Abstract Trouble in River City: The Social Life of video games by

The Social Life of MMRPGs

– Prof. Janet Murray on MMRPGs (quoted in Liatowitsch, 2002)

MMRPG players are far more active than the assumedly passive consumers of traditional media. For example, more than one-quarter of EverQuest players say they have made some original artwork or fiction based on the game (M. D. Griffiths et al., 2003).¹ Researchers considering direct effects or limited effects models will have to come to grips with a population that takes a vigorous role in the practice and creation of their medium. Through public “beta testing” and in everyday play, MMRPG players evaluate games and interact with producers in a more active way than any other medium; the feedback loop for these consumers is immediate and potent. It is not unusual to see players criticize a game feature and then have the producers modify it the next day. In one MMRPG incident, players threatened to leave their game en masse if a controversial change was made (Schiesel, 2002). These game worlds are also populated by players who have established behavioral norms and boundaries (Kim, 2000). Antisocial behaviors are clearly identified and frowned on by the vast majority of players (Kline & Arlidge, 2002; N. Yee, 2001). Passionate arguments on posting boards often revolve around what behaviors are or aren’t allowed by the game code (MacLellan, 2002).²

Aside from an involved user base, EverQuest also benefits from a network effect: the game is popular because a lot of people play it, and a lot of people play it because it is popular. The community that formed around EverQuest has become astoundingly large and vibrant. More than 400,000 subscribers play regularly,³ fighting monsters, collecting loot, organizing groups, and engaging in trade. Some of this trade moves offline to auction sites, providing full-time employment for a handful of enterprising middlemen (Dibbell, 2003; Weingarten, 2002). Based on the population and the hourly wage, an economist calculated that EverQuest’s fantasy world of Norrath is the real-world’s 79^th richest nation (Castronova, 2001).

But while the economics of the game worlds are compelling, it is the social and community elements of MMRPGs that offer the strongest potential for positive and negative effects; MMRPGs have aspects that can create or stifle both bridging and bonding social capital, and can have a direct impact on existing social networks and structures. Game play can lead to direct human contacts, providing the kind of crucial psychological support that is the hallmark of bonding social capital. Some of this comes from simply providing an outlet to practice social skills; one gamer attested that being outgoing in the game taught him to be outgoing in real life (Klett, 2003). Much like the medical support group members cited in Chapter 5, one Asheron’s Call game player told the story of how the game had saved him from giving up on life. After being struck by a car, he had acquired an extremely painful nerve condition that kept him home-bound and isolated. After a year of nearly total social withdrawal, a friend begged him to reconnect by playing an MMRPG with him. According to this player, getting back into a social group through the game was a turning point in his life (Liatowitsch, 2002).

Other instances of bonding involve players who met online and then moved their relationship offline, occasionally resulting in romance and even marriages. Another aspect is the strengthening of preexisting relationships through game play. Yee’s data suggest that this is a particularly strong phenomenon among female players, although one father cited his game play as a way of bonding with his two young sons: “I found that EverQuest has given me back something I haven’t had in a long time—communication with my boys and their friends” (in Liatowitsch, 2002). Other online games have also been cited as father-son bonding mechanisms (Gorman, 2001).

The contact between players who haven’t previously met shows MMRPGs’ potential for bridging social capital, and also a return of the arcade dynamic of the early 1980s. Those early arcades were the sites of social mixing that crossed age, race and ethnic lines—social spaces that allowed for bridging in ways otherwise impermissible:

The arcade was where you jumped from the holding pen of physical teenagers into a disembodied game world. Dialing into networked Doom rooms and online game sites, you’re going the other way—navigating virtual space to get back through to real people. You’re playing videogames from the inside out against people whose real names and circumstances you may never know. In this sense, online game space is even hazier and more dubious than the old arcades . . . Somewhere on the other side of the virtual arcade is a real person who, in a friendly, schoolyard way, has it in for you (J.C. Herz, 1997)(p. 58-59).

Bridging dynamics operate in some MMRPGs both in and outside of the game world. Players meet and communicate through game-related chat rooms, web sites, IRC channels and posting boards (Chick, 2001). On the sites and in the games, players often communicate about their personal lives, locations and backgrounds, and “find them useful for making friends and socializing” (J. E. Katz & Rice, 2002)(p. 193).

A diverse mixing of real-world backgrounds often results, and many players tout the electronic horizon-broadening effect of MMRPGs: “You have the opportunity to meet people from so many different places. I mean, I know people from Iceland, Korea, you know, all over Europe. And it gives you opportunities to talk to people you wouldn’t normally talk to and you get to learn a lot about different cultures” (in Liatowitsch, 2002). A U.S. Naval commander plays via satellite link from a battleship in the Indian Ocean (Rowan, 2003). Some of this mixing may be an indirect product of the game’s setting and norms. American-produced MMRPGs always feature multiple races, while games created in more homogeneous cultures like Taiwan offer no diversity. This in-game diversity norm may lead to more racially diverse attitudes (Lai, 2003) and thus more bridging. Many gamers form playing “clans,” which often cross racial lines (Tangherlini, in Yee et al, 2002).

Evidence of this melting-pot bridging potential can be seen at EverQuest Fan Faires. At the Boston Fan Faire, members of the guild Harmony of Souls gathered for omelets and to meet each other in person. They were accountants, advertising executives, mothers and fathers, and resided in places as separate as Denmark and Alaska (Kushner, 2002b). Los Angeles Times journalist Alex Pham commented “From all over the world, they come to meet one another. There’s a sense of trust online, and it’s interesting to see whether or not it translates into real life. A middle aged lawyer is talking to a 12-year old kid with whom he’s interacted online, and in any other circumstance these two people would not be talking to one another” (in Liatowitsch, 2002).

Bridging is easier in online environments than in real ones because of the lowered entry costs for relationships and communities. Online friendships in games are often less threatening than real ones (Turkle, 1995), but sometimes they are formed simply because of real-world obstacles. One female EverQuest player, who lived in a remote farmhouse in the English countryside, found that playing the game was a means to socialize in an otherwise lonely environment. She describes the low entry costs for EverQuest communities as part of her personal experience:

I’m not very outgoing, but I like having people to talk to and it was a way for me to spend my evenings talking to other people . . . The thing with EQ is if you’re not very good at making friends, a lot of the uncomfortable face-to-face stuff is not there. A lot of the barriers that stop people or make it hard for people to make friends in real life are gone (in Liatowitsch, 2002).

The flip side of this ease, however, is that communities with low entrance and exit costs are also less likely to be substantive ones. David Greenfield, author of Virtual Addiction, (1999) echoes the dystopians concerns of Beniger (1987) when he asks of MMRPG gaming “Is it a form of pseudo social connection, a form of pseudo community?” (in Liatowitsch, 2002) This play can also be social escapism. Said one player, “I’ll tell ya’, honestly, I have a lot better social experiences in the game than I do in real life” (Liatowitsch, 2002). This makes MMRPG communities a possible source of large social networks, but also potentially empty ones. It means that such communities can be a refuge from the real-world risks and rewards of human relationships, for better or worse. The English woman quoted above decided to drop her game play because it was taking up too much of her time and didn’t deliver enough in the way of solid social connections.

Her case illustrates both the benefits and costs of spending large amounts of time in a virtual environment. After playing nearly 30 hours per week for several months in a row, she had begun to feel that the game was having a negative impact on her life. Most of the people she met online were only passing friends, many of whom she discovered had serious personal problems. She noted, however, that she had made a small handful of very close friends who lasted after her game play ended, making the whole experience worthwhile. The potential for bridging and bonding was there, but so was the potential for a net disconnection from real human ties. Had she not gained that small handful of friends, she would have had nothing to show for her time other than diminished relationships with those she’d known before playing the game.

Some of the positive and negative effects therefore appear to come as a function of time played. Many players speak of an over-time burnout effect, and describe their slow realization that their life in the game had become either boring or lonely (Kwill, 2001). Veteran MMRPG designer Raph Koster suggests that the typical cycle for an online gamer is two years: an initial period of excitement is followed by a long period of steady use, which ends in a sudden stop (Liatowitsch, 2002).

Understanding Asheron’s Call 2

To better understand the variables under study, I engaged in a two-month participant observation of an MMRPG. If the setting and play style might affect the dependent variables under study, I preferred to enter the process with an intimate knowledge of the game experience. My choice was the game Asheron’s Call 2 (AC2),¹ and what follows is a description of its content, followed by those characteristics relevant to a study of River City-inspired fears (including aggression) and social capital. The conclusion of the participant observation is that AC2 is typical of other MMRPGs in its setting and goals, but is thin on social structures and community, chiefly due to a shortage of players. As a source of aggression effects, there are plenty of violent acts to witness and participate in, but as a source of community, the game is unlikely to prove beneficial.