That failure to become a banker was eating at you. Eating-eating-eating at you inside… It was your family that pushed you into banking , it was their dream for you.
Another university humanities class I took was a literature offering called “Humor, Comedy, and Satire.” One of the things that impressed me about this particular course was that the professor organized it around a thesis. Briefly, his thesis for the course was that, through the ages, societies have something he referred to as “Grand Operating Myths” or GOMs (he liked to say that). These were concepts that were accepted as universal and absolute truths, and were generally foundational for the culture and philosophy of the society. However, these concepts don’t necessarily persist from age to age.
A simple example is that our society sees time as linear, progressing from the past into the future. We see that as intuitively obvious – certainly not up for analysis or debate. Medieval society, on the other hand, saw time as cyclical. All things would come, pass, and then come again. This was also so obvious that it wouldn’t have been open to debate or even consideration. Yet despite the obviousness of our times’ respective positions, those positions changed.
For the purpose of the class, the GOM was about the relation between technology and society and how the advance of technology necessarily has a positive impact on mankind. The Literary exploration started roughly with the foundation of the Royal Society (1660) and the persistence of some of their ideas to our own time.
The details are not really as important is the organization. Each book in the course was selected for its contribution to that specific discussion. So while we were analyzing (and enjoying) a variety of great writing from different time periods, there was this very narrow focus to tie it all together.
The next game I’m looking at, somewhat concurrent with the Here I Stand scope, is Pax Renaissance. In addition to what it has going for it as a game (which is plenty), it also is built around a thesis. The designers assert that the positive societal changes of the Renaissance were a direct result of the rise of capitalism and banking. These institutions are credited with breaking the hold that feudal lords held over the people, and paved the way for the massive advances that have happened since. They make their case in the footnotes of their manual, where the annotate the rules with historic color to support their thesis.
The game itself is another study in abstraction and simplification. It has relatively simple components – cards, coins and some “chess pieces.” For a board game, visual and tactile appeal is critical. There is no map board, no dice, and even a decidedly limited impact of the beginning card shuffle. But with those simple components, the game constructs what almost can be thought of as a three-dimensional board. Movement between “adjacent” locations can be either from country to country on a map of Europe, between adjacent cards on a players “tableau” (the cards that have been played, and are thus owned, by each player) and within countries, even if that means moving from player to player. Well, sort of. In some cases. It really depends.
And therein lies the biggest negative of this game. The rules are complicated. The basic rules are a series of special cases that, often are similar yet different than the rest of the rules. Add to that that the cards may, themselves, contain exceptions to the rule book which are explained no where else but in the text of the cards. Even if you’re one who is eager to sit down with the rulebook and the card decks, the rulebook has a rather unique organization. It initially presents a the rules in play order (probably pretty typical), but then adds on whatever rules didn’t make it into this narrative in the glossary. Not only does the glossary contain rules that aren’t contained in the regular instructions, but there are key words not in the glossary, meaning one needs to go to the regular instructions for the explanation of that concept. It doesn’t help that the terminology used is a bit quirky.
It’s a tough haul, and one I’m still working on.
The consensus on line is that, once you learn the rules, the logic of them seems to tumble into place, and it all becomes second nature. At that point, says the consensus of players, the mechanics disappear and the strategy elements come to the front. Another constant comment I’ve read online is how much it leans towards a “historical simulation played with cards,” rather than a “card game with historical chrome.” This is particularly impressive given the simplicity of the components and the relatively short play time of the game. Of course, it takes some imagination and thus may be in the eye of the beholder. Is the “Trade Fair” mechanic a brilliant concept to simulate the synergy between business and government? Or is it just an abstract, Eurogame-style piece of the game to redistribute money?
Another aspect of the online debate on this games merits is its depth as a strategy game. Does it have strategic depth, or do you play more for the color. Those who love the game seem to get about 10 games in and decide that the strategy is fantastic. Other, say the strategic aspect is weak. One recurring thread in the latter argument is the rule in the game where not all cards are used (and the number is dependent on the number of players). What that means is not every path to victory is open in every game, but the players don’t know that from the start. The box cover may imply that you, the player, charts the future course of Europe. But if, for example, I decide to do just that, by gaining a “Globalization Victory” and secretly set up such a win – I might find out that the cards to facilitate that just aren’t in play in the game. It means that you’ve got to react and re-plan in real time, as more cards are brought into play. The critics think it makes the game too random and short term. Proponents probably see this as one more challenge.
I played a little bit, taking both sides of a two player game, to try to get a grip on the rules. For several games, I realized I’d made terrible mistakes in the accounting. The first game I think I came pretty close to following all the rules, I captured with a snapshot. I was amused by the matching of the opening moves to the history of the Ottoman Empire. So much so, that I decided to subjugate Byzantium, because that was the first empire to be conquered by the Ottoman Turks. It did make me wonder, does empire card Byzantium and the corresponding empire of Trebizond (see light blue card in picture) have game purpose except to be conquered by the Ottomans? Will it substitute as the Persians or even the Russians with certain additional card play? Part of this “historical fidelity” may well come from struggling with the possibilities in the game and the events of history to try to imagine how they might line up.
Continuing with the earlier design discussion, this is a game that most definitely has some novel game mechanics. It also, as I said above, simplifies a grand strategy scope to an extreme, to make it a quick-playing and manageable experience.
One feature hinted at above is the multiple paths to victory. Here it is a little different than the asymmetric victory conditions of Here I Stand. In the case of Pax Renaissance, there are four victory conditions that have to be triggered, individually, by a player. Once triggered, all four players can win using that path. Of course, one imagines that a player doesn’t trigger a victory condition unless they have a particular advantage. It is a twist on the asymmetric victory where nobody knows ahead of time what each player’s advantages are going to be.
Also like Here I Stand, the innovative use of cards and tokens as playing pieces, bookkeeping components, and a streamlined UI add much to this game’s appeal. Just one example: Their are four cards, one for each of the victory conditions. To “activate” a victory condition, the card is flipped over. On the non-active side, the card describes the state of that technology which precedes the advance made during this period. It reminds me of the “Age” advancements in games like Age of Empires, all with just a card.
Probably the most significant departure is the fact that most of the pieces you play aren’t actually “your” pieces. While I may concentrate my efforts building up the “black” (Islamic) power across the East, that doesn’t mean they’ll be my friends. I may very easily find myself using Catholic armies to wipe out the very Islamic power that I had just created. One of the victory conditions actually depends on a particular faith becoming “dominant”, but even then the distinction remains. You might be thinking of the Reformist (red pieces, in the game) as “yours” as you try to make them the dominant religion, but anyone can use them against you, and you can use any religion for your own purposes.
Instead (and back to that thesis again), the player takes on the identity of one of four Renaissance banking families. You make investments that will earn you income or allow you some level of influence over the actions of the government (the remnants of the feudal system). This resulting “indirect” nature of the gameplay is not something I’ve encountered before, and is especially different when compared to computer gaming.
The modeling of the economy is also very different. The normal model is that a player buys things, which then return money during some sort of counting phase. Typically, the investment is large, but returns over the length of the game make up for it. In Pax Renaissance, the “return on investment” is often up-front. Any card which costs 1 florin (the basic unit of accounting in the game) can be sold for 2 florins on the same turn. In some cases, purchasing a card might be a net positive back to the player. Card purchasing aside, it is typically aggressive actions that cost money – military campaigns and some targeting of enemy units. It’s both simplification and abstraction – real investments will never instantly double your money, but then again, no one has said* how long a “turn” represents in the game.
Similarly, the building of “infrastructure,” usually the key to any economic game, is mostly off-board and outside of the game. If an empire (let’s assume one under our control) begins gobbling up their neighbors, one might assume that it amasses infrastructure that leads to higher tax bases and, thus, more government treasury to advance its cause. But that assumption is neither here nor there. For the player, they interact with empires by tapping into the trade routes (concessions in the game’s language) or by controlling particular interests with the territory (abstractly represented by cards, which in some cases allow money to be recovered). And none of this is permanent. While defensive play is possible and part of the game, there is no power or scope of control you can amass that can’t be wiped out with a single play from an opponent.
Again, it’s a deeply woven interaction between the simplicity of the game model and the simulation of the period. The “merchant princes” generated vast wealth which they parleyed into political power, both direct and indirect. However, it did not make them the equivalent of the nobility. While they may used finances to bend the policies of empires, they still did business at the pleasure of their own governments. Anything that capitalism could build could be wiped out by decree.
So I wonder how this game would translate to a computer version.
Board games, more often than not, don’t port well to the computer. There are many reasons for this. The most frequently cited is that a computer player’s intelligence, artificial as it is, can’t compete with human players. A bigger hurdle is when it is the free-form interaction and communication between players that makes a game. Computer games like Diplomacy or Here I Stand would always be a pale shadow of the face-to-face experience. But another factor is that sometimes, when automating all the actions of the players, what remains is so much simpler than the board game version that it seems to take the challenge out of it.
Pax Renaissance potentially could suffer from all three. In particular, I do note that part of the challenge is keeping on top of the interactions between the parts. For example, when deploying a bishop in the game, you can simply bring in the bishop on the card as you play it. Or you might be able to place it on one of your other cards. It also might be playable on any of your opponents cards. Part of playing the game is accessing that with each move. The computer, presumably, would remove that need and automatically show you all the options (whether you’d thought of them on your own or not).
Another example is the “Trade Fair” action within the game. This is one of the grand, game changing moves. The player marches through Europe, empire by empire, distributing the profits from previous investments as well as generating tax income to allow those empires to build up their military power. It tends to be a very deliberate affair, managing one empire card at a time and shifting money around the table. On a computer, with a single click everything would be update (a few choices aside, such as when an empire has more than one city to reinforce). Does that leave all the strategy, but just make the game play faster? Or does some of the “depth” of the game go away, when you are not actively managing the pieces during the action?
The counterpoint is that there is a level of strategy that takes place beyond making sure the rules are all followed. Each time you take a card, it makes it easier for the next play to acquire some other card. So you need to be constantly assessing the short term versus longer term effects of every move.
One last example, I found myself in my practice game forgoing earning large amounts of money to settle for smaller amounts. The reason is that the larger amount would also earn money for my opponent. In this case, it seemed prudent to not “waste” one of my own actions to get my opponent money when he, himself, might do it for me. Running up against the libertarian theme, the commerce that benefits everyone does not seem preferable to poverty than encompasses everyone.
I’d like to explore, a little, the logic that one would use to play this game, including solving conundrums like the above. But I will save that until another article.
*OK. So the manual does say that that the game “takes place” between 1460 to 1530, and that turns represent approximately 2 years. I think, though, the operative word is approximately.