Mimetics: 2. Structure of the Mimesis

Published in

Game Theory Workshop

14 min readJul 14, 2020

INTRODUCTION

In the first article of this series, “Approach to a Concept of Mimesis in Games”, we set ourselves two initial objectives:

tackle the task of analyzing the possible structure that facilitates mimesis
analyze the obstacles that hinder individuals from entering the mimetic state

Today we face the first objective:

To approach towards a structure that allows access to mimesis.

Now, if you have read the other articles in this series, you will get an idea of the potential difficulty of planning this mission. From the simple question of how can we make “good” games, “good” entertainment products, “good” pieces of art, “good” experiences — with all the discussion about what this “good” is— to the search for the magic formula that allows the state of flow (Csikszentmihalyi, 1990). From there on we advance and finally reach mimesis, which might as well be unreachable under its current presuppositions. Therefore, we should initially consider that while it may not be clear what makes mimesis happen step by step, we can take advantage of the insight of other authors in approaching the subject of video game design, artistic experiences and others. In the process of this exercise, one could also objectively question whether mimesis is an overcoming instance or not.

Today we choose to test the terrain of these structures. We do not insert ourselves deeply into the subject, not yet. We do go over certain notions and start mapping the territory. Along with this, I will make some guesses that will fly like probes into the deep and we will see, later, if they resonate.

STRUCTURE OF THE MIMESIS

For the purposes of this article, I will cover 3 methods:

MDA (Mechanics & Dynamics & Aesthetics)
6–11 (Emotions & Instincts)
Core, Focus & Power

MDA, developed by Robin Hunicke, Marc Leblanc & Robert Zubek , proposes the categorization of the components of a video game in 3 aspects:

Mechanics: concrete elements, assets, rules, systems, code; essentially, what the player uses to play and to be played

(jump, run, a box, a power-up, a weapon, the action of hitting, etc.)

Dynamics: the interactions that are born as a result of the use of mechanics in the game by the player (that is to say, the product of the exercise of some mechanics on others by action of the player)

(jumping over an obstacle, hitting an enemy, moving an object to solve a puzzle, etc.)

Aesthetics: they are defined as the emotional intentionality in the design, that is to say, the type of reaction, mood or feeling that we desire in the player and that is going to compose the type of “fun” through the proper definition of matching mechanics and pretended dynamics.

It is within the last element, “Aesthetics” and its proposal to catalog types of fun — as complex as it may be to define the concept itself — that we are left with the following list:

Aesthetics

Sensation: the game as to how you feel it, as sensation and pleasure
Fantasy: the game as a fiction you momentarily pretend to believe
Narrative: the game as a drama, as a story that unfolds
Challenge: the game as a series of obstacles to overcome
Companionship: the game as a social scene
Discovery: the game as a world to discover and explore
Expression: the game as self-discovery and experimentation
Submission: the game as a pastime

In the wake of these aesthetic categories we begin to approach a definition of fun. It’s there, but we still don’t see it. What we contemplate is that there are certain frames or lenses that allow us to analyze different game or experience schemes. The following understanding quickly follows:

Not all games or experiences are created equal, and we can recognize different schemes for different types of games. This means that an experience has a design intention, be it conscious or of an accidental nature, insofar as it is a human-made product. And every so-said-product operates as a symbolic conductor: not only does it contain certain symbols, messages and dynamics in itself , but it is also susceptible to the particular interpretations and movements of those who interact with it. From this it follows that a game or experience has a center, an irreductible first form, a “nucleus” that functions as its foundation — it being singular, as in “composed by one core element” or plural, as in “composed by conjoined core elements”. It is also understood that different nuclei will compose different experiences, since the nucleus contains the minimum and fundamental expression of all the experience, and the experience itself is the manifestation of that first unit. And, since there will be different nuclei with different experiences, each player or experimenter who comes into contact with these constructs will experience different movements (inner-subjective experiences) based on their own subjectivity and their quality as a type of player against a certain type of game.

So we have reviewed the types of “fun” according to MDA, which propose some primary — albeit general — schemes of games. It is also easy to see that nowadays almost no game contains purely a single type of “fun”, in the same way that we talk about “game genres”. If we wanted to make a simplistic parallel, we can think of it as flavors: we have sweet, salty, bitter, etc. We can mix these flavors, but nuclearly what we get will be a combination of different base elements. The appropriate combination of these towards the generation of a balanced structure — another term to discuss — will determine the “pleasurability” of the game or experience or meal for that matter. We could also discuss if the genres exist beyond the categories that we create culturally, and if in the disintegration of these categories we will find core elements that define experiences. Perhaps, fundamentally, we find certain basic units of what composes the personal experience of the human being and it is from them that we work. In this regard, the framework 6–11 by Roberto Dillon deepens and explores the topic in question:

6–11 (Dillon, 2010), named after its — 6 emotions & 11 instincts — scheme, is a framework that takes MDA and expands it. His proposal is to replace the taxonomy of aesthetics (the eight types of fun) in MDA. His argument is that the effectiveness of games to generate experiences is based on its appeal to certain elemental components within the human subconscious. For this purpose, he proceeds to categorize these components between emotions (6) and instincts (11). This way, we can find a fairly specific correlation between causes and effects. We can see which are the emotions and instincts that — at least on paper — motivate and drive the actions of the players, and how they relate to each other. Then these can be vinculated to different dynamics and mechanics in the game. Before continuing, let’s review these key components:

Emotions

Fear
Anger
Joy / Happiness
Pride
Sadness
Excitement

Instincts

Survival (Fight or Run)
Identification
Collecting
Greed
Protection / Care / Nurture
Aggression
Revenge
Competition
Communication
Exploration / Curiosity
Color appreciation

To our initial purpose, we found great value in the contribution of the 6–11 framework : we started from a general ignorance of “the game” until we reached a classification of types of fun (and potential genres) thanks to MDA — now, upon further analysis, we contemplate the appeal to certain emotions and instincts deeply rooted in us as human beings. Breaking this down a bit:

We can classify types of fun, types of movements or experiences, that work as systems. Within these systems there are motivators, triggers, which are defined as emotions and instincts.

This gives us the possibility to suggest that nuclear elements can be found “naturally” within each particular experience as they are products of the human mind. In other words, if we put together thousands of cases of experiences, we could find different irreductible nuclear units in them and their respective satellites. And what does this mean then? That these bases are constitutive of what makes a human being — or, at the very least, what appeals to us humans.

To have appeal there must be affinity: the content has to appeal in some way to the human being. And the human being cannot create something that does not contain in itself an aspect of the human that creates it, since it is with it from its conception. Talking about aspects, elements, foundations and etc. leads us to a very important question:

Can we define what makes a human being? What constitutes you?

No doubt this question has been asked from the beginning of thought. Perhaps we are an immeasurable creature, incomprehensible, chaotic in appearance and mysterious in foundation. Or maybe not. Perhaps we can understand what makes us and by extension what makes up what we create and happens to us. Perhaps we can identify an idea of what that could be, but elementally never understand it. What would happen if we really find an understanding of who we are? What would become of us if we existentially define ourselves in a collective manner ? And finally, can we be sure of such definitions, or would they be nothing more than a limited construction within the very notion of the human being, who, as soon as it considers itself human, fails to understand what in it exceeds its own notion of humanity?

These are strong, profound questions that may very well be unanswerable. However, we have always conceived the existence of symbols present in our cultural and personal productions. Or don’t we all dream of certain things that, purged of the individual mythology of each person, expose refined symbols of the human pantheon? There is a whole strand of psychoanalysis that is dedicated to the study of these elements, of these pillars of the human psyche. Carl Gustav Jung is considered the father of the study of archetypes as he calls them: an elusive concept without a doubt, but that broadly can be defined as the “ideal model that serves as a guideline for its imitation.” Imitation. Mimesis. Sounds familiar doesn’t it? This is no accident. The same notion appeals to the existence of a fundamental structure rooted in the collective human unconscious. What does this mean?

We are all human beings. As such, we share the same psyche. No matter the variations from person to person — we are all part of the same scheme. And this scheme is defined: it has a structure, and this structure can be decomposed — tentatively, never finally — into different models, archetypes. Or can it?

Plato was already expressing his theory of Ideas more than two thousand years ago, in which he professed that the world we live and experience, ourselves, are an expression of models that exist and conform a plane or scheme of reality: a matrix, literally. And from that matrix, made up of the “ideas” — also called forms — , fundamental units of the cosmos (what exists, existed, will and can exist) everything else is derived. We, in our capacity as rational beings, are able to access the contemplation and understanding of these ideas, of these archetypes and models, as soon as we are lucid beings who have emerged from the prison of the illusion of reality — similar to observing the shadow of things on the wall of a cave and believing that they are the truth, when they are a mere shadow or illusion of what is real. For this, you have to see beyond what you see, you have to develop a symbolic understanding — macrocosmic — or the same thing as saying: to see the big picture, the structure within and from-out the spectacle of reality takes place.

As designers it shouldn’t be too surreal of a concept. Or is it not our job to build the structures within the “illusion of reality” that we want to project is manifested? Do we not make use, more or less consciously, of the forms and archetypes to which we want to appeal with intentionality? At least we should, if we are clear about what our goal is. And it is precisely in this understanding that we can re-interpret the meaning of mimesis:

It is about entering into an organic contact — an integration — with the matrix of reality. Something emerges from this dynamic transcendental connection: a contact with divinity — the foundation of reality.

I know that in the length of this article I have opened immense doors to immeasurable topics of debate. I didn’t even stop, as it well befit, to explain them in depth and propose examples with explanations. Perhaps the objective of this mention is to give a slight glimpse of the world beyond the world, a subject we will target later. From this day forward we have opened our minds to the exploration of this notion, these founding units of experience. This will therefore be a future theme in this series: we will go over the ideas and archetypes again, as they deserve, on a later occasion.

And yet, with all this enormous display, the question of the structure of mimesis remains open. For this I want to return to the world of the concrete and approach the method exposed by Adrián Novell called “Core, Focus & Power” (Novell, 2019). In it, Novell exposes a methodology to focus the design of a game — that is, to elaborate a specific intention, to identify the purpose of the design in an intelligent way and to articulate the different components of the experience (in this case games, but not limiting to that context). This method is very important to our analysis, since Novell manages to successfully synthesize a pragmatic way for identifying, understanding, and subsequently harmoniously designing a nuclear unit of experience. With this preliminary we will proceed to state and contemplate some of the concepts, procedures and ideas behind the theory:

Core

This is the basic unit, the core of the experience . It is an intelligent decision that defines the project preliminarily. It is the “north” that indicates where to go. In Novell’s words:

“The Core could be a word, a feeling, an emotion, a mechanic, a character. It could be a business objective, a platform. I like to sum this up by saying that the Core is: “the design intent”.

Based on our previous analysis, we can see that in the core we can place ideas, archetypes, emotions, instincts and their many expressions — sometimes, depending on the design intention, we will use a core that is not a fundamental unit, but encompasses other independent concepts as a whole. To understand this, let’s think of a concept as an atom: to this day we have managed to subdivide it into its components (neutrons, electrons, protons), and the same to the others, each time finding a smaller unit. There comes a point where we can believe we have found the irreductible fundamental form of the atom, or perhaps we can go further. Perhaps there comes a point when there is a minor unit, a definitive unit, but it is so ineffable and primordial that we can hardly understand that it exists and cannot fulfill a specific and practical purpose. Who knows — maybe it will even break reality.

We don’t want that. What we do want is to generate an experience that, in its mimetic quality, imitates an essential model that allows us to come into contact with the vowels of the real. In order to achieve this, our core must be something real and it must be something that we understand, or at least grasp. Once we have isolated one of these models, we will use it as the core and build a focused experience.

Focus

From the definition of the core we can identify what we want in our design; and, by definition, what not. That is, what elements contribute to our design intention and what elements harm it. Novell calls this focus. As the name suggests, it is about focusing, prioritizing and articulating the elements that contribute positively to the design core. To focus is to apply a filter, defined by the core. Only what’s productive may pass — understanding this notion and how it is justified will be the subject of another analysis.

Everything that makes up the experience must be a reflection, a contribution, reminiscent of the core. All elements point to one thing; everything cooperates with this purpose of hyper-definition and gives it power. The energies of the project point in the same direction, and therefore there is no conflict between its premises. There is nothing that betrays the original idea.

But if the core is the target and the focus is the bow, we lack a component: the arrow and the power that will impulse it.

Power

The concept of power is perhaps the most elusive component of Novell’s method. He defines it as “Going Beyond”. In art we would call it “climax”. It is a pure manifestation, the purest manifestation, of the core — of all the design intent and focus behind the experience. With sufficient definition and power, the element that underlies and underpins the entire construction emerges from the apparently synthetic product and surprisingly reaches the player or experimenter, snatching them from their position as a spectator and makes them an explicit participant in the phenomenon in question. Power is aiming at the heart and delivering our intention like a penetrating and oscillating javelin. To arrive at a direct, pure, completely transcendental but understandable contact with what is happening. And in that contact a communication arises: with the model, with the matrix. In other words, the spirit of the individual meets the spirit of the thing — and in that thing, the matrix is contained. Reality, god, divinity, truth. Games, art, etc. are mimesis when at their best: they are a convincing imitation of the matrix of reality (this is, the constitutive ideas in it). A core that really is a core — that effectively represents and imitates a model or archetype or idea — will be, tentatively, the blow that kicks the experimenter into the state of mimesis.

It would be necessary to ask then if this is the only method to be inserted in mimesis. I tentatively propose that it is — a — method. It is a powerful, energetic, penetrating type of entry. And although its antithesis would be somewhat harmonious, serene, almost passive and submissive, we can also argue that the active and aggressive character of the concept of power can emerge from the common meaning of the word but not from its meaning as defined by Novell. Or wouldn’t it be the zenith, the climax, the power of a meditation — to give an example — the moment of the most solemn surrender?

CONCLUSION

I believe that this core, focus and power system is a step in the right direction towards an understanding of the structure of mimesis. MDA and 6–11 give us resources and notions to understand the emotions and instincts rooted in the emerging dynamics between the mechanics of the different systems and the feelings that a player or experimenter may have in relation to a specific aesthetic. Proceeding with the absolute disintegration of what we can find will be imperative to find the models, ideas & archetypes that will be, for our purpose, our cores. In a later work we will subject them to this process, to see if we can go even deeper — and I think we will.

We will, too, further our efforts regarding the differentiation between “our reality” and the matrix of reality.

Thank you for reading.