There are definitely a lot of folks here who are strongly opposed to Forge jargon in particular (again, usually as one part of a broader opposition to GNS theory as a whole). I don’t think those people are shy about that fact, so I wouldn’t call it “saying the quiet part out loud.” There are also people who have legitimate concerns about the way jargon (Forge-related or otherwise) is often used in RPG discussions. Neither of these positions hold that all jargon is only used for gatekeeping.
I don't have a problem with jargon per se. The difficulty I have with jargon is that framing a discussion or argument in particular terms assents to the validity of those terms. So if we ask, is dnd 5e simulationist or gamist, we're assuming those terms, within a specific model, are valid ways of talking about games. So, if you happen to be even a little bit skeptical that your own experiences of play fit so neatly into those categories, you still have to explain your position using them. So you have some people that want to say that their experience is that the game they play combines G, N,
and S--because those are the categories on offer--and other people saying that's categorically impossible. Forge terminology, in particular, exacerbates this problem because it appears, to me at least, as both an expansive and relatively closed system.
I am also constantly forced to translate jargon into layman terms in order to communicate concepts to people that are unfamiliar with the jargon.
It's important (for me) to keep in mind that it's a mean to an end, which is better communication. A shorthand works very well for some people given the way they learn. It does not work well for others, and for those people if you are really and sincerely trying to communicate with them, you try another approach. (Or you keep talking past each other for 100 pages...)
Players and their preferences/motivations fall into these categories. Therefore, game design must speak to these." And every time we see this, it's always to privilege one (or some) style(s) of play and to disparage other styles.
Third, the author will claim to be a "big tent" and unbiased observer of the typologies seeking only to end the prior debates, while actually the author of the theory is looking to continue the debate and, more often than not, delegitimatize other methods of play through the seemingly-neutral goal of helping people design and play 'better.'
One structure of play represents a direct and visceral rejection of another in the RPG space. Sorcerer took a look at Vampire and said definitely not that. It's always going to be contentious because the principles of play are inversions of each other.
And if I was going to introduce forge theory to someone in, say, my Call of Cthulhu group, I would frame it that way. I would say, "here are some people who looked at Vampire, CoC, Dnd, and said
definitely not that." It's a relevant framework for people playing "storygames," especially those games that grew out of that scene, even from those designers that have continued to evolve in their thinking past the forge model.*
But the forge doesn't do that, because as Snarf says, it presents itself as a neutral, unbiased theory of all rpgs. So it looks the Call of Cthulhu player, and says, you play those games because you like participationism, you liked to be railroaded through gm storytime, you like games with GM fiat and low player agency. Aside from being a condescending approach, it also shuts off the theory to experiences that can't already be fit within its schema. I mean, I'm into marxist theory, but I can recognize that his philosophizing about linen production in the 1840s is maybe not relevant in every way to how capitalism works in the present day (but then, that's the whole point of the approach--you don't start with the idea, you start with the material reality).
I also think the actual jargon used to describe games like Sorcerer was not well chosen. Using narrative and story in the descriptors for a sort of play that is fundamentally a rejection of storytelling (whether GM led or collaborative) was a pretty massive blunder.
This is probably ungenerous of me, but I feel there is something intentional about laying claim to those particular words. Recently on these boards, I was introduced to the notion of "high concept simulation."
Edwards writes
In cinema, "High Concept" refers to any film idea that can be pitched in a very limited amount of time; the usual method uses references to other films. Sometimes, although not necessarily, it's presented as a combination: "Jaws meets Good Will Hunting," or that sort of thing. I'm adopting it to role-playing without much modification, although emphasizing that the source references can come from any medium and also that the two-title combo isn't always employed.
The key word is "genre," which in this case refers to a certain combination of the five elements as well as an unstated Theme. How do they get to this goal? All rely heavily on inspiration or kewlness as the big motivator, to get the content processed via art, prose style, and more. "Story," in this context, refers to the sequence of events that provide a payoff in terms of recognizing and enjoying the genre during play...
A lot of internet blood has been spilled regarding how this phenomenon is or is not related to Narrativist play, but I think it's an easy issue. The key for these games is GM authority over the story's content and integrity at all points, including managing the input by players. Even system results are judged appropriate or not by the GM; "fudging" Fortune outcomes is overtly granted as a GM right...
the functional version of such play is properly called Illusionism...
"Story" emerges from the GM's efforts in this regard, with players being either cooperative (passively or actively), or obstreperous, in which case various "don't let them take over" methods are encouraged. Players are enjoined to immerse, by which they mean "keep your metagame agenda out of it," at the aesthetic level. It's best understood as Illusionism by full consent, which is what keeps it from being railroading, in that instead of making a story as an author does, the player is enjoying being in the story. In system and character generation terms, that's pretty much what's empowered to happen. I'll give this entire topic a full comparison and analysis in the Narrativism essay.
This is heavily clipped; Edwards' writing is verbose, digressive, a dense mix of references to other forge-theory proper nouns (a mini-glossary is provided at the end of this article), with a dash of characteristic corny phrasing ("kewlness"?). That aside, what I see here are two things: 1) a concerned attempt to put dividing wall between popular 90s games, including adnd 2e, CoC, and WoD games and his domain of Narrativism. To the point where the former are defined through genre, aesthetics, and even story (albeit not capitalized and in quotation marks), but are still not "narrativist" (sorry...
Narrativist). Any film, art, or literary critic would look askance at this distinction. 2) As described above, the tone and style of writing presents "high concept sim" as simply a neutral phrase of description, but we see by the end this is tendentious. This article is not for people who like playing these games, it's for his particular audience of people who look at those games and say
definitely not that. Which would be fine! But Edwards for some reason needs to define for other people why they like those games (incidentally, this is why I think his whole "brain damage" argument is not just a distasteful side-conversation, but actually speaks to a pervasive condescension throughout what I've read of his writing).
*on designers who were deeply influenced by but have also moved past:
