Role-Playing Ethics
by Rob Ritchie

Chapter 1 - It’s Just a Game, Right?

Role-playing games are different than every other sort of game in that the player, ideally, comes to identify with and relate to his character. Even the most fanatical player of cards or board games does not really care what happens to the pieces of paper, wood or plastic that he is manipulating through the rules of the game; however, role players, by the nature of the game, see themselves in the roles of the characters they are playing. This is not to say that role players are somehow more “dedicated” or “sincere” in their interest in their game; only that part of the fun is pretending to be the character being played.

Of course, we have all played with people who just don’t “get it”, who never cease to see their pen-and-paper creations as nothing more than playing pieces, who never get into the roles they are creating, who calculate every angle and shave every point solely in the interest of advantage and never for the creation of interesting characters. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with this style of play, but it is usually incompatible with more role-intensive playing.

For role-players, staying in character is an ideal; it is rarely achievable, but an attempt is laudable, though a slavish adherence to an obnoxious, unamusing, or antisocial character can be a bore. Too often the claim of “I’m only playing my character” is used to excuse behavior which is transparently not role-playing, but instead simply advances the  “game piece” forward in the game towards the finish line, in a pragmatic, Candyland fashion.

The conflicts between role-players and “pragmatists” result from two completely different ideas of the game. The former desire an exciting, cerebral experience where his skills at playing roles can be tested and enhanced by interacting with like-minded players. The latter desire to advance their character statistics and increase their influence in the game world through the successful completion of goals and challenges. The former view the latter with distrust; the latter view the former with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

In my mind, it all comes down to one question: Does it really matter what your character does in a Role-Playing Game? And by this I mean, does the “actions” of an imaginary character have any real-world moral and ethical implications or consequences? Again, the answer to this question depends upon what kind of player you happen to be.

To a pragmatist, the answer has to be a resounding “No.” Good sports don’t get mad or hold grudges when they are beaten in a game, and if they do, it reflects on the poor sport, not the winner of the game. The actions of characters are tactical, designed to implement the strategy of winning the game; the actions stay entirely within the game world, and do not bubble-up to the real world, except for the designation of winners and losers. In this view, there’s no moral or ethical conflict; a player manipulates his character through the rules to maximize his own gain in order to win the game (or, more accurately, to stay as close to the lead as possible for as long as possible).

To a role-player, the answer is a resounding “Maybe.” Once one has internalized a character, and imagined oneself in the role, then game actions take on a quasi-real quality that can be troubling. Some religious traditions consider the contemplation of evil to be itself evil; that to plot or fantasize about a crime is to in a way commit the crime and to thus incur some of the guilt associated (even if the crime is never committed, as it certainly never is in a game). To an ethical or religious person, these are not issues without weight.

I would suggest, however, that in-character actions not be evaluated with anything near the same level of self-examination that real-world decisions demand. This is, after all, a game, and sometimes a character is forced to make choices that would be unthinkable for the player in the real world.

The closest analogy of the role playing experience is that of a collaborative novel. Let’s examine the question from this perspective, using several well-known literary characters to illustrate our points. Specifically, I will use characters created by arguably the greatest adventure novelist of all time, Alexandre Dumas.

In the well-loved novel “The Three Musketeers”, Dumas creates characters of surprising depth. They loyally face dangers together, drawing swords against common foes and undertaking quests for Queen and country. In this way, they are very like characters in a role playing game; their assurance of their rightness and understanding of circumstances allows them to act freely within their world, wounding and killing all enemies who oppose them. This culminates in the summary trial and execution of Milady de Winter, a particularly noisome woman whose crimes of manipulation and murder make her the true villain of the novel. Milady has a powerful protector who would shield her from the consequences of her actions, but the heroes cannot let her live. They perform what they feel is their duty in destroying her as they would a venomous reptile, but the novel ends leaving them shaken and changed by what they have chosen to do.

In the sequel¹, twenty years has passed for the characters, and each has gone his separate way. Circumstances bring them together and they discuss what has become the dark secret of their lives. Each looks back with differing measures of remorse; some are untroubled, while others bear the guilt heavily. It is expiation for this crime that drives this plot, as well as the menace of Milady’s vengeful son who has discovered their secret.

Dumas has created characters that have done something that is beyond the pale. While they will glibly and cheerfully cut down foes over minor slights, the execution of a woman, over whom they do not have authority, even with clear evidence and knowledge of her guilt, haunts their consciences for the rest of their lives. And so it should! Ethical men like the Musketeers do not shrink from necessity but do not let this excuse them from their evil deeds. They carry the scars on their souls much the same as they carry them on their bodies.

Is Dumas guilty of the murder of Milady? How can he be considered to be guilty of the murder of an imaginary person? Besides, “he” didn’t do it, it was those Musketeers. But since they are also his creations and under his control, does he not share in their guilt? This line of questioning becomes ludicrous, even meaningless. Dumas created a gripping story of conflicted characters, forced by fate to compromise their principles and to commit murder in order to prevent further evil. In doing so, their fellowship fractures and they lose that which they value the most: each other’s company.

Let’s reword, then, our original question in the context of our example: Does it really matter what a character does in a story? Complex and believable characters are those who recognize that the world is rarely painted in absolutes, who are sometimes called upon to make tough choices for which there are no answers that are completely satisfactory. Had the Musketeers obeyed the strict interpretation of their moral characters and turned Milady over to the authorities, far from being punished for her crimes, she would instead have been rewarded. They did what their noble, “expedient” natures required them to do, and in so doing took upon themselves the sin of murder.

But the much-belabored point here is that Dumas was not guilty of murder. In exactly the same way, for exactly the same reasons, a player is not morally responsible for the evil deeds of a character he plays. Certainly, a character should be consistent in his makeup, and a good role-player will do his best to portray the character in a way that preserves the original conception. Some characters are conceived as having little or no conscience and will always do what is most expedient; other characters are run by “pragmatic” players, who can also be counted on to do the expedient thing. In the long run, these two types of characters are functionally the same.

And sometimes a good character, just like an individual, is forced to make a choice between two evils. They take the stain upon their souls in the interest of the greater good and go about the rest of their imaginary lives seeking absolution and expiation for their sins. That’s what makes a character interesting, complex, multi-layered and fun to interact with.

But the player doesn’t carry the stain on his own conscience. At most, the player may be nagged by doubts that he made the right choice for the advancement of the plot or the development of his character. Or he may accuse himself of poor role-playing, of not staying in character or of changing the characters in a way that he didn’t expect or enjoy. But he hasn't done anything wrong. After all, it’s just a game, right?