There are things that are worthless-- that provide no value. There are also things that are worse than worthless-- things that provide negative value. I have found that people sometimes confuse the latter for the former, which can carry potentially dire consequences.
One simple example of this is in fencing. I once fenced with an opponent who put a bit of an unnecessary twirl on his blade when recovering from each parry. After our bout, one of the spectators pointed out that there wasn't any point to the twirls and that my opponent would improve by simply not doing them anymore. My opponent claimed that, even if the twirls were unnecessary, at worst they were merely an aesthetic preference that was useless but not actually harmful.
However, the observer explained that any unnecessary movement is harmful in fencing, because it spends time and energy that could be put to better use-- even if that use is just recovering a split second faster! [1]
During our bout, I indeed scored at least one touch because my opponent's twirling recovery was slower than a less flashy standard movement. That touch could well be the difference between victory and defeat; in a real sword fight, it could be the difference between life and death.
This isn't, of course, to say that everything unnecessary is damaging. There are many things that we can simply be indifferent towards. If I am about to go and fence a bout, the color of the shirt that I wear under my jacket is of no concern to me-- but if I had spent significant time before the bout debating over what shirt to wear instead of training, it would become a damaging detail rather than a meaningless one.
In other words, the real damage is dealt when something is not only unnecessary, but consumes resources that could instead be used for productive tasks. We see this relatively easily when it comes to matters of money, but when it comes to wastes of time and effort, many fail to make the inductive leap.
[1] Miyamoto Musashi agrees:
The primary thing when you take a sword in your hands is your intention to cut the enemy, whatever the means. Whenever you parry, hit, spring, strike or touch the enemy's cutting sword, you must cut the enemy in the same movement. It is essential to attain this. If you think only of hitting, springing, striking or touching the enemy, you will not be able actually to cut him. More than anything, you must be thinking of carrying your movement through to cutting him. You must thoroughly research this.
As I (and others) have repeatedly said, if your goals do not include being effective at solving the usual game-mechanical goals, then my comments do not apply to you.
There are a couple of reasons why it might be “bad” or “wrong” to be less than optimally effective at handling various game-mechanical challenges[1] in a group such as D&D. Let's explore them:
1. You have a vision for your character, but the stats on your character sheet do not support that vision. Frustration ensues.
Example: You envision your character as being a skilled, veteran demon hunter. In your character's backstory, he faces off against the fiends of the Abyss and wins; he is reknowned for his demon-hunting prowess. The game's plot and action also incorporates this assumption of competence.
However, you have built your character in such a way that he is not actually effective in battle against demons (or against anything else). Not because you've deliberately made him ineffective; you've just failed to make him good. So during the actual game, you fight demons and the demons win. Or, in any case, you just fail to do anything very useful in those combats.
So you get frustrated, quite naturally. You expected to be good at fighting demons, and roleplaying-wise that's what your character is built around, but the stats just don't support that. Disappointing.
If the problem is then compounded by your not realizing that the issue is your lack of character-building knowledge and skill, then addition problems may ensue. You might cast about for an explanation of your ineffectual combat performance; depending on your temperament, you might blame the DM (that encounter was unfair!), the other players (they were hogging the spotlight!), D&D in general (this game is stupid and sucks!), etc. Interpersonal conflict results; no one is happy.
Clearly, it would be better if you could just build a character that's as effective as you want him to be.
2. You're less effective than the other player characters. Resentment and jealousy ensues.
An example is hardly necessary here. If the rest of the party is contributing meaningfully to solving game-mechanical challenges — whether these be combat, social interaction, assorted noncombat challenges (“we need to cross this chasm”; “we need to infiltrate this castle”; “we need to figure out whodunit”), or anything else that is handled by game mechanics in any way (which in D&D is quite a large chunk of the things that make up the game) — and you, meanwhile, are not contributing anywhere near as much, because your character is built badly...
... then bad feelings are almost sure to result, and understandably so. No one likes to be deadweight. Even if your friends are very nice people, and no one is scolding you for being useless, or anything, most people who play D&D like for their characters to usefully contribute to the party's efforts. Again, this is quite natural.
Now, there do exist approaches that serve to mitigate certain aspects of this sort of problem. (The tier system for classes is a well-known one; it acknowledges that different gamers differ in the amount of effort they are willing to invest in optimizing their character's effectiveness, and empowers a DM to arrange things such that the overall effectiveness of all player characters ends up roughly on par.) However, such approaches do little to help those cases where someone thinks their character is built effectively, but is wrong; or where someone thinks they know what they're doing, but is wrong.
3. You're less effective than is necessary for the successful achievement of in-game goals. Failure and frustration ensues.
Example: Your party goes up against a Bad Guy. You're bad at combat, and as a result of your ineffectiveness, the Bad Guy ends up killing your party. Frustration ensues.
Or does it? Well, some people are of a temperament that can handle such failures, laugh it off, and find fun in defeat as well as victory. If your gaming group is entirely composed of such people, then your ineffectiveness is not actually a “problem” for anyone. Even so, while getting wiped out in a one-shot adventure may be cool, and may even make for a cool story (I’ve seen it a few of times), enduring defeat after defeat in a longer-running campaign is less fun. Even worse if it prevents you from progressing through the story/campaign/adventure path/etc.
If you intentionally make ineffective characters — or if you’re just aware that you don’t have the skill to make effective characters — and your fellow players are OK with this, then the onus is generally on the DM to provide challenges appropriate to the party’s capabilities. But what if the DM, and the other players, expect you to bring effectiveness to the table... and you don’t? Then, imo, it may rightly be said that you’re “doing it wrong”. Your lack of awareness of your own ineffectiveness is costing other people their fun. Not cool.
[1] This is not necessarily combat. It could also involve various non-combat skills, among other things.
Ok, so what if you envision your character as a consummate diplomat, secretive yet suave... and all you have on your character sheet are stats like "stabbing people" and "being really strong, in order to stab people better" ? Would you say that such a ... (read more)