In his book Literary Theory, Terry Eagleton explains the "hermeneutical circle" as the process of reading and interpreting in which "individual features are intelligible in terms of the entire context, and the entire context becomes intelligible through the indivudual features." The concept applies to other kinds of interpretation, like drawing conclusions about history.

Circles Within Circles

One implication of this hermeneutical circle is "reader competence." How well you understand any written work depends in part on what you already know about its genre, its context, the body of knowledge that work belongs to. A competent reader is equiped to "get it."

For example, it's difficult to know whether Manstem's chapter about Citadel in Lost Victories is a snow job unless you're familiar with the battle of Kursk in general. But you develop this general knowledge only through reading a variety of sources. What you draw from each source influences your further reading and may make you reappraise what you already "know" from previous reading. The hermeneutical circle is a chicken-and-egg process.

A "competent" reader of literature in this sense recognizes metaphor as a poetic device, so when he sees Blake's "0 Rose, thou art sick," he concludes that this rose is different from a rose in a gardening handbook. Likewise, we wargamers are familiar with a set of conventional techniques like movement factors, ZOCs, dice rolls, etc. that are supposed to represent battlefield conditions and events.

In addition to our knowledge of how wargame mechanics are intended to produce simulacra, we develop a fund of historical "common knowledge." For example, a popular idea is that the Americans got whipped at Kasserine. Thoughtful players intertwine their "gaming competence" and "historical competence" to both critique and learn from games. We test game-table outcomes against our historical knowledge to judge the accuracy of a game. On the other hand, if a game seems to give a plausible model of reality, we draw historical conclusions from it.

Our opinions are bound up with our knowledge and help shape our "historical competence." We all know Rommelites, Napoleoniphiles, Monty-bashers, or whatever. How did we get this way? And do we prefer games that help us stay this way? What happens when a game challenges our preconceptions? How many people would object to mediocre action ratings for the Hermann Goring division because George C. Scott called it the Germans' best outfit in that Patton movie?

Given the depth of intellect and breadth of opinion in our hobby, we're sure to keep arguing about games' historicity with as much energy as we put into winning. At HomerCon alone I heard spirited discussions of Civil War command control techniques and the validity of the OCS optional air rules in EatG. Also, I overheard remarks like, "If you subscribe to what he's saying and "The trouble with that theory is . . ."

Good, I say. The clash of well-considered opinions ought to make us examine our own positions and keep us from taking "historical facts" for granted. Yes, games include facts, but it's the way games provide for the interplay of interpretations-the designers' and the players'-that keep them interesting. Heck, if we weren't interested in trying out and evaluating a variety of viewpoints, why would we keep buying new games on the Bulge, Waterloo, Gettysburg, and so on? At our best, we keep putting others' interpretations, and our own, to the test.

Tailspin

The sinister turn of the hermeneutical circle leads to solipsism, mere continuation of myth and prejudice, if we single out "evidence" that supports what we already want to believe. Consider Alexander's interpretation of Kasserine as proof that US soldiers were second rate. He became oblivious to contrary evidence. How many gamers believe that the Falaise Gap was a decisive missed opportunity? That the invasion of Russia (Napoleon's or Hitler's, take your pick) was doomed to fail? That Montgomery was lethargic and overly cautious? These may all be valid points, but we should have better reasons than "common knowledge" for thinking so.

How do we evaluate a game as a simulationthat is, as a seemingly faithful representation of a conflict and the alternate courses it might plausibly have taken--without some knowledge before and beyond the game itself?

On the other hand, what good is the game as a simulation if it doesn't add to our knowledge and understanding?

We're already riding the hermeneutical merry-go-round. We can either keep circling, going nowhere, or we can spiral up to enhanced understanding and enjoyment. To do so, we have to give up any naive ideas about how wargames "contain" or "impart" historical knowledge. We don't just soak up designers' insights (or errors). Like reading, wargaming is an active process. Call it the hermeneutic circle, the dialectic, bootstrapping, or good old give-and-take. A wargame is not so much a good source of knowledge as a good place to start reexamining what we "know."

Don't think for a moment that my phrase "as a simulation" is code from the tired old realism-versus-fun school of thought. For me, historicity is an essential part of the fun. I yawn at the thought of commanding "the blue side" or "the red side" in some bogus war on a fictional battlefield. I suspect that somebody who doesn't know Stonewall Jackson from Jesse Jackson would likewise be bored and mystified by even the most elegant, exciting, and competitive Civil Wargame.