Outis has played the Game Neverending since late October 2002 and is curator of the GNE Anagram Archive. In this article he describes his initial experience of GNE; shares his motivation for adopting Sugar, a Newbie; summarises how this experience has affected his style of and motivation for play; and explains his reasons for favouring a rule-free approach to the goal of socially responsible play.
Shortly before the first wipe, I was running out of things to do.
As an Alpha-tester for The Game Neverending, I invested many hours in the exploration of a virtual world comprised of a network of hubs and lots, interacting with faceless characters and surreal objects that occupied this place.
I’d spent hours clicking the button on my mouse, making Enlightenments so that I could buy the items needed to level up. After a time, I had made every item available, visited every hub, and learnt something about most of the regular visitors to this domain. I built a database of spawning locations, and used an algorithm to discover arbitrage.
Once my cold snowball of Mammon began to roll, it proceeded to scoop up everything in its path, including my own soul. I became rich and powerful enough to do pretty much anything I wanted. Like some kind of digital bohemian nihilist, I became infused with an acute sense of anomie. I had reached the summit and discovered that there was nothing there.
The danger of the past was that men became slaves. The danger of the future is that man may become robots.
(Erich Fromm)
Seeking fresh challenges, I used the JavaScript debugger on my browser to obtain the source code for the game, and studied it until (as if by magic) a wizard’s hat appeared upon my head. And lo, the hat was not of the whitest hue. I created myself a Marshmallow Dagger which possessed an infinite range and which could do terrible damage. I hacked my own stats to escape the retribution of others. In short, the game bent itself to my will.
Drunk on power (and often, strong lager), I cast my shroud across the network, cutting down players at whim. As they begged for the restoration of their stats, I began to realise that I had no tools in my arsenal that could repair the damage I had wrought. Wizards far less malevolent than I were resigned to trail around behind me, picking up the pieces left by my irresponsible actions. Though distracted, I felt no joy. For perhaps the first time, I realised that my own imagination was limiting me. I had resorted to fulfilling the baser urges of my reptile brain, but guilt soon gave me pause for thought.
Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
(Shakespeare)
In a naïve attempt to make reparation for my misdeeds, I took to depositing large quantities of money and items in random hubs. In almost no time, the game’s economy took a nose-dive, and notions of wealth and experience became meaningless. Newbies, their wallets freshly stuffed, bought powerful items and made a mockery of the levelling system. These actions had, I thought, a certain rogueish charm, but were somewhat shallow and transient in nature.
In time, the developers of the game announced that they would be nuking the database in preparation for the arrival of many more testers. We were told new features would be added, code would be added to relieve wizards of their hats, and the second round of testing would soon begin.
I was there at the end, and I was there at the new beginning.
I played the post-wipe game with the zest of a man whose god has granted him a second life. Once again, I was at first occupied by the task of accruing money and experience whilst exploring the new social possibilities created by in-game notes and the ownership of houses. The social ties that bound me to other players continued to grow stronger.
Newbies continued to trickle into the game as time passed, and it seemed to many Old-Timers that the incessant immigration destabilised what they had come to think of as their own, special culture. And yet, were we any more entitled to our way of play than those who came after us? The anthropological ramifications of this discussion interested me, and so I took note.
The widespread practices of camping and yoinking for spawning items had been tolerated in pre-wipe days. The smaller number of players limited the social space, and there was an almost tacit understanding between different combinations of players as to how to divvy the goodies amongst themselves. Resources were still relatively abundant, and most arguments purely in jest.
The trouble with the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat.
(Lily Tomlin)
The introduction of vast numbers of Newbies into the play space was the spark that would light the touch paper of social change. Players bickered over goods “stolen” from re-spawn locations, artworks were disassembled for fun and profit, respected Old-Timers complained about the disruption of their play, and (gasp!) impoverished Newbies were found to be burglarising the houses of the wealthy. (As an early “victim” of this crime wave, I hereby grant pardon to whosoever was the culprit).
Something had to be done, or so said a vocal faction of the Old-Timers. Other experienced players pointed out that most of the “crimes” could have been avoided by the victim. The phenomenon and philosophy of reverse trust within MMOGs was being tested to its limit. Players began to realise that value systems from the “real” world could not necessarily be assumed in this one. New possibilities for play began to occur to me.
The schism in popular opinion threatened to shatter the implicit culture within the game and, from this seething chaos, two blocs of opinion would emerge. By far the larger of these was that group who saw a solution to the societal instability in the “integration” of Newbies into the existing mindset. A smaller, although equally vociferous (some might say intentionally raucous) group of players decided that integration in such a manner was unworkable and “unethical”.
Education’s purpose is to replace an empty mind with an open one.
(Malcolm S. Forbes)
I thought deeply, and realised that my own opinions aligned me loosely with the latter camp. The socialisation of players (or people) in this way is one of the few things in life that I have a genuine and long-standing dislike for. In my experience, such methods (especially within educational establishments) lead to the production of culture-free zombies, who live life as though it were a popularity contest. I would not choose to spend time interacting with such simulacra.
While outnumbered in my stance by a mob of players who wished to impose their order onto the social space, I took solace in those who had similar (but thankfully not identical) views, and decided that it was time to take matters into my own hands. Clearly, I needed to rejuvenate my perspective on expression within this world, to formulate a better appreciation of the potential of this society. But how?
It was at about this time that Sugar made her grand entrance into the game. A ruckus erupted on global chat, and Sugar was at the center of it. A long-time player complained that items he’d been camping for had been yoinked. The usual banter in support of or against this new “criminal”, Sugar, began to flood across my screen. Now, surely, was my opportunity to act.
A Zen-like calm (which, for the record, was about the size of an overbearingly overused cliché) descended upon me. I knew what I had to do. I sent a private message to Sugar urging her to ignore the direction of others, to arrive at her own opinions, to just… play. I explained why the various factions felt the way they did, and how each was trying to instil its values in new players such as herself. I was beginning to realise that the only way to open the floodgates of infinite play was to actively resist the herd mentality.
Despite (or perhaps because) of her relative unfamiliarity with the social nuances of the little society we inhabited, Sugar seemed to pick up on what I was saying. I told her that I should like to begin an experiment in which I would “adopt” her as my in-game daughter, and she agreed. This social interaction was something I never expected I might experience within a mere game and, vowing to make the most of its possibilities, I took my responsibilities very seriously.
It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.
(Aristotle)
I went back into global chat and announced that Sugar was now my adopted daughter, and would be exempt from any kind of social coercion (or else!). I posted a message to this effect on my character info page and a message on the game’s message boards. Few others made such a public announcement; perhaps they were not inclined to believe in my sincerity. I, however, would go on to spend much of the next few days fulfilling my assumed obligations.
I trailed after Sugar when she came online, playing the part of The Good Parent. Soon, I didn’t need to pretend. As I had once delighted in my own progression through the levels of experience and in my own accumulation of wealth, so too did I now revel in the assistance I was able to give my daughter. Limitations in the possibilities for my play, ironically imposed by familiarity with the game, began to fall away like veils. Where once I revelled in independence, now I prided myself in interdependence.
I spent millions of Shekels on Potions and gave them away, among with various other items. In addition, and perhaps more importantly, I dedicated time to answering Sugar’s questions about the location of items, the effects of various in-game actions, and so on. At about this point, the game itself became more than just code awaiting exploitation; I began to realise that my online life had become inextricably entwined with “real” life.
To think creatively, we must be able to look afresh at what we normally take for granted.
(George Kneller)
Inevitably, Sugar either got bored of the game or just plain bored of me. (Congratulations to those of you still reading, by the way; I’m nearly finished now). Whatever the impression GNE and I left upon Sugar, parenting a less experienced player has helped me to form a more evolved ideology for my own online play. My choice of character name, Outis (translated: “no man”), seems somehow at odds with the importance I now place on the reputation of this avatar of mine.
Before GNE, I had never played a MMOG. I didn’t care too much whether people liked me or not, and made no real connection between the actions I took and the reputational repercussions. I could just go and find something else to do if I got booted, right?
With an equal relish, I also participated in all manner of fun and games, and was responsible for creating one or two interesting artworks. No doubt, I kept people amused from time to time, and I like to think that some people may even have grown fond of me. However, this was merely the most superficial of all play, and such recreation soon felt hollow to me. I knew that we were each of us striving to make this world magical, to breathe life into a social organism of which we were just constituent cells.
Had I been forced to follow existing social norms, or indoctrinated into an existing culture, I might never have come to think of the possibilities which might lie beyond it. Indeed, I may have become too bored to play the game long enough to look beyond the limitations these rules imposed on my play. The experience of learning the importance of harmonious relations with fellow players has been more beneficial to me than any prescribed code of conduct. The journey towards interdependence is just as important as the destination. By allowing a player the freedom to act out their base emotions, we also allow them the freedom to acknowledge their own mistakes.
I believe that by imposing social rules on a nascent community, we only choke it. New and controversial practices must be applauded and encouraged. Some memes will benefit the collective by their lives, and others by their deaths, but we must not try to restrict the forms and modes of play. By itself, a sphere in which the mere rearrangement of objects (ultimately, electrons) and the exchange of trivial banter is the be-all and end-all of the communal experience is not enough to slake our thirst. Like a two-act movie, our enjoyment is in proportion to the magnitude of the emotional journey of the characters involved.
Any society that needs disclaimers has too many lawyers.
(Erik Pepke)
Adopting the goal of free, fair, and friendly play led me to think deeply about the sociological ramifications of forced indoctrination. Whatever the morality of this may be (if any, in such a context), I determined that I did not think it the best approach to achieving our common goal. I was fortunate to find a player willing to help me test my hypotheses (and who was herself open to the situation). No longer can I stand idle while players discuss curtailing the freedom of others.
I am now driven to help establish complex social structures, committed to removing the friction inherent in opposing styles of play, and passionate about ensuring the widest range of responsible expression within such a system. Those who are new to our world should not be limited to express themselves merely according to the whims of the ruling ideological elite. We must learn to evolve and adapt as a social system, so that we may all benefit from the diversity of our combined imaginations. Viva la Revolucion!
