Porous Magic Circles and the “Ludisphere”
As mentioned in Book I, the magic circle has become an important principle in digital Game Studies, especially as the introduction of the computer creates an additional boundary around the game experience that is generally held to be sacrosanct (Salen and Zimmerman 2004). Castronova has even argued for a more hermetic enforcement of the magic circle, suggesting that “real world” concerns, such as politics and popular culture, should not be allowed to leak into virtual worlds to destroy the suspension of disbelief or tamper with the world’s integrity (Castronova 2004-2005). This position has some unintentional clashes with contemporary anthropology, a discipline currently confronting a transition from the traditional paradigm of studying so-called “primitive” cultures cut off from outside influence to the study of cultures within a mediated, global context (Marcus 1986). Thus it is unclear if Castronova’s call for “purity” in any world, whether real or virtual, is even attainable.
The findings of this study suggest that, just as contemporary world cultures must be looked at in a global context, online virtual worlds must be looked at in the context of the “ludisphere,” the larger framework of all networked play spaces on the Internet, as well as within the larger context of the “real world.” In this context, as with real-world culture, it may be more useful see the landscape in terms of a series of overlapping and nested magic circles, the outermost being the “real world,” with transactions taking place through membranes more porous than has previously been suggested.
Communities of Play
While other sorts of distributed communities have been studied extensively, the study of “communities of play” is a relatively new field. Despite the fact that play has a major role in popular culture and community formation, in the academic study of networked play seems to take a back seat to more “serious” pursuits such as communities of practice or communities of interest. Even unstructured social interaction, such as text chat, seems to take precedence over distributed play spaces as worthy of serious study (see Literature review in Book I).
Communities of play, or play communities (DeKoven 1978), are groups that choose to play together in various configurations. Most MMOGs have built-in mechanisms to support and formalize a play community. Terms like “guild,” “clan,” and in the case of Uru, “neighborhood,” define a particular (and often a singular) group to which a player belongs. Individuals are generally drawn to these groups by common friendships, shared play styles and play values, and often create their own web sites or other mechanism for intra-group communication. A play community will often design its own logo or crest, create a mission statement that defines the ethos of the group, and employ a set of meta-rules that relate to their style of play, social conduct, or desired standing in the community. They will frequently plan large-scale raids and other events together, and display a high level of loyalty to their fellows. Guild members may also protect each other from outside harassment, but guilds can also be a site of intense drama and dispute. It is not at all uncommon to see power struggles occur, members quit in protest, or even factions split off into new guilds. All of these behaviors suggest a level of emotional investment that may be as high or even greater than investments in communities of either practice or interest.
Within non-game MMOWs, it is more common for the social mechanism to support player membership in multiple groups, rather than the singular guild model typical of most MMOGs. While this offers a level of flexibility, it shifts the dynamic significantly. Membership in a guild or its equivalent creates an exclusive emotional bond not unlike that of a real-world clan, tribe or a gang. Taylor and Jakobsson have aptly compared MMOG guilds to membership in a mafia “family” (Taylor and Jakobsson 2003). One of the principle reasons for this may be that a guild brings with it not only group allegiance but also a sense of collective identity. Players within a guild-like structure associate their identities with a particular group in a way that members of a “club” in a non-game world typically do not. The individual identity can morph different clubs, which is significantly different than having your identity tied in a persistent way to a single group. It also permits the formation of sub-communities, secondary group affiliations and identities that are related to or subordinate to a primary affiliation.
By investigating one such play community in-depth over a long period of time, the study seeks to identify the sorts of attributes that make such groups unique, to understand the dynamics between individual and group identity, and to understand how these influence emergent group behavior. By following a single play community across several virtual world “ecosystems,” one can begin to understand the relationship between the essential character of the group’s collective behavior and the specific attributes of the virtual worlds or ecosystems they inhabit.
Comments
“Within non-game MMOWs, it is more common for the social mechanism to support player membership in multiple groups, rather than the singular guild model described above. ..... The individual identity can morph across different clubs, which is significantly different than having your identity tied in a persistent way to a single group.”
Perhaps this area could be explored further. Does the "morphing" across different clubs provide the distributed community more resilience within a single MMOW? Perhaps ensuring greater longevity over singular guild allegiance? Has this in fact been happening to our group?"
Posted by: Raena | February 05, 2006 at 04:46 PM
The Social Construction of Avatar Identity
One of the most interesting findings of this study was the observation that the formation of individual and group identity was itself an emergent process. Many earlier readings of the development of avatar identities tended to focus on the individual (Dibbell 1998; Turkle 1995), but in the course of the study, it became very clear a) that group and individual identity were inextricably linked, and b) that individual identity evolved out of an emergent process of social feedback. Similar findings, however, can be seen in other studies that look at the relationship of the social to the individual within virtual worlds (Bruckman 1992; Taylor 1999).
The concept of the “social construction of identity” builds on Berger and Luckman’s concept of the “social construction of reality” by suggesting that the individual is as much a social construction as the “reality” he or she perceives. This is not a particularly new idea, and is even addressed by Berger and Luckman in terms of the construction of identities such as “Jew” in various cultures (Berger and Luckmann 1966). The individual is always, to a greater or lesser extent, at least in part a product of his or her social milieu. In addition, individual identity is generally woven out of the materials of group identity and vice versa.
In the context of the online virtual world and driven by play as its primary activator, identity appears to emerge through collective feedback rather than individual desire. The assumption that a virtual identity promotes anonymity and therefore, to a certain measure, freedom, may belie a profound misunderstanding of the concept of “anonymity.” While the person’s “real-life identity” remains anonymous, her in-world identity, because it is persistent, cannot stay that way for long. Over time, others will recognize the traits and talents of the individual, often before she recognizes them herself. In this way, players take on a role in the group not by an act of individual will, but in response to feedback and in some cases even demands from the play community. Players often find themselves surprised by their online identities, exhibiting qualities and talents of which they themselves were not aware, including leadership abilities, drawn forth by play and enabled by the group. As one of T.L. Taylor’s research subjects put it “Avatars have a mind of their own, and they grow in unexpected ways (…) you are kidding yourself if you think you will be able to control or even predict what will happen to your avatar” (Taylor 1999).
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