What games offer and what makes them special is a point of lively discussion in some circles. In “Games: Agency as Art” Chi T. Nguyen sums it up under the term “agency”. Games are a medium through which we get to experience agencies. He purposefully avoids giving a clearly worded definition of the term. So we are left with approximations. In books our imagination is stimulated to turn the printed word into lively images in our mind. Films offer immersion, when they allow us to dive into places and events, we witness with our eyes and ears. Games on the other hand provide us with the rush of agency. The offer us a goal and the means to reach that goal. After a learning phase we usually find ourselves capable of pursuing that goal repeatedly.

But we can also approach “agency” in a different way: it’s the feeling of being able to come up with a plan and also execute it. This is how we can describe one of the fundamental emotional experiences of playing games. We get to explore, discover and prove the potential of what we’re capable of. And it feels great.

But it’s also the reason why winning is an important emotional part of the experience as well. This isn’t about victory itself having meaning. It’s also not about attributing some additional meaning to winning a game, like money prizes or gaining a reputation. Winning a game is simply the irrefutable proof that we actually have agency in the game. We weren’t simply able to reach our goal (or more accurately the goal set by the game), but winning it has proven our agency beyond any doubt.

Winning a game isn’t the carrot we chase after in order to play the game. Even if it is an undoubtedly flattering thought. Instead of being driven by base instincts like ambition and competitiveness, we simply perform them for the duration of the game. Reiner Knizia is usually quoted at this point: „When playing the game, the goal is to win. But it’s the goal that’s important, not the winning.“ But to be frank, there’s hardly a game that feels worse when you win it. That’s because winning a game is the natural culmination of play. We’ve been given agency and have perfected it through victory. It’s like putting it the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle; or sliding in the last issue of a long-running book series. Neither is the reason we engage with puzzles or book series; but we get a great sense of satisfaction of completing them.

This feeling self-efficacy and ability to act on our plans is like the major thread running through most modern boardgames. The so-called “eurogames” in particular seem to emphasise giving players the tools to influence the course of the game as much as possible. Agency in a game can generally be thought of as a form of influence. And this sense of influence can soon feel like control.

Consequently, it can be difficult to feel this sense of control diminished, diluted or hindered through “external factors”. These external factors can be dice, drawing cards from a deck you don’t know inside out or simply the unpredictable behaviour of other players. Especially when they don’t seem to follow a clearly identifiable pattern.

These negative influences, that diminish our sense of control, can simply be the actions of other players. In particular when our own progress, our achievements aren’t merely slowed down but undone altogether. If you’re used to having influence and feeling in control, you might quickly think of these games as “mean”, full of “destructive interaction”. An exception is usually made for “rational” behaviour. This refers to actions players take in pursuit of their own goal or simply for their own benefit. This is considered appropriate and acceptable. But when somebody at the table chooses not to pursue victory, or simply get ahead of another player, it’s considered bad or at least misguided play. Some even invoke Huizinga’s “magic circle”. Arguing that such a behaviour would break that magic circle and by extension destroy the game. (Why this argument is nonsense would probably take another whole article.)

Which is ironic, as Huizinga offers a much better quote to grasp the essence and the joy of play: „To dare, to take risks, to bear uncertainty, to endure tension – these are the essence of the play spirit.“ In other words, what makes games exhilarating isn’t found in the sense of control we gain over how the game plays out. We need to look beyond this sense of control to see what makes games special. The nature of games reveal themselves to us in the moments, when our sense of control is no longer guaranteed. That’s when play conjures up emotions that we can share with others.

Self-efficacy, agency, influence. All this is without question the foundation of play. Without these things, we might just as well be reading books or watching movies. It’s only by using the game’s mechanisms and interacting with the game, that we engage in play. It’s only through action that we take part in the game. But it’s only when we reach the limits of what we can control, that we experience play. It’s only when trying to reach our goals has as endure uncertainty and tension, that we’re playing a game. In order to do that, we must be willing to forego the control, we otherwise cling to.

Maybe these are the moments in which our individual personalities come through. When the game explicitly shows us the limits of our influence, we’re grateful for the safe space that the game provides. We get to feel tension and uncertainty with our whole body. We get to experience success and misfortune far more deeply than we would ever allow ourselves to feel away from the table. Books, films, music, sports, etc. … all these activities let us experience emotions and sometimes even act them out with others. The same holds true for games. All it takes is to be willing to limit our desire for control.