The Species that Plays Games
There’s an argument that what distinguishes the human species as mammals is not our use of tools (homo faber) nor our socialization of knowledge (homo sapiens) nor our ability to understand and make comedy (homo ridens) but our innate capacity to elevate pure play to the status of a game (homo ludens).
It is one thing to view an activity or event as if it were a game (game metaphor) and another thing entirely to enter into an activity as a player in a game (game initiate).
When we use the game metaphor as an analytical framework, we are in a reductive mode. But any time we analyse anything, we’re creating an artificial model that simplifies reality; the alternative is to contemplate our navels holistically and to keep the scalpel of analysis in its sheath. Noticing that some activity has game-like characteristics is smart – it’s an important intellectual tool and distinctively human, as human as having a sense of humor.
It’s the objective, reductive aspect of “game” metaphor thinking that I sense some people object to – thinking about and talking about interactions with others in this way can be seen to dehumanize and objectify: “targets” and “tactics” instead of the reverence for, and mysterious appreciation of the human dynamic.
But games are not necessarily trivial.
Games can be sacred, and someone who enters into the play as an initiate can be 100% themselves, authentic and honest, but now MORE than the person who they are when they are not engaged in the game of their choice. When Ted Williams entered into the batter’s box he might as well have donned the sacred trappings of a shaman or priest; just as when he entered into the cockpit of his fighter as a Marine Corps pilot. Playing baseball didn’t make him LESS Ted Williams, it opened a door to a sacred place for him. Playing with paint did not make Picasso less himself … and so on.
Let’s imagine that the doctors and nurses in an hospital ER decide, one Friday night when there is a full moon, to “play” their job of treating incoming patients as a game. Doing so could bring new energy and enthusiasm to each of them as individuals. It could evoke an awareness of how “the arena” supports treating patients well or inhibits excellent patient care delivery. It could open lines of social support among the ER team when they celebrate each “win” or “home run” when a patient gets outstanding care and is sent home.
But – it could also demean the patients and interfere with the mission of the ER if a doctor, for example, decided to “walk” a patient (instead of giving them the care due) in order to get to the next, more promising (higher score) patient. Keeping score, and then making the score more important than the reality of patient care would be a completely objectionable outcome. Betting on diagnoses and caring more about winning the bet than treating the patient (with respect and dignity) would strike us as completely corrupt.
But I suggest to you that it’s not looking at this activity as a game, nor is it entering into the activity as a player of a game that we object to: it’s the failure to give due respect to the totality of the human experience as an element of the game that sets off alarms.
I submit that it is the attitude “It’s just a game” that really evokes our scary/creepy reaction.
