevant to the lived experience.  

At a stroke, the 'Great King's Game' surmounted the previous difficulties of dualist designs and brought the ludic experience of play to the level of de jure augmentation.  One didn't play with complete abstraction, because the pieces involved found a basis in the lived experience of Weickmann's surroundings.  Rules of play weren't arbitrary, because they were based on an empirical data set that, at least, provided a reasonable justification for how the game should operate and the standards of verisimilitude it's results should produce.  The ludic experience of play was not ephemeral or tangential; it was indicative of a trend, moving forward, that found games providing clear, informative linkages to the real.  Playing the 'Great King's Game' didn't make a more skilled and cunning player, it made the player a more skilled and cunning observer of the social and political questions then in vogue.  Playing the game both filled and drew upon the epistemic reservoir created by its de jure augmented presence.  Whereas one would previously need years of evaluation to determine the worth of an individual, here a potential candidate could be screened and evaluated through a construct that compressed those once required years into a few hours or days.

Despite all the advantages Weickmann's game presented, it still could not be classified as a de facto knowledge producer.  Social norms related to conceptions of sovereign power and the still pervasive influence of landed nobility, even in an era where new governmental configurations were debated, prohibited the game from truly intermeshing with the surrounding reality of its operation.  There is also the question of its form; a two volume, one-off print could hardly spread beyond the limited locale of its production.  Thus, from a social and constructural standpoint, the 'Great King's Game' might have been an amusing, if not useful, toy for those in power, but it could not meaningfully present challenges or critiques to the system it was designed to inform.

Although Weickmann's game could not be called a resounding success, the design ideas and gameplay having never caught on, it did provide fertile ground for Enlightenment precepts then emerging in Europe.  Combining several emerging knowledge fields- statistics, military science, psychology- the game could easily be seen as a prime exemplar of the new potentials these advances would collectively make.  The rationality behind it's operation, that 'baroque prolixity' which promised verification in addition to evaluative capacity, demonstrated that such abstract reasoning could build towards a greater understanding of the present and potentiality of the future.  It is here- in the birth of the augmented board game- that the seeds of conflict between Baroque and Enlightenment ideals, the battle between Grace and the Word, were sown.  For while games opened the door for rational evaluation, they did so at the mistaken cost of believing in the supremacy of written sources and the progressive spirit of the age.  Mechanistic operations governing the whole of reality were assumed to be perfectly rational and perfectly understandable, thus giving Weickmann an unparalleled confidence in the predictive nature of his game even while the baroque understanding and perspective offered in its design hinted towards an understanding that went against the grain of rationality.  

Leibniz begin to uncover this ideal through his work on probability and elaboration of the monad, yet it would take an additional two hundred years before authors like Herman Hesse and Robert Coover could demonstrate a way for games to escape this de jure designation and enter into full blown de facto augmented knowledge production.  Of course, while Weickmann's game didn't take hold in social spheres, the fact that a board game could play with discreet units of time and produce augmented knowledge found greater acceptance for militaristic affairs.  In the next portion of this essay, The Limits of Dualism, I will explore the implications for military assimilation of augmented board game knowledge while also pondering the ultimate failure of Enlightenment based dualist assumptions found at the heart of Schorske's Austrian aesthetic conflict found in 'Grace and the Word.'

Friday, September 14, 2012

Did Hesse Predict the TED Backlash?

Dan Airely giving a TED Talk. via Fotopedia.
While researching material for my new essay project on games and their connection to the baroque/enlightenment era, I came across this quote by Herman Hesse in his acclaimed novel Magister Ludi: The Glass Bead Game on the futile knowledge pursuits the age previous to the novel's setting produced:
"Both specialists and intellectual privateers supplied the middle-class citizens of the age (who were still deeply attached to the notion of culture, although it had long since been robbed of its former meaning) with large numbers of lectures.  Such talks were not only in the nature of festival orations for special occasions; there was a frantic trade in them, and they were given in almost incomprehensible quantities.  In those days the citizen of a medium-sized town or his wife could at least once a week (in big cities pretty much every night) attend lectures offering theoretical instruction on some subject or other: on works of art, poets, scholars, researchers, world tours.  The members of the audience at these lectures remained purely passive, and although some relationship between audience and content, some previous knowledge, preparation, and receptivity were tacitly assumed- in most cases nothing of the sort was present.  There were entertaining, impassioned, or witty lectures on Goethe, say, in which he would be depicted descending from a post chaise wearing a blue frock-coat to seduce some Strassubrg or Wetzlar girl; or on Arabic culture; in all of them a number of fashionable phrases were shaken up like dice in a cup and everyone was delighted if he dimly recognized one or two catchwords.  People heard lectures on writers whose works they had never read and never meant to, sometimes accompanied by pictures projected on a screen.  At these lectures, as in the feature articles in newspapers, they struggled through a deluge of isolated cultural facts and fragments of knowledge robbed of all meaning."
Given the recent backlash against TED, notably through the critiques provided by Nathan Jurgenson and Evgeny Morozov, one has to wonder if this is just a repeating cultural theme being resurrected in a new age.  For Hesse, the reaction against this 'Age of the Feuilleton' produced the greatest cultural achievement of Human intellect- the Glass Bead Game.  While utopian, one hopes that Hesse's narrative development has similar resonance in our own TED-happy age.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Creating a Modern Feudal Order

'Plight of the Data Serf'
"The seventeenth century was a period when old answers were inadequate, but new ones had not yet been found to take their place," wrote James Billington in his 1966 book, The Icon and the Axe: An Interpretive History of Russian Culture.  Describing the historical transition of medieval Russia into the modern period he added, "The inevitable waning of old Muscovy could well be described under the first three chapter headings of Johann Huizenga's classic Waning of the Middle Ages: The Violent Tenor of Life, Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life, and The Hierarchal Conception of Society." [119]  Billington had good cause to promote these three chapter headings as pithy summaries of the period in Russian history.  The ascension of the Romanov dynasty in 1613 brought radical change to the structure and operation of the Russian state.  Not only did serfdom become legal through enactment of Russia's first printed law code, the Ulozhenie of 1649, but in doing so the newly established Romanov dynasty ensured its nigh-absolutist rule through the cooperation of the nobility.

In late June of this year,  the Twitter Developer Blog posted an announcement titled 'Delivering a consistent Twitter experience'.  The overall theme of the post, consistency, took on worrying overtones by the end as developers read "in the coming weeks, we (Twitter) will be introducing stricter guidelines around how the Twitter API is used."  This announcement generated considerable anxiety among developers because the API is the primary protocol applications utilize in order to interact with Twitter.  Stricter guidelines were generally understood to mean that the owners of Twitter wanted to assume tighter, centralized control over the platform.  Then, yesterday, those stricter guidelines arrived.  In a new post on the Twitter Development Blog, 'Changes Coming in Version 1.1 of the Twitter API', Michael Sippey (Director of Consumer Product and author of the previous Twitter announcement listed above) spelled out upcoming changes being made to how third-party developers can access and utilize the API.  Display guidelines for third party clients are now becoming display *requirements*.  The amount of users allowed to access the Twitter API through third-party clients will be limited, dramatically.  Marco Arment, developer of the very popular Instapaper app, provides a great breakdown of the impending changes on his blog.

There would appear to be little in common between the situations described above- but deeper inspection reveals that serfdom, and the process behind its implementation, unites both.  Russian serfdom of the seventeenth century bound peasants to the land in order to reliably extract economic resources and appease the nobility in exchange for their allegiance and loyalty.  Data serfdom of the twenty-first century binds users to centralized platforms in order to reliably extract verifiable data and appease marketers in exchange for cash and control.  The story of how Russian serfdom came to be finalized in the Ulozhenie of 1649 shares similar parallels to how Twitter and other data platforms seek to create a 'Hierarchal Conception of Society' through access to their data fiefdoms.  Twitter's API announcement, like those made by other data lords, is just one step towards realizing a return to the feudal system in the age of data platforms.

Serfdom, like any complex and normative legal system, does not simply come about by happenstance or decree.  It is the product of several decisions that accumulate into a binding corpus.  Russian Law Codes of 1497 and 1550 initially allowed peasants to leave their landowners estates, but only during a two-week period that occurred at the end of the agricultural season in November.  Between 1550 and 1649, the Russian state continued to restrict the right of peasants to move, largely through backing gentry requests to have escaped serfs returned to their owner's estate.  In fulfilling these requests, the Russian state not only improved its stature among the various landed lords but also ensured that economic resources- in the form of military readiness, agricultural production and internal population migration- remained stable.  This was a very compelling economic arrangement for a state situated with an abundance of natural resources yet few, and often flighty, available people to work the land.

If we take a similar survey of Twitter's demesne, some interesting factors begin to align.  Back in 2006 when Twitter first debuted, many standards of form and protocol were not yet established.  Common features used today like the retweet, the @ reply, and even hashtags were not embedded in Twitter's design initially and came about only through the formation and later adoption by users of these standard conventions on the platform.  Outside developers began to craft their own Twitter clients (think Tweetdeck, now owned by Twitter, or Tweetbot) thanks to the generous opening of Twitter's API, which allowed for both reading of the Twitter stream (the ability to bring your stream to a client) and writing to the stream (the ability to post a tweet from Tweetbot, or another client).  To put it in feudal terms, the Twitter lords staked out a new data domain and actively recruited both laborers (average Twitter users) and lords (third-party developers) to settle so that the 'land' could be developed and put to greater informational/economic use.  While these third-party clients allowed new developer lords to effectively create their own titles and dynastic lines, Twitter could abide this fragmentation of power because it brought more data serfs into their collective domain.  API access facilitated the creation of a new feudal order.

This last point is important, as Twitter actively sought two levels of users- one level as common laborer and another as a sort of landed gentry to help manage/recruit common laborers.  Developers, given a large degree of access to the data domain of Twitter via the API, could become petty data lords themselves, creating applications that grew Twitter's data domain and facilitated collection of user data crops from regular serfs toiling away in multiple 140 character plots.  This move allowed Twitter to benefit from other's labor in promoting their service and, as a natural consequence, gave these petty data lords a compelling reason to make their applications the best in order to secure the largest possible data crop.

The Russian state, too, promoted such a distinction between 'users' and 'petty lords' through the pre-serfdom institution known as pomeste.  Cavalrymen, the distinct element that helped Russia acquire new territories through warfare during the 15th century, were given plots of land that contained settled workers at the conclusion of hostilities.  With this plot of land and supplied work force, the cavalrymen could not only support themselves and the maintenance of their equipment (horses, weapons and armor were all very expensive) but also provide low-level stewardship for a, then, growing Russian state.  Success of the pomeste system provided one of the building blocks for Russia's eventual embrace of serfdom, and it could be equally argued that the success of Twitter's early API allowance for developer uses provided the building blocks for the, now, apparent regulation of the Twitter experience by the platform's owners.

Under the cover of 'consistency', Twitter is restructuring the rules governing their own petty data lords behavior and acquisition of power through collection of data serf production.  Last year, developers were warned to not build "client apps that mimic or reproduce the mainstream Twitter consumer client experience', i.e. to not develop alternative visions of the Twitter interface.  Now the company is sending signals that the 'consistent' Twitter experience will mean less developer involvement in the running of the platform.  Instead, developers are encouraged to put their efforts towards the new 'cards' feature, whereby a tweet acts as a container of shared content like a YouTube video or photo from Instagram.  Yet this is far from the relationship Twitter initially cultivated with developers and signifies a sea-change in how the company plans on managing its growing count of data serfs.

Not only has Twitter effectively declared its demesne to be that of the *entire* Twitterverse, but also that its vassal developers, once allowed to carve out their own estates in the Twitter kingdom, now must make due with much smaller plots of land, i.e. 'cards', limited data serfs to work those plots, and loss of title.  Enter App.net.  The new upstart platform raised just over $800,000 to back its vision of a Twitter-esque experience without the need to resort to advertisers for support.  Instead of providing a free service, App.net asks up-front for users to pay a $50 subscriber fee for one-year access.  (This could change- the venture is still so new, many things are changing on a daily basis)  Developers pay more, but they are given access to App.net's API and the ability to build any application they desire to work on top of the App.net platform.  

If this sounds familiar, it should be- this is exactly the same process Twitter pursued in its early days.  Yet the idealism behind App.net- backed to a large degree by the insistence on a subscriber model- to remain free from advertising puts an interesting spin on the feudalization effort currently pursued by large data platforms.  Whereas the goal of the data lords is to continuously and reliably extract verifiable data crops for use in marketing, App.net looks to promote what appears to be a 'Guild' like system.  Instead of data fields, App.net seeks to cultivate guild members of various rank whose expertise is the only limiting factor for advancement on the platform.  Playing with the feudal metaphor, App.net's 'Guild' platform can be seen as a very urban response to the growing power of agrarian data lords.  Of course, App.net is still very much new on the scene and it has yet to be demonstrated if this alternate vision can survive and thrive among the presence of feudalistic data lords, or if it will become a mildly differentiated data lord itself.

However, even the appearance of this new 'Guild' type of data platform will do little to alleviate the plight of data serfs around the Internet.  As the recent moves by Twitter demonstrate, there is an increasing trend among data lords to isolate their kingdoms from each other as smaller, yet powerful, vassals like InstagramSpotify, and Tweetdeck begin to declare their allegiances to specific platforms.  The feudalization of data platforms is in full swing, leaving data serfs to suffer the brunt of their liege lord's designs.  "The seventeenth century was a period when old answers were inadequate, but new ones had not yet been found to take their place"- the same could be said of today.