I have never played a game of chess. I have, however, studied chess by watching others play as well as reviewing a rulebook. As a result, I am confident that I understand how to and that I could actually play chess (although I’m not sure I could win!). This scenario parallels my experience with the Sorcerer’s game of Quidditch. I have studied Quidditch1 from J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series (Rowling 1998) on the internet and in the movies and, if I happened to gain the ability to fly on a broomstick, I am sure I could participate in a game of Quidditch. Regardless, due to the fact that the actual ability to participate is reserved for Sorcerers, it remains true that I (as a mere Muggle) have never participated and will likely never participate in a real game of Quidditch. This illustration allows for one to make sense of the term “armchair athlete.”
So, is chess a game? The answer lies somewhere in between my understanding of chess and the fact that I have never actually played it. Is the existence of chess as a game grounded in the understanding of chess or in the participatory experience itself? Of course, the same might be asked of Quidditch. This chapter will explore these questions and takes it point of departure from a theory presented in Bernard Suits’s book The Grasshopper: Games, Life and Utopia (1978). Suits presents his theory on game playing in and through the mischievous guise of a Grasshopper. For the Grasshopper, “to play a game is to attempt to achieve a specific state of affairs [prelusory goal], using only means permitted by rules [lusory means], where the rules prohibit use of more efficient in favor of less efficient means [constitutive rules], and where such rules are accepted just because they make possible such activity [lusory attitude]” (Suits 1978, 41). Thus, the Grasshopper’s necessary and jointly sufficient conditions for game are that any activity must possess all of the following four characteristics to qualify:
1)it must be a goal-directed activity (prelusory goal),
2)the rules must limit the permissible means of goal attainment (lusory means),
3)the rules must prohibit the more efficient in favor of less efficient means (constitutive rules), and
4)the rules must be accepted just so as to make the activity possible (lusory attitude).
The first condition requires that the activity be goal directed with the goal understood to be “the end of the activity that all participants aim to bring about in action therein” (Vossen 2004, 78). Essentially, this prelusory goal is characterized as a specific and achievable state of affairs describing no more and no less than is required.
The second and third conditions of the Grasshopper’s definition refer to rules which provide a descriptive, defining framework for the activity at the same time as limit the permissible means of prelusory goal realization. Because these rules (taken jointly with the prelusory goal) identify all circumstances to be satisfied when participating in a game, they are referred to as constitutive rules. In my understanding, there are two kinds of constitutive rules; those that require and permit means of goal attainment and those that prohibit means of goal attainment. The means that are required and permitted by the constitutive rules are referred to as the lusory means (that is, the Grasshopper’s second necessary condition). On the other hand, means that are prohibited by the constitutive rules are characterized as tactics considered more efficient with respect to prelusory goal attainment than those allowed as lusory means. The Grasshopper’s third condition specifically requires that the easiest, simplest, most useful, and direct approach to prelusory goal attainment is prohibited by the constitutive rules always in favor of the lusory means which are recognized to be less efficient than the means ruled out by the constitutive rules.
The fourth essential condition is that the constitutive rules must be accepted just so as to make the game possible. This participatory stance is referred to as the lusory attitude and is highly unusual insofar as it dictates the acceptance of limitations that require the use of less efficient means toward an end simply for the reason that such acceptance makes the activity possible as a game. “In anything but a game, the gratuitous introduction of unnecessary obstacles to the achievement of an end is regarded as a decidedly irrational thing to do, whereas in games it appears to be an absolutely essential thing to do” (Suits 1978, 39). The point is simply that “no rational individual would ever voluntarily choose to set up unnecessary obstacles to make goal attainment more difficult unless that individual is participating in a game” (Vossen 2004, 79). Consider this: An alien from a world of productive and purposeful action (wherein the concept of a game does not at all exist in its experience) arrives to study the behavior of students at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft. Observing the Quidditch occurrence, the alien would most likely be entirely bewildered as it questioned the logic of this particular scenario: If it is important to have possession of the little moving ball (the Golden Snitch), then why would these creatures release it from its prison only to try to recapture it? Of course, the answer is because they are participating in a game.
Now, although the Grasshopper’s theory is entirely capable of addressing the question of whether or not chess is a game, there’s one critique contained within the literature that confuses the issue by raising doubt about its coherency. This critique is offered by Angela Schneider and Robert Butcher in the essay entitled “Prelusory Goals for Games: A Gambit Declined” (1997). Accordingly, rather than simply answering the question via a direct application of the theory, this chapter will take a slight detour so as to confront Schneider and Butcher’s critique of it. More specifically, I will defend the Grasshopper’s theory against the criticism raised so as to justify my faith in its ability to address the question.
So, going directly to the heart of the matter, I turn to the critique itself. Of the four necessary and sufficient conditions forwarded by the Grasshopper, Schneider and Butcher assault one. Essentially, the critics argue that the Grasshopperian notion of a prelusory goal is incoherent and unsalvageable and ought therefore to be abandoned within the philosophy-of-sport literature. Of course, since the four conditions work together to provide the Grasshopper’s definition, the suggestion is that the theory itself is flawed.
Schneider and Butcher begin with the concept of a prelusory goal and clarify its nature as a specifically achievable state of affairs that can be “described before, or independently of, any game of which it may come to be, a part” (1997, 39).2 With regard to chess, the authors entertain four prelusory goal options including checkmate spatiotemporally defined, arranging tokens in a pattern, checkmate conceptually defined, and immobilizing the king. Basically, checkmate spatiotemporally defined involves a list of all potential combinations of chess figures constituting checkmate. Except for its reference to concepts unique to chess, this first option is similar to the second, arranging tokens in a pattern, which involves the display of chess figures in an array recognized to signify the end of the game. Checkmate conceptually defined is similar to immobilizing the king insofar as the conceptual definition of checkmate is understood as the capture of the opponent’s king with both represented by a scenario wherein the opponent’s king is unable to escape inevitable capture.3
Using their derived test of independence, the authors disqualify checkmate spatiotemporally defined, checkmate conceptually defined, and immobilizing the king because all three represent ideas that cannot be conceptualized without, at a minimum, an introduction to a chessboard and/or king figure. Since a chessboard and king figure are concepts requiring knowledge of the game of chess, all three options are arguably dependent upon the objects, rules, and procedures of chess and cannot therefore be described before, or independently of, the game of chess. For this reason, all three represent inappropriate options for the prelusory goal of chess. In addition to failing the test of independence, checkmate spatiotemporally defined is flawed insofar as it can be represented by an infinitely large list of patterns that cannot possibly meet the requirements of distinctness or specificity (that is, it also fails the test of specificity). Similarly, the final option of arranging tokens in a pattern is deemed inappropriate as the prelusory goal of the game of chess due to the fact that it fails the test of specificity.
In a nutshell, Schneider’s and Butcher’s position is that the game of chess has no identifiable object that can be jointly characterized as “specific” and “independently describable of that game.” Analysis of each logical possibility reveals that it is inappropriate as the prelusory goal of chess because it is either too indistinct to be deemed specific (that is, it fails the test of specificity) and/or it is unable to be comprehended without reference to concepts special and unique to the game of chess (that is, it fails the test of independence). Essentially, since there is no identifiable goal for the game of chess that is simultaneously capable of passing both the test of specificity and the test of independence, Schneider and Butcher conclude that chess fails to possess a prelusory goal as defined by the Grasshopper. “This either means that chess is not a game or that the account of games that requires that they have prelusory goals is false” (1997, 41). Yet they feel it is clear that chess is a game. Accordingly, they reject the Grasshopper’s notion of a prelusory goal as defined.
Chess is a game. This statement appears commonsensical and, as noted, fundamental to Schneider and Butcher’s (1997) position against the Grasshopper.4 Although apparently a rational assumption, it is my position that it is mistaken and that it places the merits of their argument in severe jeopardy. I will demonstrate that chess, as characterized by Schneider and Butcher, is not a game at all. If this demonstration proves convincing, then we must concede that Schneider and Butcher’s argument is unsound, and since an unsound argument is incapable of grounding its conclusion, we can discard as false the assertion that the notion of a prelusory goal is incoherent and ought to be deserted. Accordingly, we can conclude that the Grasshopper’s theory, inclusive of the notion of a prelusory goal, ought to continue to be embraced as a coherent theory of games.
In my opinion, not only are Schneider and Butcher wrong in their characterization of chess, but also guilty of misinterpreting, misapplying, and perhaps even corrupting the Grasshopper’s theory of games. Off to a bad start, Schneider and Butcher begin their paper with the assertion that a game is defined by a prelusory goal taken together with a set of constitutive rules that are responsible for denoting the lusory means for achieving the prelusory goal (1997, 38). They assure the reader that this represents an elucidation of the Grasshopper’s account, but I will demonstrate that Schneider and Butcher’s position is more accurately described as a transformation.
The difference between the Grasshopper’s position on games and Schneider and Butcher’s elucidation of it is as slight as it should be obvious: The Grasshopper’s account includes a lusory attitude while Schneider and Butcher’s version completely omits this participatory stance! For the Grasshopper, a game does not actually exist as a tangible activity unless all four of the earlier mentioned features are present, whereas for Schneider and Butcher only the first three appear relevant in classifying games.
The importance of the Grasshopper’s lusory attitude cannot be understated as it represents the unifying element of his definition. This stems from the fact that a participatory stance is required that incorporates the participant’s knowledge of as well as commitment to the other three defining features: “The attitude of the game player must be an element in game playing because there has to be an explanation of that curious state of affairs wherein one adopts rules which require one to employ worse rather than better means for reaching an end” (Suits 1978, 38; italics added). That is, in order to claim that a game participant has adopted the lusory attitude, it is essential that he or she comprehend and seek the prelusory goal, understand and remain confined to the lusory means required and allowed by the constitutive rules, and avoid all means specifically prohibited by the constitutive rules. This means that the game participant willingly accepts the limitations imposed by the rules and thereby avoids efficient means for reaching the goal.
Again, the participatory stance projected by the lusory attitude is absolutely essential in qualifying an activity as a game for the Grasshopper and this fact is demonstrated in two specific examples relevant to his theory. The first can be found in the Grasshopper’s example of Smith and Jones traveling from A to C, which clearly demonstrates that the lusory attitude makes games different from all other ordinary life activities. Paralleling the scenario of the alien attempting to make sense of Quidditch, this illustration demonstrates that traveling from A to C is not a game for Smith, who fails to possess the lusory attitude associated with the race, whereas Jones has the lusory attitude and sees the trip as a game:
Smith knows nothing of games, but he does know that he wants to travel from A to C, and he also knows that making the trip by way of B is the most efficient means for getting to his destination. He is then told authoritatively that he may not go by way of B. ‘Why not?’ he asks. ‘Are there dragons at B?’ ‘No’, is the reply. ‘B is perfectly safe in every respect. It is just that there is a rule against going to B as you are on your way to C’. ‘Very well’, grumbles Smith, ‘if you insist. But if I have to go from A to C very often I shall certainly try very hard to get that rule revoked’. True to his word, Smith approaches Jones, who is also setting out for C from A. He asks Jones to sign a petition requesting the revocation of the rule which forbids travellers from A to C to go through B. Jones replies that he is very much opposed to revoking the rule, which very much puzzles Smith.
Smith: But if you want to get to C, why on earth do you support a rule which prevents you from taking the fastest and most convenient route?
Jones: Ah, but you see I have no particular interest in being at C. That is not my goal, except in a subordinate way. My overriding goal is more complex. It is ‘to get from A to C without going through B’. And I can’t very well achieve that goal if I can go through B, can I?
S:But why do you want to do that?
J:I want to do it before Robinson does, you see?
S:No I don’t. That explains nothing. Why should Robinson, whoever he may be, want to do it? I presume you will tell me that he, like you, has only a subordinate interest in being at C at all.
J:That is so.
S:Well, if neither of you really want to be at C, then what possible difference can it make which of you gets there first? And why, for God’s sake, should you avoid B?
J:Let me ask you a question. Why do you want to get to C?
S:Because there is a good concert at C, and I want to hear it.
J:Why?
S:Because I like concerts, of course. Isn’t that a good reason?
J:It’s one of the best there is. And I like, among other things, trying to get from A to C without going through B before Robinson does.
S:Well, I don’t. So why should they tell me I can’t go through B?
J:Oh, I see. They must have thought you were in the race.
S:The what? (Suits 1978, 39–40).
The second example involves the response to Frank McBride’s criticism that the Grasshopper’s definition is too broad insofar as it inappropriately includes marathoning which “is not even, for the vast majority, a race . . . [but rather] a festive occasion to meet old friends and to enjoy the countryside and the townsfolk along the route” (McBride 1979, 63). Suits’s rejoinder is, “if for some entrants the event is not even a race, then I would hardly want to claim that it was, for those entrants, a game either” (Suits 1988, 56). Essentially, if the lusory attitude fails to be adopted by a marathon entrant interested only in socializing with onlookers, then the marathon event represents neither a race nor a game to that participant.
From my perspective, Schneider and Butcher’s neglect5 of the lusory attitude proves fatal to their argument insofar as it allows them to incorrectly grant chess per se the status of an activity and a game rather than particular instances or instantiations of chess (characterized by lusory attitude adoption) which is what the Grasshopper specifically and clearly requires. Interestingly, a recent article by the Grasshopper’s creator, confirms this interpretation. In “Venn and the Art of Category Maintenance” (Suits 2004, 5), Suits submits that it is entirely clear that his use of Venn diagrams to depict the relationship between sport, game, and play is intended to refer to instances of games rather than to what Schneider (2001) refers to as games per se.
Intuitively, this makes perfect sense. A specifically achievable state of affairs, coupled with a set of means-limiting rules and regulations favoring inefficiency, is unintelligible as any activity whatsoever, let alone a game. An activity is something that is done. It involves action or conduct. A goal taken together with a set of rules is best described as an assembly or collection of concepts and ideas that, in and of itself, is not an actuality let alone an activity or a game. The Grasshopper’s theory is one specifically intended to discern the nature of games as activities, not as concepts or ideas. What this means is that chess is a game only as an actualized activity. In order to make the transition from the idea of chess to an actual activity characterized as a game of chess, participation in accordance with the lusory attitude is required.
Since the prelusory goal, lusory means, constitutive rules, and lusory attitude are proposed by the Grasshopper as necessary and jointly sufficient conditions, it follows that an activity is a game for a given participant if and only if the lusory attitude (definitionally compounded upon the prelusory goal, lusory means, and constitutive rules) is actually adopted and maintained. Contrarily, the activity fails or ceases to be a game if the lusory attitude is not adopted, is absent, or is abandoned. The Grasshopper’s (and later Suits’s) discussion of triflers, cheats, and spoilsports supports this statement: “In summary it may be said that triflers recognize rules but not goals, cheats recognize goals but not rules, players recognize both goals and rules, and spoilsports recognize neither rules nor goals” (Suits 1978, 47; Suits 2006, 4). Stated alternatively, players maintain the lusory attitude while triflers, cheats, and spoilsports do not. As a result, it is clear that a game exists for players but not for triflers, cheats, and spoilsports. From this observation it appears obvious that Schneider and Butcher’s (1997) interpretation of the Grasshopper’s theory of games is incorrect and that their fundamental assumption, that chess per se (in the absence of a lusory attitude) is properly referred to as a game, is false.
Schneider and Butcher’s (1997) deduction that either chess is not a game or the Grasshopper’s account of games is flawed is logically correct. In this either/or situation, they accept the commonplace assumption that chess is a game (indeed, chess is a game for the Grasshopper although not as characterized by Schneider and Butcher), rendering them committed to the conclusion that the Grasshopper’s theory of games is problematic. Of course, challenging to their position is the fact that they have not argued that their characterization of chess is a game at all. Instead they have merely taken it for granted. It is important to recognize that what my colleagues have done is critiqued the Grasshopper’s theory with an example that fails to conform to his definition in the first place! The consequence of this is that when faced with the same either/or situation, one may legitimately retain one’s alliance with the Grasshopper by accepting the fact that chess (in the absence of a lusory attitude as characterized by my colleagues) is not a game at all.
Paralleling what I have argued to be a difference between the idea of chess and a game of chess is the Grasshopper’s position on a game (an instance or instantiation) versus the institution of a game. The Grasshopper, as correctly observed by Schneider and Butcher (1997, 41), fails to specifically define the meaning of the institution of chess so as to more accurately contrast it with a game of chess. In response, Schneider and Butcher suggest that the Grasshopper’s distinction is really one “between the game of chess and a game of chess” (1997, 41). In contrast, I am suggesting that the distinction is more accurately conveyed as that between a game of chess and the idea of chess (not the idea of the game of chess).
On Schneider and Butcher’s view, the Grasshopper’s theory requires the acceptance of checkmate as the prelusory goal of any instantiation of the game of chess due to the fact that it can be described prior to such an instantiation. If this is the case, then “one achieves the prelusory goal of the game of chess without playing a game of chess” (1997, 42). So, the Grasshopper has not provided a definition of games but rather a definition of particular instantiations of games. But the Grasshopper’s notion of a prelusory goal for each individual instantiation of a game of chess is dependent upon the context provided by the institution of the game of chess (that is, the game of chess) which necessarily forces a shift in attention from the instantiation to the institution. With this shift, the question becomes whether or not the institution of the game of chess has a prelusory goal. Of course, the answer is no, because checkmate has no meaning beyond that which the institution gives it. This leaves the Grasshopper in a quandary: A game of chess (an instantiation of chess) cannot be played unless the game of chess (the institution of chess) already exists—which it doesn’t, since chess is not a game at all but only particular examples of chess (Schneider and Butcher 1997, 42).
Suits points out that Schneider and Butcher might have easily taken this critique further to more sharply demonstrate the “grip of infinite regress” (Suits 2006, 3), which goes something like this: If the institution of chess is itself a kind of game, then it must have its own prelusory goal. But a prelusory goal is something identifiable independently of the game of which it is a part. Therefore, the prelusory goal of the institution of chess must also be identifiable independently of the institution of chess. So, the institution of chess must also have its own institution . . . and so on without end. Whoa, something must be wrong here!
Let’s see if the rationale can be unraveled. In my assessment, Schneider and Butcher’s interpretation of the Grasshopper’s distinction between a game of chess (a game of chess) and its institution (the game of chess) can be charged with the fallacy of circular reasoning. In other words, the authors’ argument is invalid, as it assumes the conclusion within its premises and then uses this assumption as proof for the conclusion. In essence, question-begging occurs as chess is automatically granted the status of game. As a result, it should not be surprising at all that if a game is dependent upon the game, and the game does not have a context within which to provide meaning, that a game cannot exist at all. Stated alternatively, it is no shocker that if a game of chess is dependent upon its institution and the institution does not have a context within which to provide it with meaning that no game of chess dependant upon the institution can exist at all. Of course, if the idea of a prelusory goal is situated in a game and a game is dependant upon the game (that is, its institution) as a nonexistent entity, then the idea of a prelusory goal is incoherent altogether. This cannot be what the Grasshopper intended!
So what did the Grasshopper have in mind with his distinction? It is instructive at this point to revisit the difference between a game of chess and the institution of chess (not the institution of the game of chess as Schneider and Butcher propose) so as to offer an alternative to Schneider and Butcher’s circular account. On my interpretation, the idea of chess earlier described is effective in shedding light on the meaning intended by the Grasshopper for the institution of chess. Although the Grasshopper does not specifically define the institution of a game, this meaning is suggested within his characterization of foot racing wherein the elements central to it must serve as conceivable ideas that exist before or prior to any actual foot race: “[The] difference between foot racing and chess is less sharp than at first appears to be the case. For if no one had ever used his feet before the invention of foot racing, then foot racing would require the invention of running, and so pacing, sprinting, and passing would be as much instituted moves as are the moves in chess” (Suits 1978, 47). This assertion is further supported by Suits’s recent clarification of the matter in “Games and Their Institutions in The Grasshopper”: “The institution of game x is a body of diverse meanings and practices that all derive their meaning (that is, they are what they are) by being related, in one way or another, to game x” (Suits 2006, 4; italics added). That is, “there are a number of things that are lusory not simply by being instances of games but by being related to games” (5) and it is these kinds of things taken together that constitute a game’s institution.
Within this context, we can equate the idea of a game with the Grasshopper’s institution of a game. Nevertheless, it might be useful to distinguish between the two, and I think we can look to another of Suits’s writings for some assistance. In, “The Elements of Sport” (1995) Suits describes a game of “Sweat Bead” (originally created by Kierkegaard):
A high ranking official at my university has the constitutional peculiarity that when angry his anger is manifested solely by the appearance of a bead of perspiration at the centre of his forehead which then rolls slowly down his nose, clings for an instant to its tip, and finally falls. If the official’s ire continues or recurs, the same steps are repeated. Whenever I have a conference with him I adopt as a pre-lusory goal that state of affairs wherein three separate beads of perspiration shall have progressed through their appointed stages inside of fifteen minutes. And I adopt the constitutive rule that I will refrain from employing as a means to this goal either threats of violence against the person of the official or aspersions on his personal and professional reputation. (Suits 1995, 13).
Suits characterizes this game as being quite personal and private and therefore unlikely to enjoy a wide following. It is also true that Sweat Bead represents a game that has not enjoyed any degree of stability whatsoever so as to persist through time. Sweat Bead does not possess a governing body of experts, nor an official rulebook intended to streamline the activity for mass participation. If it did, Sweat Bead would be arguably characterized as institutionalized. Paralleling this discussion I suggest that the term institution be utilized to capture an idea that has endured through time such that it enjoys a higher degree of formalization and codification as well as a more widespread following in contrast to more recently invented or modified games as well as spontaneous games. Chess is institutionalized as an idea, Sweat Bead is not.
From this perspective, the institution of chess is really equivalent to an idea of chess that happens to have stood the test of time. Of course, if this position on the institution of chess is feasible, it is clear that it too is capable of serving only as a set of concepts and ideas. The idea of chess, whether institutionalized or not, cannot be properly recognized as an activity or game of chess because the lusory attitude is absent. As emphasized, a game of chess exists if and only if the lusory attitude (that is, definitionally compounded upon chess’s prelusory goal, lusory means, and constitutive rules) is adopted and maintained. In contrast, the idea or institution of chess is not at all dependent upon an attitude or stance.
To summarize, chess is defined by one specifically achievable state of affairs (perhaps checkmate and/or immobilization of one’s opponent’s king) and one set of rules that specifies the lusory and illusory moves for bringing about that state of affairs. As defined, this represents an idea only (or a set of ideas), not an activity and not a game, which necessarily involve action and participation. In the sense that chess has become increasingly codified, regulated, and formalized over time, it provides the substance of the current institution of chess. Whether institutionalized or not, the idea of chess must always exist before or prior to any particular game of chess which involves this idea plus the participatory stance projected in the lusory attitude.
It is my position that the Grasshopper intended for the concept of a prelusory goal to be a defining feature of any game or activity but not a “defining” facet of its idea or institution. What this means is that the concept is intelligible as prelusory within the context of a game alone. In chess, for example, checkmate (and/or immobilization of the opponent’s king) is identified as the specifically achievable state of affairs that chess participants aim to bring about during all games characterized by lusory attitude adoption. Within the context of one such game instantiation, this specifically achievable state of affairs is appropriately characterized as prelusory because it can be described before or prior to that game. Of course, this also holds true for the states of affairs identified as touchdown and capture of the Golden Snitch by the Seeker: Touchdown (described as a football being carried into the opponent’s endzone) represents a concept central to the idea of football just as Seeker and Golden Snitch serve as notions essential to the idea of Quidditch. While it is true that these same specifically achievable states of affairs are referenced within the idea of a game, each is completely unintelligible as before or prior to that idea. If the idea of a game, whether institutionalized or not, were itself a game, then it would also require an additional idea in order to make its prelusory goal intelligible. But the idea of a game is simply not a game at all, and therefore cannot itself be required to have a prelusory goal. The idea of a game only refers to the prelusory goal (in making it a requirement of the game), but to say that the idea itself has to have a prelusory goal is simply inappropriate, as it treats a set of requirements as though it were itself a game.
So, within the context of a game of chess, it is true that the state of affairs recognized as checkmate can be described (Suits suggests that “identified” may represent a more appropriate term [2006, 8]) beforehand and therefore independently of that game. However, within the context of the idea or institution of chess this is impossible. Fortunately, the Grasshopper’s definition of game is located squarely in particular instantiations and not at all within ideas or institutions providing the context and conditions relevant to these instantiations. If a game of chess is necessarily dependent upon the context provided by the idea of chess and the specification of the prelusory goal is recognized to be referenced within this idea, this logical dependence in no way requires that the prelusory goal be describable (or identifiable) before or independently of the idea of chess. Prelusory suggests before or prior to the game not before or prior to the idea of that game. Of course, the condition of being identifiable before or prior to the game is satisfied if the idea of that game precedes its instantiation and the definition of that game is equivalent to its instantiation alone.
Schneider and Butcher argue the following: The Grasshopper’s theory of games requires that all games possess a prelusory goal understood as a state of affairs that can be described independently of the game itself; chess does not possess such a goal; therefore either chess is not a game or the Grasshopper’s account of games including the notion of a prelusory goal is problematic and incoherent. In this either/or situation, my colleagues assume that chess is a game and conclude that the Grasshopper’s theory is flawed and that “prelusory goals should be abandoned for what they are, a failed gambit in the practice of philosophy of sport” (1997, 45).
Challenging the assumption of Schneider and Butcher, this chapter demonstrates that chess is not a game per se. Chess is a game only in the context of participation infused with the necessary lusory attitude. What the authors have done is inappropriately equivocated the idea of chess with an actual game of chess. In the alternative, I suggest that the idea of chess involves (at least minimally) the identification of a goal coupled with a set of means-limiting rules. Moreover, this idea of chess is distinct from a game of chess insofar as it fails to involve a lusory attitude.
Contrary to Schneider and Butcher’s interpretation (1997), I suggest that the Grasshopper’s theory is one specifically intended to discern the nature of games as activities, not as concepts or ideas. The problem with my colleagues’ argument is that it inappropriately ascribes the idea of a game the status of a game as an activity and then offers an evaluation of the transformed position as a critique of the Grasshopper’s account. In this respect, their argument is both invalid and unsound and therefore cannot be accepted as grounds for abandonment of the Grasshopper’s theory of games. The idea of a prelusory goal is perfectly intelligible as a specifically achievable state of affairs that can be identified or described independently of any game of which it is or may come to be a part. There is no one game of chess but rather an infinite number of game instantiations each properly referred to as a game of chess. Nevertheless, there is only one idea or institution of chess.6 The fact that the idea of chess precedes any and all games of chess makes it possible to identify and comprehend each of the requirements of chess (including its goal) independently of, before, and prior to any game. In other words, it is logically possible to understand the idea of chess and its subcomponents without ever participating in an activity or game of chess via lusory attitude adoption.
At the onset of this chapter I asked whether the existence of chess as a game is grounded in the understanding of chess or in the participatory experience itself. I am now in a position to respond. Because I have never played a game of chess via the adoption of the lusory attitude, I am forced to conclude that chess has never existed as a game for me. Instead, my experience with chess is limited to its idea or institution. This scenario parallels my experience with Quidditch. Because I will never actually be able to employ the lusory means toward goal attainment, it is impossible for me to adopt the lusory attitude required for Quidditch to be a game. Unfortunately, my definitional lack of knack for broom flying guarantees that Quidditch can never exist for me in the form of a game (except perhaps in my dreams!).
To conclude, I suggest that the Grasshopper’s account of games, including the concept of a prelusory goal, be once again embraced by the philosophy community. To be clear, this suggestion requires that future discussions within this area include careful attention to the distinction between a game, as defined by a prelusory goal, lusory means, constitutive rules, and a lusory attitude, and the idea or institution of that game which is capable only of reference to and/or description of the elements central to any game foundational upon it.
I would like to thank Bernard Suits and Robert Simon for their input into this chapter. Their encouraging comments and suggestions proved invaluable in its revision.
1. Quidditch is a game played by students enrolled in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The game is played in a stadium which is constructed fifty feet in the air. It is played at extremely high speeds on broomsticks and involves two teams of seven players (one Keeper, one Seeker, two Beaters, and three Chasers on each team) with each team seeking to score more points than the opposing team via the use four moving balls (one Golden Snitch, two Bludgers, and one Quaffle). The Golden Snitch is about the size of a golf ball and has silver wings allowing it to travel at great speed. Bludgers are hit by Beaters in attempts to knock opponents of their broomsticks. Finally, the Quaffle is about the size of a small basketball and is used to score points. The role of the Keeper is to try to prevent the opposing team from scoring a goal between one of the three golden goal hoops with the Quaffle. The Seeker’s sole objective is to catch the Golden Snitch. The Beaters use wooden sticks to hit the Bludgers in an effort to knock opponents from their broomsticks and prevent their teammates from being knocked off. Finally, Chasers are expected to try to score goals with the Quaffle. The objective of the game is to score more goals than one’s opponent. Generally, this involves the strategy of avoiding being hit with a Bludger while trying to score as many goals as possible with the Quaffle so as to have a higher score that the opposing team when the Golden Snitch is caught. A Quaffle goal is worth 10 points and the catching of the Golden Snitch is worth 150 points. The game begins when the referee blows his or her whistle and ends only when a Seeker is successful in catching the Golden Snitch. The winning team is that with the most points when the game is over (Rowling 1998).
2. In the original passage, the Grasshopper suggests that the prelusory goal “can be described before, or independently of, any game of which it may be, or come to be, a part” (Suits 1978, 37). In their citation, Schneider and Butcher, without the use of the customary ellipses of “. . .,” omit the option of may be a part and instead focus their paper on the alternative may come to be a part. Bernard Suits drew my attention to the omission during the early phases of writing this chapter. He also writes about this error in his own refutation of Schneider and Butcher’s critique (2006, 8).
3. In my opinion, Schneider and Butcher’s list of four possibilities for the prelusory goal of chess could easily be simplified to two. More specifically, I believe that the options of arranging tokens in a pattern as well as immobilizing the king can be safely omitted. My reason is that both options appear to conflate the idea of ends and means within a game. According to the Grasshopper’s definition, a goal is something that involves a state of affairs and the tasks of arranging and immobilizing cannot serve this purpose. The error made by Schneider and Butcher is to entertain arranging tokens in a pattern rather than the potential arrangement itself as well as immobilizing the king rather than the state of immobilization. It seems more legitimate to consider tokens as arranged in a pattern as well as king immobilization as potential options. However, this shift results in the equating of options insofar as tokens arranged in a pattern becomes equivalent to checkmate spatiotemporally defined and immobilization of the king equates to checkmate conceptually defined.
4 Schneider 2001 makes the same assumption.
5. In “Fruits, Apples, and Category Mistakes: On Sport, Games, and Play” (2001), Schneider charges Suits (1988) with a category mistake in his characterization of the interrelationship between play, game, and sport. The basis of her argument stems from the observation that games and sport represent activities whereas play is properly referred to as an attitude or “a mode of performing actions rather than a type of action” (2001, 153). On her view, the structural or conceptual level “where a practice is a sport [or game] if it meets certain observable criteria” (2001, 153) is logically inconsistent with and independent of the attitudinal level.
6. This statement is simplistic in that it assumes only one version of chess (that is, one specifically achievable state of affairs and one set of constitutive rules). In reality there are numerous chess variations each of which are called chess. Although modified games are beyond the scope of this paper, my position is that each modification to the original set of concepts associated with chess, a new idea of (modified) chess (chessa, chessb, chessc, etcetera) arises, each of which offers the opportunity for a game of (modified) chess via adoption of the unique lusory attitude associated with each idea.
McBride, Frank. 1979. “A Critique of Mr. Suits’ Definition of Game Playing.” Journal of the Philosophy of Sport 6:59–65.
Rowling, J. K. 1998. Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone. New York: A. A. Levine Books.
Schneider, Angela J. 2001. “Fruits, Apples, and Category Mistakes: On Sport, Games, and Play.” Journal of the Philosophy of Sport 28:151–59.
Schneider, Angela J., and Robert B. Butcher. 1977. “Pre-lusory Goals for Games: A Gambit Declined.” Journal of the Philosophy of Sport 24:38–46.
Suits, Bernard. 1978. The Grasshopper: Games, Life and Utopia. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
———. 1988a. “On McBride on the Definition of Games.” In Philosophic Inquiry in Sport, edited by William J. Morgan and Klaus V. Meier, 55–62. Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics.
———. 1988b. “Tricky Triad: Games, Play, Sport.” Journal of the Philosophy of Sport 15:1–9.
———. 1995. “The Elements of Sport.” In Philosophic Inquiry in Sport, edited by William J. Morgan and Klaus V. Meier, 8–15. Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics.
———. 2004. “Venn and the Art of Category Maintenance.” Journal of the Philosophy of Sport 31:1–14.
———. 2006. “Games and Their Institutions in The Grasshopper.” Journal of the Philosophy of Sport 33:1–8.
Vossen, Deborah. 2004. “The Nature and Classification of Games. AVANTE 10:53–68.