RPG Mythos

Abstract

Narrative has been a means by which to pass culture down through the generations, to help people understand their environments, and to provide a sense community and identity through telling and listening as well as the unique features of the characters and stories themselves. The most familiar surviving stories that connect us to our ancestors take the form of folklore and mythology. Games, too, have served many of the same functions as storytelling. In modern times, games and storytelling are no less prevalent, although the particular forms they take and functions they fulfill have been vastly expanded. Narrative gaming has become extremely popular, allowing for the consumption of both regional heritage and global multiculturalism. This essay will explore the roles of these contemporary narratives and provide an analysis of the transition from the traditional narrative to the live role-playing game.

Keywords

culture narrative storytelling role-playing mythmaking

Introduction

Role-playing games (RPGs) have been growing in breadth and popularity since their introduction in 1974 (Schick, 1991), and today RPGs form a significant part of cultural life in societies around the world (Bowman, 2011; Castronova, 2005; Fine, 2002 [1983]). These games are rich in cultural information and often take on a significant role in the social and personal lives of the players—an importance best exemplified by Montola, Stenros, and Waern’s term “pervasive games” (2012), referring to games offering a broader and deeper experience than were known before the past couple of decades.

Understanding informal social environments and popular leisure activities like RPGs and other forms of play is essential to building a comprehensive knowledge of the ways that people relate to one another, understand identity, and engage in the process of education and agency in culture (Bowman, 2011; Malaby, 2009; Taylor, 2006). In particular, the central goal of this essay is to investigate the ties between traditional and modern narrative forms, as a means to understand the adaptation of social institutions and forms of interaction to technological and social structural innovation. The essay also aims to demonstrate the necessity of particular social practices that propagate the social system of a given time and place upheld by behaviors and institutions that adapt themselves to the social system in question—in this case, the traditional narrative and the live RPG. Understanding the RPG as a counterpart and successor in print societies to the traditional folk narrative in oral societies will serve as evidence of this type of institutional adaptation, as well as the necessity of certain basic social processes that are fulfilled by each narrative form, albeit in very different ways.

The social and cultural implications of gaming environments has been well studied using a variety of methods and interdisciplinary approaches (Malaby, 2009; Steinkuehler & Williams, 2006; Taylor, 2006), mostly employing some mixture of qualitative approaches, although these studies have been built primarily around Massive Multiplayer Online RPGs (MMORPGs) and other MMOs. These social spaces have been described variously as a form of new “third place” for informal interaction (Steinkuehler & Williams, 2006), “synthetic worlds” in which virtually rendered individuals re-craft social and economic reality (Castronova, 2005), “social factories” in which the economy and governmentality of virtual and physical reality bleed into one another (Kucklich, 2009), and as a “dispositional space” through which to understand things, rather than to do or to be things (Malaby, 2009). Online gaming has also been explored in the context of education (Squire, 2005), where digital media and even online RPGs have been becoming increasingly popular. The research on MMORPGs and other online games is certainly meaningful and will be addressed again in this essay, but there is a significant empty space in the literate on games and play where the live game is concerned. Given the prevalence of live gaming and its importance in the social lives of many of its participants (Fine, 1983; Holcolm, 2000), as well as the dearth of research into these social imaginaries and realities, there is no end of open space to move about freely and discover the abundant but oft-ignored impacts that these structures have on modern social life. Such is the substance of the essay to follow.

The aim of this article is, put briefly, to broaden the scope of inquiry surrounding live RPGs, their reflections of the cosmopolitanism and individualism of the cultures that produced them, and their capacity for reciprocal cultural production. What research exists on the live RPG and cultures of creativity has focused broadly on microstructure, using social psychological and interactionist approaches to understand the systems of identity and meaning making that characterize these communities (Bowman, 2011; Dormans, 2006; Fine, 1983; Holcolm, 2000; Johnson, 1997; Plank, 1968; Simon, 1987). This research is indeed quite valuable, particularly when addressing the common perceptions of gamers as lonely, isolated, outcast, and preoccupied with escapist fictional identities. It is my intent to take an alternate and complementary approach, suggesting a theoretical framework that searches for the broader social functions served by live RPGs, not just to the players themselves, but more widely to a modern society that increasingly derives value and validation from the creation of structured fantasy narratives. In order to illustrate these functions, I will compare the social purposes and structures of RPGs in modern societies to what I perceive to be corollary narrative structures in oral societies, the myth and the folktale.¹

This essay is designed to be a theoretical engagement with the concept of the live RPG as a functional successor within the participating segments of print societies to the mythic narrative within oral societies. The structure of the argument made herein is more abstract than empirical—however, it should be noted that this argument is derived not only from existing analyses of folktales, myths, and RPG narratives in the scholarly literature but from the author’s own years of experience in tabletop and live-action RPG (LARP), as well as concurrent observations of activities, and numerous and extensive conversations with gamers concerning the practice and implications of RPG storytelling. The information, arguments, and conclusions included in this essay stem from engagements with scholarly work but also from firsthand experiences and observations in the world of live role-playing.

Briefly, before moving to the investigation of the literature and analysis regarding traditional narratives, it is important to establish exactly what is meant by the term “live role-playing game.” The term, as it is used here, can be best broken down into its components parts. The easiest to explain, the term “live” is meant to signify that the participants of the game are interacting face to face (rather than through some form of distance communication using the Internet or telephones). By RPG, I refer to a structured interaction between a group of players, in which the players are provided with a fictional setting created either by the game company or by the leading participant (hereafter called the game master or GM) in which each player either dictates or acts out the actions and reactions of his or her individual character in reference to the actions of other players and events of the game. Typically (though not always), the actions that a player is able to take on behalf of his or her character are dictated by certain rule-based abilities, usually numerically determined at the start of play. Games differ in the strictness of these rules, the settings in which the characters are placed, and the number of players and style of interaction. The experience of gaming can be quite diverse, with the exact characteristics of the game depending largely on the specific gaming group. It may also be a stand-alone narrative or part of a larger story taking place over the course of multiple sessions. During the progression through the narrative, players move toward particular goals that may be specific or generally defined, exploring the setting and encountering obstacles to be overcome. However, all live RPGs provide the players (including the GM) with the opportunity to participate in a collective and democratic process of narrative creation, social production, and reproduction of solidarity, and active engagement with normative and deviant social behavior (Bowman, 2011; Dormans, 2006; Fine, 1983).

Role-playing structures vary widely but are generally subdivided into the “tabletop” structure mentioned previously, and the LARP (Bowman, 2011). At the most basic level, the central difference between the two categories derives from the form of acting that the players perform. In the former type, players generally describe their characters’ respective actions, whereas in the latter, players generally embody their respective characters, acting and reacting as their characters would. Games are likely to fall somewhere on a spectrum between these two extremes, normally incorporating some characteristics of each. Given that these forms will be analyzed under the broader heading of the live RPG, it is not necessary to go into greater detail.

With this outline of the RPG form in mind, we should be able to more productively digest the comparison to traditional narratives. In the following section, I will define the myth and the folktale in their roles as traditional narrative types and discuss briefly the central sociological functions of these narratives in oral societies. I will then outline the process of transition of various societies toward a “modern” social structure, precipitated in large part by the popularization of the printing press, and its consequences for the changing forms of myth and folktales and the relationships of society to these narratives. In the second section, I will return to the RPG, demonstrating the similarities and differences in social function that can be seen between the older narrative types and the new RPG narrative form. In the final section, I will draw connections to the wider study of culture and suggest avenues for further research into this largely unexplored but expanding subsection of modern culture.

Form and Function of Myth and Folklore

Unlike the narrative forms of live RPGs, mythology and folk narratives have been extensively studied—their definitions squabbled over, settled, and unsettled again, their functions described, deconstructed, critiqued, and described again (Bascom 1954; Durkheim, 1965 [1912]; Georges & Jones, 1995; Kirk, 1973; Levi-Strauss, 1987, 1995; additionally, the many and varied discussions in scholarly journals such as the American Journal of Folklore, Mythological Studies Journal, and similar). For the present purposes, the main social functions in question will be those that are fulfilled by both of these narrative forms—analytically, they will be considered together as one category for interpretation. First, it will be necessary to briefly define what is meant by “myth” and “folktales” or “folk narratives” and, lest we forget, how they differ.

Myths, as they are referred to in this work, are the narratives that accompany beliefs, norms, and rituals in the creation of particular religions. In common parlance, a “myth” has become any elaborate tale that is false but passed off as if it is true—indeed, this is one of the dictionary definitions of the term (Oxford English Dictionary, 2012). This is too broad a definition for the current discussion, but we may use a definition of the term that is conceptually similar. A religious mythology is, indeed, a story that is meant to communicate some form of truth—sometimes literal, sometime transcendental—but in all cases employs some use of exaggeration or fiction to communicate its message (Segal, 2004).

Folktales are comprised of similar narrative arcs, value-laden conclusions, and varying levels of assumed historical veracity. However, unlike mythology, folktales are not tied to religious belief. They are instead an act of heritage creation, a means of connecting an ethnic group with their common worldly history (fictionalized or otherwise), rather than their shared otherworldly creation and devotion. Such stories are passed from one generation to the next as a kind of narrative heirloom and have historically been insular by nature (Georges & Jones, 1995; Radcliffe-Brown, 1968 [1952]).

It should be noted that although both of these narrative structures have their roots in oral culture, they are also prevalent in print society, and print societies create their own myths and folktales not only in the context of new narrative settings like the RPG, but also in the traditional forms of intergenerational and intracultural communication just as in oral societies (Barthes, 2012 [1957]; MacDonald, 1999). Substantial changes have taken place, however, in the fluidity of these classic narrative types and their ability to breach the boundaries of their strict insular lines of communication, but the narrative forms themselves continue to be very much present and meaningful. The mythologic tradition that accompanied the Norse religion of the pre–Christian Vikings was influential during its day (DuBois, 1999) but is clearly present in contemporary culture despite the vastly different way that people connect to it (Reynolds, 1992). These kinds of contemporary engagements with classic mythic narratives are common in a variety of settings (Brunvand, 2000; Georges & Jones, 1995; Stephens & McCallum, 1998), although, as discussed subsequently, the ways in which we interact with these narratives and with other consumers of the same narratives are drastically different within print-primary societies.

Despite their distinctions, for the purpose of this essay, myth and folk narratives will be analyzed as one in terms of both their uses by oral societies and their transformations as they enter the popular consciousness of increasingly cosmopolitan² print societies and their comparison to the live RPG. The description of the disparities in their content and structure may therefore seem like a digression, but I explicate it here nonetheless primarily because it is my hope that further research will be conducted into the relationship between these and other narrative forms and the live RPG, and future researchers may note that it will become important to investigate possible differences in the comparability and general bearing of these structures. In short, although their differentiation need not be a central point of the current analysis, it serves as a reminder and perhaps an epistemological request for greater differentiation of analysis by future scholars of narrative.

In oral societies, communication of narratives is reliant on in-person tellings and retellings, which is say, dependent upon the presence of a physically copresent storyteller and audience. The exact method of communication—the storyteller, the audience, the rarity or abundance of tellings, the extent of ritual surrounding the telling—differs greatly from one culture to the next, depending on the particular traditions of the culture, the type of story being told, and the manifest or intended functions of the telling (Ong, 2002 [1982]; Vansina, 1985). In order to determine the relationship between the people and the narrative, it is important to remember the structural qualities of these societies.

The social structure of oral societies has been studied since the early years of both sociology and cultural anthropology (see Durkheim’s Elementary Forms of the Religious Life 1965 [1912]; Malinowski’s Argonauts of the Western Pacific 1984 [1922]; or Boas’ The Mind of Primitive Man 1938; among other similar ethnographies from the late 19th and early 20th centuries). The defining characteristics of these societies are their use of similarity and shared norms as a source of social solidarity, their small size, and relatively insular cultural systems (Durkheim, 1984 [1893]; Ong, 2002 [1982]; Radcliffe-Brown, 1968 [1952]). Given these characteristics, the myth and folk narratives that are created within such cultures carry particular qualities , namely, (1) narrative content focused on the in-group history and locally familiar characters and archetypes, (2) presentation of hyperbolized but traditional normative rules and situations particular to the in-group, (3) flexibility—as with all oral tradition, verbal retellings of narratives allow a great deal of creative license to the storyteller, (4) a distinct performative separation of storyteller and audience (these parameters of the folk narrative being derived from the synthesis of Bascom, 1954; Kirk, 1973; Levi-Strauss, 1995 [1978]; Radcliffe-Brown, 1964 [1922]; 1968 [1952]; Vansina, 1985).

The social functions of myth and folk narratives in oral societies are wide ranging, and there has been substantial documentation and analysis of the ways in which such societies put these narratives to use (Bascom, 1954; Kirk, 1973; Durkheim, 1965 [1912]; Radcliffe-Brown, 1968 [1952]). To be discussed further in the next section, it is interesting that while scholars have tended to focus on the social and cultural functions of myth and folktales (e.g., see Kirk, 1973), those few studying RPG have focused their attention primarily on their personal uses by and for the individual (see Bowman, 2011; Fine, 1983; Dormans, 2006). For our present purposes of historical comparison, however, there are five social purposes of the folk narrative form that make it ripe for association with its more modern narrative form. These purposes are not in any particular order of priority but have been derived from a synthesis approach to the great works on the subject, including folkloristic works by Bascom (1954), Campbell (1988), and Kirk (1973), as well as affiliated sociological and anthropological texts from Durkheim (1965 [1912]) to Berger and Luckmann (1967 [1966]), to Levi-Strauss (1995 [1978]).

Exaggerated communication of expected norms, including reinforcement of dominance relationships.

Providing a people with a sense of solidarity through shared history and common totemic symbols.

Facilitating a sense of cultural empowerment through the portrayal of the victories of common cultural heroes.

Creating a system of mastery and ownership over the heritage and characteristics of the society.

Entertainment and leisure through nostalgia and imaginative experience.

The first purpose is well documented, as scholars have for years analyzed storytelling as a form of socialization (Bascom, 1954; Tappan & Brown, 1989)—though not always explicitly couching the utility of narratives in this exact language. Myths and folktales both take varied approaches to the communication of morality, from a direct parable form focused on normative education (e.g., Biblical parables³) to a tale of celestial battles and alliances that emphasize the rightness of particular codes of behavior through godly example (found, for instance, in Traditional Irish folktales⁴). Some traditional narratives may emphasize a subordinate relationship between people and their figures of authority, while others lionize their authorities in comprehensible (if fantastic) ways—again, the previous examples serve as reasonable cases of these respective pedagogic approaches. Despite the differences however, each folk narrative is designed for socialization, training both the narrator through the act of choosing which parts of the tale to recite, and the audience through the connection to common cultural heroes and villains whose behavior is to be alternately admired or reviled (Levi-Strauss, 1995 [1978]; Vansina, 1985)

Solidarity, pride, and cultural esteem are propagated by the myth and folktale in similar ways, demonstrating iconic characters or agents representative and often directly linked to the particular culture of origin vanquishing enemies, overcoming obstacles or oppression, and ultimately coming through tribulation to arrive at a glorious (if not always rosy) conclusion. Many myths (including stories contained within the Norse and Christian mythological traditions) may end in disaster and death for popular heroes, but the death is never meaningless for the people to whom the myth belongs—there is always meant to be significance for the audience and the storyteller, be it moral, normative, or emotional (Campbell, 1988). The popular Christian myth of Jesus Christ’s torture and crucifixion, and his subsequent rise from death provide Christian followers (as well as those non-Christians who may find inspiration in the narrative) with a sense of a glorious and mutually binding history centered on this foundational event. It provides them also with a common cultural ethic of hope, with Christ’s story being the active embodiment of resurrection and glory after great strife. Similar inspiration and in-group solidarity comes also from folktales, often centered on familiar ancestral figures (human, animal, or otherwise), tales of exaggerated deeds as well as shared suffering in a nebulous but relevant past.

These narratives, and their active communication by contemporary members of the in-group, allow the people also to take a full measure of control over this complex system of solidarity and history (Bascom, 1954). It may be true that an event in time is fixed, but it is also true that a single event may be interpreted and recounted in as many different ways as there are storytellers to remember it. Particularly in the oral tradition, the storyteller has a great deal of fluidity and flexibility to take license with a cultural classic, to make it new again (Collins, 2009; Ong, 2002 [1982]; Vansina, 1985). With such flexibility, the story may be molded to fit the changing times, accounting for the rise of new normative conditions and taboos, changing environment and contact with other cultures, and other cultural shifts that necessitate malleability in a narrative if it is to remain relevant and meaningful. License over the content and communication of myth and folk narratives has impact as well on the flows of power and in-group pride for a people. Like the shared glory of mighty ancestors and godly figures, mastery over the arc of the narrative and the exact turn of events facilitates an in-group power. It may also be used to elevate the storyteller to a position of power and respect, in large part by virtue of his or her ability to dictate the detail content of the traditions and heritage of the people (Kirk, 1973; Radcliffe-Brown, 1964 [1922]; Vansina, 1985). Acting as the keeper of history, as well as its shaper and voice to the current world, puts the narrator in a powerful position with reference to the collective memory of the group.

Addressing the final imperative of the traditional folk narrative, there can be no more thorough exploration of the spectacle and entertainment machine of this structure than the one provided by Roland Barthes’ (1957) classic, Mythologies. In this text, Barthes explores the traditional narrative form—as it lives in the modern world—in terms of its aesthetic appeal as well as its capacity for symbolic meaning and cultural production, in a cornucopia of examples ranging from depictions of cannibalism to Parisian striptease, during which special attention is always paid to the production of the image and the spectacle. As with ritual portrayal of mythologic and folkloric figures in oral societies (Campbell, 1988; Kirk, 1973; Levi-Strauss, 1987), Barthes’ mythologies are about depiction centered on the essential component of an attentive and receptive audience. People generally like to be entertained, and from oral societies to print societies, narratives have provided (and still provide) this important component of social life.

The Rise of Printed Media

From the 16th century onward, springing from the development and popularization of printed literature, levels of literacy have grown among the populations of countries and cultures around the world, as the printed word’s capacity to dictate relations of power and communicate symbolic systems has simultaneously gained power (Anderson 2006 [1983]; Collins, 2009). Popular access to printed media, and the increased demand for published copies of traditional tales has had an interesting effect on the structure of these narratives as well as their relationship to their cultures of origin and literature–consumers throughout the world.⁵

Perhaps the greatest change came from the process of standardization. One of the central characteristics of the narratives of oral societies was their mutability—with each telling, the narrator could alter the story in any way he or she saw fit, which could easily result in hundreds of versions of the story, with the potential for versions so disparate that they could hardly be recognized for having the same root (Ong, 2002 [1985]). As these tales went into popular printing, not only were the details of particular narratives codified in book form—they also solidified in the minds of the consumers, as thousands (perhaps tens of thousands, millions even) of readers were all subjected to the same version or close variants of the story. With the most popular folk narratives, there have been retellings and reprintings, but with the broad publication of traditional tales came a level of rigidity anathema to the structure of the tales in their original form.⁶

There is value as well in thinking of these tales as “packaged”—put together in such a way as to include events, characters, details, behaviors, and values that would appeal to the intended consumer, and omitting or changing those parts of the narrative that might be too foreign, unrecognizable or unpalatable to the readers (or listeners, as in the case of small children) from outside the traditional in-group. Complicating the previous perspective on the standardization of folk and myth narratives, this view also demonstrates that the power to take advantage of the flexibility of these tales may still belong to the storyteller, but the storyteller’s voice is no longer mediated through a lens of insular tradition but rather through the powerful structures of capitalist interests, popular culture (including the cosmopolitan ethic, addressed in the next section), and the decisive apparatus of the publishing company.

With the popularization of printed media, the flexibility of traditional narratives and the exercise of agency have been irrevocably altered, with the power over the narrative changing hands from the previous chain of testimonies by active participants (Vansina, 1985) to the impersonal control of publishing industry, and the content of these narratives (from cultural histories to sacred stories) congealing to a rigid, immutable commodity (Ong, 2002[1982]).

Crossing Boundaries

Another consequence of modern technological development has been the possibility for the folktale and the insular myth to cross national borders, cultural divides, and geographic boundaries. Among the popular folktales consumed during modern times has been the tale of the trickster spider, Anansi—an iconic figure from West African and Caribbean folklore (Haase, 2008). For such a tale to reach children (myself included) in the northern-central U.S. state of Minnesota, and with the majority of the local heritage harkening back to western and northern Europe, it was imperative that we live in a world of narratives characterized by fluidity, multicultural cosmopolitanism, and common literacy (to say nothing of the processes of colonialism and slavery that facilitated the bringing of African folklore to the New World). Although the cosmopolitan influence on culture sees highly uneven global distribution, and its own effects in the United States are varied in terms of both penetration and manifestation, the increased global mobility of commodities and human beings has brought an undeniable mingling of diverse traditional narratives to new cultural consumers throughout the world (Collins, 2009).

It is not difficult to guess the profundity of the effect that centuries of intercultural exchange have had on the structures of these traditional narratives as well as the ways by which people relate to them as carriers of cultural heritage and normative systems. Where once the folktale was told by a cultural in-group, to the cultural in-group, about the cultural in-group, it is now common for the storyteller to have never met the audience—indeed, for the audience and the storyteller to live on separate continents. The content of the story may be wholly disconnected from the heritage or culture of the reader, or even, in some cases, from the author. Consider, for example, the presence of the aforementioned “Anansi” character based in West African folktales and prevalent in Caribbean cultural narratives—the likelihood of an American reader encountering someone from the cultural in-group from which the folktale originated is relatively low. Moreover, this separation can be extended beyond the myth or folk narrative, given that such authors as Chinua Achebe and Gabriel Garcia Marquez both enjoy widespread popularity thousands of miles from their respective homes in Nigeria and Colombia. The separation of the storyteller from the audience is pervasive in the communication of the literary narrative and includes folktales and myths and other fictions and nonfictions alike.

Arguably, if a person hails from a predominately literate and global culture that itself has been the product of the strong influence from cosmopolitan forces, the folktale that originated on the other side of the planet may indeed have become a part of his or her heritage. However, the spread of the narrative from the oral culture of its conception has already facilitated the structural and symbolic change, creating a different form of narrative communication that may serve wholly different functions for the new culture by which it has been assimilated and consumed.

The impact of this change on the social functions fulfilled by myth and folk narratives in print societies cannot be underestimated. While it was possible for these narratives to carry traditional norms and in-group history from generation to generation in their cultures of origin (an excellent example in contemporary print societies can be found in the urban legend—a topic explored in interesting and entertaining detail by Jan Harold Brunvand, 2000), they suddenly became means of expanding one’s knowledge of other people, rather than solidifying and justifying the connection to one’s own (Bellah, Richard, William, Ann & Steven, 2008 [1985]). With the expansion and intermingling of culturally local tales and characters—as well as the difficulty in keeping young people segregated from outside influences in the name of either heritage preservation or xenophobia, and maintaining sole focus on the stories and histories of their own ancestors—the myth and folktale stand to become significantly less effective means by which to recreate and maintain insular norms and in-group solidarity.

In other cases, the intermingling of cultures and the repackaging of traditional oral narratives for new cultural audiences result in a mixing of narrative themes, characters, and content. As well as the frequent movement of an insular folk narrative into a culture outside the original in-group, narratives are appropriated to become part of a new blended heritage, with symbols from different groups intertwining to inform the normative socialization of an audience that is (for better or worse) moving toward a more cosmopolitan social life (Bellah et al., 2008 [1985]). The contrast of these two consequences of intercultural narrative contact—the multicultural model of traditional narratives existing alongside one another, and the integrative model of global narrative appropriation and blending—indicates an expanding approach to the traditional myth and folktale that has less use for the narratives as in-group cultural carriers, and instead as tools of either intercultural domination or cross-cultural contact and socialization, communicating the stories of the other while also allowing for the reformulation of multicultural concepts of the self.

Narrative and the Individual

The advent of the printing press and the subsequent technological advances that made possible the widespread cosmopolitanization of folk literature also facilitated a move toward a more individualistic connection between consumer–audience and narrative. In oral societies, even the most intimate of storytelling settings necessarily involved and connected two people in a face-to-face interaction. In order to communicate a story, there would have to be a storyteller and at least one audience member, though often the myths and folktales were communicated to larger audiences (Vansina, 1985; Kirk, 1973). In print society, however, it became possible, even common, for the audience to connect only with the narrative, and neither with the author nor with the fellow audience members. An example of this scenario would occur, for example, when an individual reads a relatively obscure book written by an author living perhaps hundreds or thousands of miles away and never encounters another reader who has consumed the same story, much less discusses it or forms a social bond through readership of the book. There are, of course, exceptions. Reading groups, book clubs, and informal conversations about beloved characters, “meet the author” events, and other such incidences allow for the narrative in a print society to continue to bring people together as a community. However, often the act of consuming a story has become largely a personal and individual one (Ong, 2002 [1982]).

Consuming myth and folk narratives in oral society provided a means for people to connect with one another and with a common heritage and to reinforce or challenge normative conventions as a group (Vansina, 1985; Kirk, 1973). The consumption of these narratives in print society provides the individual with the opportunity to make personal, rather than social, connections to the content of the story (Bellah et al., 2008 [1985]; Collins, 2009). Communal consumption of a traditional narrative facilitates the learning or reinforcement of collective memory, shared values, or religious beliefs, whereas individualistic consumption of the same tale may facilitate the development of one’s own worldview but not to create any kind of in-group solidarity.⁷ In short, stories in print society are more often connected with individual self-identity than with insular cultural identification.

As the bringing together of members of the community under a banner of shared heritage and consensus values was one of the primary purposes fulfilled by the myth and folk narratives in the oral tradition, we must necessarily see the transition toward an individualistic relationship between audience and narrative as one which would alter the larger sociological functions of the traditional narrative. Human beings, however, are social animals, and there remains a need in the social community to find a means for the group identification, normative education, and value sharing to take place. If the traditional narrative is no longer pulling this particular weight, we may surmise that another structure or institution is likely, if not fully guaranteed, to step in to provide this crucial social service.

Role-Playing as Modern Mythmaking

The understanding of the relationship between these narrative forms serves simultaneously to demonstrate the continuity of social functions through constant social change and the importance of informal interactions, including play, in adapting human social and cultural relationships and actions to changes in technology and social structure. Through consideration of these two narrative forms as linked by structure and purpose, but distinguished by historical and cultural context, we can better understand the characteristics of the cultures that produced them as well as the reciprocal impact that each narrative has on those same cultures.

Numerous studies of online gaming, including research on MMORPGs, have collectively uncovered a vast wealth of operating purposes that these games serve within the social and cultural—and even economic and political—life of current societies (Malaby, 2009; Steinkuehler & Williams, 2006; Taylor, 2006). Williams, Kennedy, and Moore (2011) describe online gaming as a means by which players negotiate complicated identities in the virtual realm while simultaneously escaping or reshaping their identities in the real world, identities that are often difficult for the game participants to deal with and coupled with social isolation or lack of acceptance. Other well-read pieces in the study of online games, such as Castronova’s Synthetic Worlds (2005) or Malaby’s “Anthropology & Play” (2009) discuss the ways that online games provide a space in which the worlds of play, work, and personal life collide and overlap—indeed, this is probably the most common theme in this literature (see also Squire, 2005; Taylor, 2006).

There are a great number of structural and functional differences between online RPGs and live RPGs, to the extent that it is not productive in an essay of this length to try to consider both in their contexts relative to traditional folk narratives. The attention paid to the relationship between gaming and mythology has in some ways already been more prolific in discussions of MMOs than of live gaming, producing some valuable insights. Prime examples can be found in the work of Krzywinska (2006), Klastrup and Tosca (2004), and a host of other authors in game studies and ludology (Corneliussen & Rettberg, 2008; Montola, Stenros, & Waern 2012). Despite the distinction between live and digital gaming, studies of the latter do provide precedence for a crucial point, that is, games in general, and RPGs in particular, are clear reflections and active influences on modern cultures around the world and are immeasurably more important as cultural entities and subjects of scholarly pursuit than their leisurely facade would have them seem. Live RPGs, similar to MMOs, provide spaces in which players can exercise identity, agency, and creativity as well as communicate important cultural markers. And somewhat differently from MMOs, they incorporate a face-to-face narrative communication that makes them ripe for comparison with the traditional folk narrative of oral societies.

The parallels between live RPGs on one hand, and oral mythology and folktales on the other, are perhaps not immediately intuitive but are not difficult to uncover. Both forms involve the communication of hyperbolized and exaggerated fictions with varying levels of resemblance to reality but always with a reliance on familiar environments and culturally archetypal characters, relationships, and events. Both forms come with particular structures that are predetermined, while also being subject to the creativity of the storytellers and open to potentially significant alterations to the content of the narratives. And finally (and perhaps most obviously), both forms are designed for entertainment. The structures, communication, and creativity are meant to be stimulating and interesting, if not outright fun, for the participants. Which is not to say that these are not socially significant types of social interaction or that they are not to be taken seriously. As Gary Alan Fine, the first sociologist to explore the phenomenon of live RPGs (1983), puts it, “the world of fantasy gaming poses interesting sociological questions—questions that have not been widely addressed elsewhere, and for which this particular social world can provide some answers” (Fine, 1983, p. 1). For Fine, the questions and answers of the study of the gaming world had more to do with immersion and individual identity creation than those suggested by this work, but the sentiment remains a poignant one: regardless of the seemingly trivial and leisurely nature of the subject at hand, to gloss over popular (and in many cases quite meaningful) patterns of social behavior and relations is to ignore and distort the truth of lived experience and social structure. With this in mind, we may usefully compare the traditional and emergent narrative structures.

The similarities between RPGs and traditional folk narratives mentioned previously—hyperbolized realism; recognizable cultural symbols; and structures based on a combination of precedent, rules, and creative license—these qualities together form the basis for comparison and contrast of the two narrative forms. It may be noted that these qualities are also shared with other forms of narrative, including (most obviously) literary fiction. So why present the RPG as a functional successor to the traditional folk narrative from oral cultures? The justification lies in the shared communality of the RPG and the oral narrative—a trait which literary fiction usually doesn’t possess. In many ways, the literary fiction story provides a natural comparative structure to the oral narrative (as has indeed been discussed in the fields of literary studies and folkloristics, Bacchilega, 2012; Rosenberg, 1991). However, the experience of participating in an RPG is inherently communal and collective participatory in a way that literary fiction cannot be (outside of group fiction readings, which might arguably constitute a type of oral narrative sharing rather than a literary one). This is not to say that this disparity diminishes either literature or the RPG, but between the two forms, there are aspects of the traditional folk narrative that have been functionally split in literate societies.

Despite the many commonalities to be found between the live RPG and the folk narrative, there are also distinct differences, and it is in these places where the structures diverge that we can find the changes to the role played by the traditional narrative forms as well as the call for a newer form of cooperative narrative creation adapted to modern social conditions.

First, where myth and folk narratives in oral societies were typically communicated by a particular storyteller to a particular audience, in the process of the live RPG, the storyteller’s role is usually to act as a facilitator and arbiter rather than dictator,⁸ and a more active and creative storytelling role is performed by the players (the RPG equivalent of an audience) themselves. While the description of the environment is provided by the GM, it is the players who dictate the arc of the narrative through the actions of their own characters (Bowman, 2011; Fine, 1983; MacKay, 1974). This kind of active story creation, unlike the passive story transmission that occurred with the folk narrative in its original form, facilitates the ability of the players to exercise their individuality and agency—qualities of modern culture particularly central (at least ideologically) to the places where live RPG gaming is most popular, namely much of the Western world (Bellah et al., 2008 [1985]). If we think of culturally insular narratives as means to exercise license and creativity in the reproduction and representation of one’s own world, live RPGs can serve a meaningful function of which the myth and folktale are no longer as capable in their printed and mass-produced form.

This divergence is, on one hand, indicative of the cultures that collectively produced the RPG as a narrative form. Many cultures around the world, most notably in the United States where the RPG in its modern form was born, place significant value on the ability of the individual to define his or her experience in the world, exercising control over the social and physical environment as the most prized sort of freedom (Bellah et al., 2008 [1985]). It follows that our means of communicating stories to one another would trade on this important cultural currency of individualism and personal autonomy. However, it is also important to note that such a practice is not only an outcome but a catalyst of cultural change as well. The RPG provides the participants with a space in which to practice individualism and autonomy, not just to achieve what they already desired. Cultural practice fosters expectations of what an individual will (and should) be able to do and be and experience in the future, thus making the RPG a “structuring structure” (Bourdieu, 1989) as well.

Second, the live RPG is also compatible with the increasing cosmopolitanism and multiculturalism of the modern world in a way that traditional narrative forms could not be. The myth and the folktale, as previously discussed, are inherently introspective, with the focus on the history and heritage of a particular culture to the exclusion of all outsiders (except in cases where the histories of different cultures diverge, as in the case of trade, war, intermarriage, etc.; Bascom, 1954; Kirk, 1973). The traditional folk narrative, at least in the generationally transmitted form that characterizes its structure in oral societies, no longer carries the same ability to tell every group about its own history and will instead more commonly communicate the history of someone else. While there remain stories that are passed down within culturally insular communities, not infrequently in larger print societies (Barthes, 2012 [1957]; Gencarella, 2009), this narrative form has in many ways been overwritten by the stories of the out-group. As Barthes (2012 [1957]) and others (Brunvand, 2000; MacDonald, 1999; Reynolds, 1992) demonstrate, the traditional narrative styles that persist in print societies today tend to be of more diverse cultural provenance (often constructed more through capitalist enterprise than organic cultural development) and represent a broad array of moral and practical images and meanings.

The live RPG, with its greater degree of flexibility (relative to the printed folk narrative) and its reliance on communal storytelling by all participants, allows those involved to steer the narrative in a way that reflects their own cultural ideology and background, and though the content of the game is rarely taken as a direct representation of the history of the players (gamers do not, e.g., often play games centered on their own real-life experiences; Bowman, 2011; Fine, 1983; Mackay, 1974), that content is necessarily informed by familiar cultural archetypes, norms, and histories. The live RPG thus provides the participant with a means to connect to his or her own heritage or alternately to create a sense of group belonging completely divorced from traditional kinship or culture amid an array of heterogeneous cultural and social experiences created by players with diverse and unfamiliar backgrounds—much like other social interaction found in cosmopolitan societies elsewhere (Collins, 2009). In this, the live RPG can be a narrative representation of contemporary culture as well as a force for personal connection, appropriation, and agency with regard to one’s own heritage. Meanwhile, with the spread of multicultural literature, the myth and the folktale become, although interesting, simply someone else’s stories.

As with the traditional narrative form within its oral culture of origin, the RPG may be used in a great variety of ways by individual participants seeking to gain different experiences, exchanges, and escapes—the prevailing descriptive literature has noted the flexibility of this narrative style, and its capacity for bolstering individual agency and self-definition (Dormans, 2006; Fine, 1983). Among the varied uses of live RPGs, a set of a particular (and familiar) social functions stand out as both central to the gaming experience and useful for our purposes of comparison:

Exaggerated communication of norms, including reinforcement of dominance relationships—indeed, the normative structures of creative democracy and committee-style cooperation are built right into the gaming system.

Providing a people with a sense of solidarity through shared participation in the process of story creation and cooperation through diversity.

Facilitating a sense of individual empowerment through the portrayal of the victories of player-controlled heroes.

Creating a system of collective mastery and ownership over the system of social identity creation.

Finally, of course, entertainment and leisure through nostalgia and imaginative experience.

There are, of course, other structural differences between the live RPG and the traditional folk or myth narrative forms: an emphasis on rules and a set of fictional goals to be attained in the former that did not exist in the latter; not to mention the subcultural nature of RPG practice compared to the pancultural ubiquity of the traditional narrative; demographic differences in participation, including the principle that anyone who is familiar with the rules of the RPG may participate in the creation of the narrative⁹; and the strictly fictional nature of the live RPG, in contrast with the quasi-historical treatment of myth and folk narratives. It is also noteworthy that whereas particular traditional tales tend to have some level of generational tenacity, a particular story told in an RPG game rarely lives on for long (outside of the memories of the participants themselves). These differences are significant enough that it might give one pause to consider these narrative forms in comparison with one another, and in terms of social analysis, it is not fully obvious that they might fulfill some of the same functions in society. However, by placing them in the context of seismic cultural changes that have occurred with the expansion of populations, the movement into late-modern social structure, and the changes in the technology used to communicate stories, we can begin to draw meaningful bridges between these seemingly disparate narrative forms.

In the same way that the traditional narrative in the oral society enables the participants to both reinforce traditional normative values and behaviors and defy tradition to reinvent the norms of the contemporary society (Berger & Luckmann, 1967 [1966]; Vansina, 1985), the live RPG provides a setting in which players and storytellers are able to collectively determine what is within the bounds of acceptable and expected behavior and to test those bounds as individuals or as a group. Interestingly, as Fine (1983) has noted, there is often an extreme normative disconnect between behavior in the game and behavior in the wider society outside the game. For instance, it is not at all uncommon for a player to, while in-game, commit extreme acts of violence in the pursuit of his or her own goals or the goals of the group. Despite appearances however, this normative disconnect is not an instance of the player completely divorcing himself or herself from the values of the real world, primarily because the greatest consequences for the player come from the interaction with the other participants. If the player engages in an act of violence that is explicitly against the wishes and benefit of the group, the character in game and the player out of game may both incur a significant negative response from the rest of the team. On the other hand, if his or her actions aid in the progress toward the group goal, the fictional atrocity of the in-game act may be completely acceptable. This demonstrates that while the player may be enacting imaginary horrors, the true exercise of real-world norms is taking place on an interactive level with the other participants.

This interaction also speaks volumes regarding the capacity of the role-playing narrative to bring the players together under a sense of shared solidarity, based on their collectively enacted values as well as the common goal toward which they are all striving (vicariously through the lives and actions of their characters) as well as its facilitation of personal empowerment through imaginative experience. Most live RPGs present the players with a setting in which there are difficult goals to be achieved, obstacles that stand in the way, and potentially great rewards for both successful teamwork and individual heroics (Bowman, 2011; Fine, 1983; MacKay, 1974). Games and gamers differ in their emphasis on the accomplishments of either the individual or the group, but in most games of this type, there are structural rewards from creating characters with particularly powerful abilities, and matching them together with other characters for a type of division of labor within the narrative (for a full description of RPGs as they are played today, Bowman’s, 2011, study represents a comprehensive insider’s view). The group activities of collectively creating a story, overcoming obstacles, demonstrating excellence and creativity, and a whole array of components inherent to the role-playing experience facilitate this sense of solidarity as well as a sense of mastery and agency in the creation of group and individual identity.

Finally, as did the traditional myth and folk narratives of oral cultures, the live RPG provides a way for all of these varied functions to be fulfilled through engagement and engrossment in an activity that is designed to provide entertainment. Social solidarity, shared cultural values, individual agency, identity creation, mastery and pride, both personal and social/cultural—these are essential elements of human social life; but if they are to be maintained within the social structure, it is necessary that they be perpetuated through active engagement between the social agents themselves. People usually do not like to engage in activities that are excessively onerous or unpleasant and tend to gravitate toward those who are enjoyable to them. Through the creation of a cultural system of production, solidarity, and agency that is endemically pleasing to the participants, we ensure the continued existence of cohesive and mutual social life.

The Live RPG and Print Culture

In oral society, the social structure of the in-group and its relationship to its surrounding environment are such that a structured practice (often ritualized) is necessary to maintain in-group solidarity through communication of shared history, reinforcement of norms and hierarchies, and providing communal entertainment using a format that is necessarily communal (as opposed to other forms of narratives, games, and communication between individuals that don’t necessarily have to do with the community at large; Bascom, 1954; Campbell, 1988; Levi-Strauss, 1995 [1978]). The traditional folk narrative form has served these (and many other) purposes, and we can in fact find a useful explanation for the growth and transformation of this cultural form and its corresponding functions with a broader look at the historical progression toward the spread of print society.

In his canonical work, Social Theory and Social Structure (1957), R. K. Merton discussed the common functionalist analytic assumption that he calls the “Postulate of Indispensability” (pp. 86–87). This simple but meaningful theory suggested that there are particular functions to be fulfilled within society, but that contrary to the prevailing opinion of his time, the institutions that fulfilled them were not in themselves necessary (particularly when applied to all societies at all times). In fact, a particular function might be carried out by a great variety of social structures and institutions, depending on characteristics and context of the society in question, and in fact, a single function could be carried out with reasonable stability by multiple different institutions so long as the institutions did not battle over control of the particular function. For instance, a particular function (or set of functions) might be fulfilled by religion and folk practice in a particular sociological setting, by folklore and mythology in another, by mythology, folklore, and popularized narrative creation a third, or by forms of popularized narrative creation alone. The progression described here is not accidental. With the population growth of a society, as well as the transition toward a culture predicated on a strong ethic of individualism, the functions of religious and folk traditions warp and evolve, and through cultural consensus, new institutions are created that adapt to take on the purposes of their old and still-changing predecessors. This structural change and institutional adaptation forms the backbone of the importance of the theoretical development in this essay: live RPGs are not merely an arbitrarily determined way for people in certain print societies to pass the time. They fulfill crucial social functions that foster collective identity and solidarity as well as personal agency, doing so in ways that were and are performed in oral societies by traditional folk narratives, and acting as the functional successors to these forms within print society since particular characteristics of print societies make it impossible for the traditional narratives to operate the same way they do in oral societies.

It is important to note here that despite the rapid growth of RPG popularity, most people worldwide are not role players in any kind of formal sense.¹⁰ This does not mean, however, that their lives are lacking fulfillment of the functions described in the previous section. As mentioned previously, the fundamental social processes of collective and individual identity formation and maintenance, reflexive engagement with cultural norms, and basic entertainment can be achieved through gaming activities, but they can just as well be fulfilled through a variety of other means. What is most essential is that these processes are present in the social environment, not the particulars of the structures and activities that make them possible. We might also see some of the same functions of myth and folk narratives enacted in fandoms surrounding print and digital media, canonical histories communicated through formal and informal education, or biographies of revered social and political leaders. Print societies are less dependent on myth and folk narrative than oral societies, opening the door for various other narrative modes to fill their places, including—but certainly not exclusively limited to—the RPG narrative.

Too often, functional analysis focuses on the historical cross section, seeking to explain the particular moment without accounting for the undeniable impact of social change on the roles played by social structures, interactions, and symbols. For its reductive tendencies, this type of analysis has been largely abandoned in the social sciences in favor of more nuanced theoretical schools among whose aims are to take into account the variation in function, systems of power, and differences in critical interpretation—qualities that should indeed be present in any comprehensive social study. Jeffrey C. Alexander has more recently advanced the theories set forth by Merton, advocating in Neofunctionalism and After (1998) for an approach to social scientific research and theory that takes into account the fluid nature of social structures (p. 34)—particularly where traditional structures are concerned, which have classically been treated more or less as static (see, for instance, the useful but admittedly flawed works of the early pioneers of functionalist Anthropology, e.g., Malinowski, 1984 [1922]; Radcliffe-Brown, 1964 [1922]). This argument is made yet more relevant to this essay’s discussion in Alexander’s additional work detailing the continuing (yet mutable) role played by myth and narrative structures in contemporary society (2003). Alexander’s argument for an understanding of narrative as essentially rooted in cultural codes becomes valuable when we are aiming to think of the narrative structure as functionally flexible and responsive to changes in the social environment. By relying on a neofunctional interpretation of different narrative forms focusing on the ways that the participants make use of them while also taking into account the process of cultural change over time, we may see that there is theoretical value to be found in the comparison of the social functions of these seemingly unrelated structures of social interaction and production.

Empirical assessment of the functions as well as the symbolic structure inherent in RPG narratives would require extensive study of the gaming experience, almost certainly beginning with close ethnographic description. Fine’s (1983) work was a good starting point and provided valuable information with regard to the meanings and uses of live gaming practice by the players on an individual level, and certainly further research has been conducted more recently by scholars across disciplines (Bowman, 2011; Dormans, 2006; Montola, 2008). Sarah Lynne Bowman’s work, The Functions of Role-Playing Games (2011) is of particular salience, and a demonstration of the gradually building level of close analysis of RPG culture and practice. The uncovering of the broader structures through which the specific narrative form is defined, however, will likely require multisite research and thorough comparison, given the broad differences in content and style of interaction from one game to the next as well as the differences between the groups of gamers themselves.

As the study of live gaming widens and gathers more comprehensive data, there are a number of topics that should become the subject of sociological and anthropological scrutiny. As has been mentioned, live gaming as a leisure practice is not in all societies, touching the lives of all people. The demographic makeup of this subcultural community is not representative in any way of the world population, and among the first things to be understood must be the characteristics of the gaming in-group, with an eye to the distribution of gender, race, religion, and other human categorization within the communities of gamers. The practice and norms of live gaming as well do not reflect those of the wider communities in which the gaming culture is present—given that the live RPG is in part a vessel for cultural norms, and its narratives provide the participants with the opportunity to reify or reject these norms, a full study of the differences between the norms of the narrative and those of the wider society would be extremely fruitful. In a related vein, it would be fascinating to discover how the system of cultural presentation in the meta-narratives (found mainly in the game materials produced by for-profit companies) are decided upon and implemented and to what effect.

This is a theoretical account of the transition toward a cultural system that changes and diminishes the cultural impact of myth and folk narratives while providing space for alternative narrative forms like the live RPG to grow and spread. This essay may, with luck, be taken as a call to action and a provocation, hopefully spurring cultural theorists and empirical researchers to pay greater attention not only to the live RPG as a source of cultural data but also to the broader analysis of the social functions and meanings of popular narratives as ubiquitous and well-used carriers of the norms and agency.

The extensive focus on the social interactions and consequences of online gaming has been well documented (see, e.g., Castronova, 2005; Steinkuehler & Williams, 2006; Taylor, 2006)—it behooves the cultural theorist now to turn to other forms of gaming, as well as other emergent narrative forms, to explore the ways in which these social structures play a role in shaping and reflecting culture and history. “Gaming,” as can be revealed by some simple investigation using common search engines both academic and popular, is too often a term solely referring either to systems of gambling or to virtual gameplay. There exists a massive and growing subculture consisting of men and women in a broad swath of the world, who participate in various forms of live gaming, including the popular live RPG. For many of these people, this practice of collective and democratic narrative creation and fictional socialization can be extraordinarily meaningful. In the practice of live RPG play, we can see the echoes of the myths and folktales of oral societies and the direction of the shift in narrative structure and meaning as we move toward a more fully print-based world community and the ubiquity of the printed story.

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Notes

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