Does gameplay have politics?

Article posted on www.game-research.com on April 13, 2004

Much attention has been devoted to the scholarly issue of whether games should be thought of as rule based systems (ludology) or stories (narratology). Real games, however, obviously occupy both camps; some are more linear than others. Thus, two aesthetics compete for the players’ attention. On one side we find simulation-type games in which a limited number of variables create an open unpredictable world and on the other we find narratively oriented games in which the direction of the plot is given overriding importance. These two aesthetics are often seen as favouring different political world views. This article examines the claim that game design ideals can or should be seen as political statements.

A recent article in Reason (a magazine devoted to “Free Minds and Free Markets”) claims that “Video games are evolving into a grand anti-authoritarian laboratory”. The reason for this is the shift from “pre-rendered animation and simple behaviour to physical modelling and advanced artificial intelligence…”, a shift that “takes power from authors” (Parker, 2004 22). The author airs his dislike of storytelling games and goes on to claim that games in fact “as a class… appear to favour civil and economic liberty.” (26).

The author, then, clearly sees a connection between games which provide open worlds, freedom and libertarian ideals. This more than indicates that he considers more rigid, story-based games as somehow connected with anti-liberalist ideals: socialism, in so many words.

In this article I examine the connections between general design ideals and political ideologies.

Games are clearly…

During the last few years a debate has raged (or at least been claimed to rage) within game studies. In this debate the perspective of ludology has been contrasted to that of narratology. The term ludology was introduced into computer game studies by game theorist Gonzalo Frasca who early on suggested that ludology be thought of as simply the “discipline that studies game and play activities” (Frasca, 1999). Expanding on this however, Frasca on his popular webpage has specified that a ludological stance implies that “games cannot be understood through theories derived from narrative” (Frasca, 2001).

Over the years, the ludology label has been associated with notions of a radical anti-narratologist stance. This is hardly justified by Frasca’s mostly non-confrontational formulations (see also Frasca, 2003). Others, however have been more direct. For instance, Jesper Juul, in a 1998 paper stressed how “Computer games and narratives are very different phenomena. Two phenomena that fight each other. Two phenomena that you basically cannot have at the same time.” (Juul, 1998). Juul has later softened his position (Juul, 2003) and any truly radical ludology is now mostly associated with Finnish theorist Markku Eskelinen (e.g. Eskelinen, 2001).

Although examples can be found it is a widespread observation that the alleged opposition, the narratologists who hold that computer games can and/or should be understood as stories only exist in highly limited quantities. However, it may also be the case that the games-as-narratives perspective can be thought of as a sort of folk theory. While not many scholars may have held this belief a large number of non-involved (or only casually involved) people may well have considered this common sense. For instance the Danish Broadcasting Association in 2001 aimed to raise some €12,5 million for a project with the working title Metropol Scandia. Described as a “storytelling game” the product would see real actors interacting based on user decisions in a “virtual landscape” based on “Flash technology”. According to one account the project leader saw this as a promising alternative to computer games, which supposedly are “so simple that you can easily guess that you have to go through a specific door, collect a specific item and so on…” (Thorhauge, 2001) .

In 2004 nothing has yet come of this ambitious project. Arguably, it was a manifestation of a (to some) intuitive idea that for games to be better they must tell better stories. The ideology here is mostly conservatism; a belief that for “new media” to be worthwhile they must mostly mimic the old. More importantly, however, it may be a consequence of a pervasive predilection for ‘narrative’. Briefly, postmodern philosophy (and theorists within cultural studies) in the 1980s tied the concept of narrative to the idea of social constructionism. Most radically, scientific conclusions (or “truths”) were considered mere narratives, and thus everything was political. Such thoughts – of which many, of course, were more tempered – found an odd bedfellow in the idea inspired by various concepts from cognitive science, that people understand their world in a cognitive format which looks much like classical conceptions of narrative (i.e. is temporal, has clear causality). Within film theory such notions were advocated most forcefully by David Bordwell (1985) and Edward Branigan (1992). Branigan was specific that “Making narratives is a strategy for making our world of experiences and desires intelligible. It is a fundamental way of organizing data.” (1992 1).

It is not entirely obvious how to travel from the understanding that people understand in terms of narrative to the normative ideal that media producers (and indeed companies and products) should tell stories. Nevertheless, marketing disciplines working with branding and storytelling have made this leap often claiming that consumers (or perhaps mostly modern consumers) react favourably to “good stories” and are less concerned with facts.

I shall return below to the question of whether ludology can reasonably be tied to a full-scale political ideology. For now, however, we can note that ludologists do actually see themselves as something more than merely “students of games”.

Ludology has been framed in emancipatory terms, claiming to oppose theoretical imperialism or colonialism (humorously commented upon by Jesper Juul’s Game Liberation, a small game in which you as the player have “to defend games (and yourself) from the imperialism of a thousand theories.” – http://www.jesperjuul.dk/gameliberation/).

Game Lib illustration missing

More clearly, ludologists have essentialist tendencies. Espen Aarseth, whose seminal Cybertext (1997) is the explicit foundation of much ludology, held that “To claim that there is no difference between games and narratives is to ignore essential qualities of both categories” (5). This is a nebulous statement. To see why, let us turn to a discipline which has struggled with the idea of similarities and differences for centuries. In biology, various systems have been constructed to tell organisms apart. In some regard, Aarseth’s statement would be comparable to the proclamation that “to claim that there is no difference between human beings and animals is to ignore essential qualities of both categories.” To a biologist, of course, that is not immediately obvious. But more importantly, the “no difference” part is very vague. While no-one would disagree that we can point to various differences between humans and other animals we have no general way of deciding whether the two categories are mostly different or mostly similar. And we certainly have no way of deciding which differences are “essential”. We could stress that humans live in cities but we could just as well stress that dolphins communicate by sonar and display certain behaviour patterns inviting the conclusion that dolphins are essentially different from all other organisms. This is not to say that Aarseth’s statement is not meaningful (surely we can follow his larger argument that games have interesting characteristics not shared by, say, novels) but referring to “essential qualities” is not a strictly academic practise. Academically, categories are arbitrary and to claim that they are not is to engage in politics. The politics here, however, are those which come wholesale with the establishment of research programs. Although this may be done with varying degrees of modesty (and initial modesty is likely to be beneficial at later stages) such programs, if not framed in purely local terms, will always be arguing that one method, perspective or basic set of assumptions is superior to others.

In terms of games, ludologists can easily be seen as advocating a certain aesthetics. Significantly, most ludologists are not arguing against narrative in games. However, by stressing their scepticism towards some kinds of narrative (e.g. games that seem to mindlessly translate storytelling conventions from older media) they can be said to support game designs which take a simulationist approach. This, however, is merely one of several possible approaches to game design. In the following, I will present the two main approaches; the simulationist and the story-telling aesthetics.

Open worlds, closed stories

One way to distinguish between games is to look at their degree of openness. This can be thought of in a number of ways. For instance, we can understand games as being world-centred as opposed to protagonist-centred. In the former case the game is a world with physics in which processes take place without the protagonist necessarily being involved. In protagonist-centred games, however, the entire game system revolves around the protagonist and nothing noteworthy takes place outside the action radius of the protagonist. In her humorous account, game journalist J. C. Herz (1997) referred to the former approach as the “Old Testament approach to game design” stressing that the designer here creates the basic material and the basic rules (analogous to the laws of nature). This, she contrasted with the “‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ syndrome, where you feel like you’re on some kind of monorail through the game.” (154). These two approaches were addressed further in my article ‘The Road not Taken’ (Smith, 2000).

Another, and more precise, distinction was made by Jesper Juul who described games as being on a continuum between two basic game structures: ‘emergence’ and ‘progression’ (Juul, 2002). Emergence, to Juul, is “the primordial game structure, where a game is specified as a small number of rules that combine and yield large numbers of game variations…” (324). An example is chess, in which quite simple rules combine to enable an enormous (if technically finite) number of individual chess matches.

In progression games, on the other hand, “the player has to perform a predefined set of actions to complete the game.” (324). Juul stresses how this game form is practically unique to computer games. Clear-cut specimens include adventure games such as Myst (Cyan, 1994) and Gabriel Knight III (Sierra, 1999).

Myst illustration missing

Looking at the history of computer games it is obvious that the initial preference was for simple emergence games. Games like Spacewar! (Russel et. al., 1962) and Pong (Atari, 1972) were easy to learn but took practice to play well. With Adventure (Crowther, 1976) and Zork (Infocom, 1979) however, the player was given a series of tasks (or puzzles) to solve in order to progress through what was essentially a linear story. Arguably, the introduction of adventure games mark a politically charged time in game history as adventure game designers (or ‘authors’ as they often called themselves) attempted to distance themselves from the simple teenage-friendly arcade action games of the time. Adventure game designers may well have had lofty goals. It is hard, however, not to acknowledge the strategic side of their project. In this light the attempt to lean heavily on storytelling media (in particular the novel and the film) is reminiscent of earl film makers’ attempt to draw on the prestige of classical theatre by placing a camera in front of actors performing classical plays. Alternatively, the project can be compared to the rhetorical work of the French Nouvelle Vague movement, who in the 1960s strived to promote an idea of the film director as an author (Smith, 2000). Thus, in a sense adventure game developers saw themselves as more sophisticated than their emergence-inspired colleagues. But their project of framing games as literature (and thus art) failed since in terms of popularity and creative potential, progression games were not (or did not become) obvious candidates for the label “real games”. Thus, it may be that ludology should be seen as a counter-reaction to this failed attempt. In positioning games as worthy of recognition ludology are employing the exact opposite strategy, namely arguing that games are different. Considering the popularity of emergence games this argument is likely to have more impact.This brings us back to the actual games since recent developments seem to contradict any claim that game designs subscribing to a “pure” emergent aesthetics are – or will soon become – the norm. Now, as an example of a computer game with highly emergent properties we can choose SimCity (Maxis, 1989). Here, we find no storyline but rather a sort of sandbox – a term sometimes used derogatorily, see for instance Klug (2002). The player is given an interface through which he or she can interact with a system of individually speaking simple components. The results are not prescribed and are infinite in range. Interestingly, many modern games in fact seem to merge the two basic aesthetics in ways that not many might have foreseen a decade ago. Notably, Half-Life (Valve, 1998) was praised for its seamless integration of story and player freedom. Rather than forcefully advancing the plot by stripping away the player’s options while displaying a cut-scene, Half-Life succeeded in supplying pertinent narrative information while remaining inside the system of the game engine.

Half-live illustration missing

Later games with similar ambitions have even revitalized the much-derided cut-scene, introducing brief, cinematic animations functioning more as establishing shots or drama enhancers than scenes conveying complex narrative details. In Prince of Persia: Sands of Time (Ubisoft, 2003), for instance, dramatic situations are sometimes introduced by a brief swoop of the “camera” showing the layout of the soon-to-be battle field (the game also uses some classical cut-scenes to advance the story).

Prince of Persia illustration missing

The game makes use of modern cinema aesthetics in brief ‘functionalist’ cut-scenes which serve as establishing shots etc.


But the recent game which may have most forcefully demonstrated the potential of merging the two aesthetics is the top-selling video game in the US in 2002: Grand Theft Auto III: Vice City (Rockstar North, 2002). The original Grand Theft Auto III (2002) is in fact one of the game singled out in Kevin Parker’s Reason article for setting the player free (Parker doesn’t fail to note that the player begins the game in the role of a freed prisoner, and comments “Captive audience no longer”). While Vice City has a narrative in the form of a series of tasks which must be completed to advance the underlying plot, the game has been singled out mostly for its advanced physics leading to a world of opportunity. For instance, since Vice City’s vehicles have logical properties and are not just backdrops, the player may use them in highly varied ways. Where, though, does the game belong on Juul’s emergence-progression continuum? While it is certainly true that the game offers more freedom (in any common sense of the word) than classical adventure games, Vice City is actually not emergent in the strict sense of the word. While game objects may become involved in chain-reactions (i.e. large-scale car crashes) the world itself does not actually evolve much in the absence of the player character. Vice City citizens do not live their daily life according to their basic preferences in the parts of the city where the player is not present. Thus, there is no way that the actions of the player will cause large-scale changes in the game world. In fairness, then, Vice City belongs somewhere in the middle of Juul’s continuum and is perhaps not the obvious choice of game for someone arguing that games have reached new stages of ‘freedom’ (MMORPGs, also mentioned by Parker, are more obvious candidates)

Does game design have politics?

Let us now return to our more general question of whether the two aesthetics are tied to political ideologies.

Parker, in his Reason article, doesn’t take it nearly as far, but let us consider an extreme argument: Narrative games are socialist, simulation games are liberalist. With the term ‘socialist’ we shall refer to the idea that central governance is advantageous. ‘Liberalist’ here is the idea that self-governance is advantageous (and morally superior since individuals are or should be free). First of all, the analogy is of course quite obvious. Adventure games (say) have relatively fixed story lines established by an all-powerful author and the freedom of the player is moderate at best. Simulation games have only basic rules (analogous to laws of nature and perhaps basic human rights) and offer much more freedom. In various forms, this analogy is common. Most specifically, interactivity (and the rise of interactive media) has frequently been described in utopian terms (see examples in Aarseth, 1997). But certain forms of texts within non-interactive media have also been described as inherently more free and some of these descriptions have had obvious political components. For instance Umberto Eco wrote of the “open text” which afforded multiple interpretations (Eco, 1989). In media studies John Fiske (1987) called such texts “writerly” and saw them as empowering the interpreter. In film theory, Andre Bazin is often credited (more or less fairly) with the idea that editing had an un-democratic element since the director was assuming too much control. Turning to painting, the “academic” perspective, common since the renaissance has been described as manifesting certain ideologies. And within theatre, Brecht famously advocated the need for new forms of drama not affirming bourgeois values. In other words, the tradition for linking certain media forms (or genres) to specific ideologies is both old and persistent.

Not only designers and producers face such accusations, of course. An illuminating parallel to the games are political claim, may be the idea that science is political. This idea also comes in many forms, one of the stronger being the claim that theories put forth must be understood as manifestations of certain ideologies. Such an argument has been levelled repeatedly against proponents of the so-called sociobiological perspective (see Segerstråle, 2000). To some critics, when sociobiologists have claimed that animal behaviour should be considered in the light of genetics they were really saying that natural dispositions should be used as guidelines for structuring society etc. While specific sociobiologists may of course have held a broad range of views, in general such an accusation is unfounded (see discussion in Dennett, 1995). The naturalist fallacy is the belief that you can infer from is to ought and these critics were in fact committing an odd naturalist fallacy by proxy as they ascribed the fallacy to their opponents who didn’t (as a rule) commit it themselves. In this indirect fashion the idea of slow gradual evolution highlighted by Richard Dawkins (e.g. Dawkins, 1989) and others has been described as an attempt to naturalize self-organizing, non-revolutionary liberalism. In the other trench Stephen Jay Gould’s declared Marxism has been associated with his predilection for the more revolution-friendly idea of evolution by punctuated equilibrium (Gould, 1995).

The operative noun in all this remains analogy. And analogy, as has been aptly shown by many (e.g. Sokal & Bricmont, 1998), is a highly slippery weapon to wield. Mainly, it does not hold that because a person has a certain position within one domain he or she must necessarily hold it in others. Nor does it hold that if someone displays a certain behaviour in one context he or she will also display it in other contexts. For instance, one may believe that the army should be organized hierarchally while society should be organized democratically. Or one may hold the belief that it’s every man for himself in professional chess while people should display community ethics in political life. As to behaviour, one may attempt to strictly adhere to the scientific method in one’s professional life while enjoying The X-Files or romantic poetry in one’s spare time. More to the point one may play, or design, the most Orwellian nightmare of an adventure game story without endorsing any of its content as a recipe for real world legislation.

As a designer or critic it is possible to subscribe to a certain design aesthetic. Significantly, it is also possible to argue that emergence games most elegantly make use of the capabilities of the digital computer. Indeed one may even point to the statistical connection between certain aesthetics and certain ideologies (i.e. fascist architecture) but one cannot sensibly equate a predilection for a certain aesthetic with a certain world view or political ideology. Doing so means committing a universalistic fallacy, to make the mistake of assuming that all aspects of life can or should be judged using the same measures.

None of this means, of course, that individual games cannot way be said to be politically charged (e.g. Taylor, 2003) or to be expressions of political world-views. We can point to the peculiar rule in SimCity which makes it impossible to have a tax-rate higher than about 20% and we can point to the fact that the game was conceived in a US context (and not, say, a Scandinavian one). But we cannot categorize SimCity as anti-taxation propaganda much as we cannot claim that a novel which describes a certain society is necessarily an homage to the society in question.

Conclusions and other perspectives

The freedom offered by games – the agency brought about by interactivity – is often compared to the concept of freedom in private and political (real) life. This analogy, however, often speaks of a universalistic fallacy; the idea that the same measure may be applied to all aspects of life.

Within game studies the attempts of ludologists to ‘set games free’ (from old paradigms) has been associated with an anti-narratological stance. This association is not entirely justified although at the level of game design some ludologists have expressed scepticism as to the possibilities for reconciling (enjoyable) gameplay and narrative. Thus, the somewhat emancipatory project of ludology lends itself to association with what Jesper Juul has called emergence games. The idea that computer game theory and design should be freed from oppression, if only indirectly, ties into the argument that emergence games are somewhat purer or that games based on strong traditional narratives are somewhat limiting. This is mostly guilt by association, however, as the only true political agenda of (most) ludologists is that of advocating certain perspectives in the ongoing endeavour of constructing a (presently rather non-rigid) research program.

Whereas arguing which game aesthetic is inherently purer is mostly a game of words Parker’s suggestion that multiplayer games be seen as political laboratories is an interesting – and generally under-explored – notion. And there is much to learn. MMORPGs, for instance, are struggling with constructing societies which support such diverse requirements as justice, social order, and fun. In this task, MMORPG designers are experimenting with hosts of non-traditional systems for managing deviance and for ensuring a certain level of equality in worlds easily upset by the concentration of power. It is curious how this topic is intensely discussed while very rarely dealt with in a careful academic fashion. It is rare, at least, that political scientists take a genuine interest, whereas their sociologist and economist colleagues are contributing powerfully to our understanding of topically adjacent multiplayer phenomena. Hopefully, this gap will be filled in the near future. Worlds are being built, and there is much to learn for the curious.

References

Bordwell, D. (1985). Narration in the Fiction Film. London: Routledge.

Branigan, E. (1992). Narrative Comprehension and Film. London: Routledge.

Dawkins, R. (1989). The Selfish Gene (2 ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Dennett, D. C. (1995). Darwin’s Dangerous Idea. London: Penguin Books.

Eco, U. (1989). The Open Work. Boston: Harvard University Press.

Eskelinen, M. (2001). The Gaming Situation. Game Studies, 1(1).

Fiske, J. (1987). Television Culture. London: Routledge.

Frasca, G. (1999). Ludology meets Narratology: Similitude and differences between (video)games and narrative. Retrieved 29th of March, 2004, from http://www.jacaranda.org/frasca/ludology.htm

Frasca, G. (2001). What is ludology? A provisory definition. Retrieved 29th of March, 2003, from http://ludology.org/article.php?story=20010708201200000

Frasca, G. (2003). Ludologists love stories, too: notes from a debate that never took place. Paper presented at the Level Up – Digital Games Research Conference, Utrecht.

Gould, S. J. (1995). The Pattern of Life’s History. Retrieved 6th of April, 2004, from http://www.edge.org/documents/archive/edge101.html

Herz, J. C. (1997). Joystick nation : how videogames gobbled our money, won our hearts, and rewired our minds. London: Abacus.

Juul, J. (1998). A Clash between Game and Narrative. Paper presented at the Digital Arts and Culture conference, Bergen.

Juul, J. (2002). The Open and the Closed: Games of Emergence and Games of Progression. Paper presented at the Computer Games and Digital Cultures Conference, Tampere.

Juul, J. (2003). Half-Real – Video games between real rules and fictional worlds. PhD dissertation, IT University of Copenhagen, Copenhagen.

Klug, C. (2002, 16th of September). Implementing Stories in Massively Multiplayer Games. Gamasutra.com.

Parker, K. (2004). Free Play – The Politics of the Video Game. Reason, 35, 21-27.

Segerstråle, U. (2000). Defenders of the Truth – The Sociobiology Debate. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Smith, J. H. (2000). The Road not Taken – The How’s and Why’s of Interactive Fiction: www.game-research.com.

Sokal, A., & Bricmont, J. (1998). Intellectual Impostures. London: Profile Books.

Taylor, T. L. (2003). Intentional Bodies: Virtual Environments and the Designers Who Shape Them. International Journal of Engineering Education, 19(1).

Thorhauge, C. (2001). DR satser 100 millioner på interaktivitet [The Danish Broadcasting Association bets 100 millions on interactivity]. Computerworld.dk.

Aarseth, E. (1997). Cybertext : perspectives on ergodic literature. London: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Avatars you can trust – A survey on the issue of trust and communication in MMORPGs

First published: September 10, 2003
Updated: Oct 24, 2006

[Graphs missing]

Designers of MMORPGs face hard technical challenges but as the somewhat brief history of these games has made clear, they also need a clear sociological understanding of group behaviour. This article reports on a small survey of MMORPG players addressing the issues of trust and communication. Results are analyzed through a theoretical perspective drawing inspiration from theories of cooperation and collective action, mainly sociological formulations of economic game theory.

Theoretical background
Human interaction, by any standard definition, requires communication. In order to express our needs and desires, to engage in trade, to ask for directions – not to mention cooperating on a nationwide level – we need the powers of communication. In many cases, however, communication itself is not enough. To coordinate the efforts of building a lighthouse (to take an economy textbook classic) we’ll need the precious resource of trust. If a person is to contribute to the common good, he or she needs to be convinced that other people are not just piggybacking on his or her efforts. If I am to contribute to the lighthouse, I’ll want some insurance that no substantial number of people are freeriding; enjoying the benefits without contributing on their own. These have been core issues in political science for centuries. The problem – which is really the problem of how society is possible at all – is one of trust. How do agents who feel any kind of discrepancy between personal and collective interests (and are sometimes tempted to look after the former) manage to cooperate? Historically there have been two solutions that we may refer to as the Neutral Third Party Approach and the Responsibility Through Positive Sum Approach. The former has been famously phrased by the contract theorists Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau. People, in this perspective, understand that they would be better off if they cooperated, but have no way of trusting each other without a neutral guarantor. This guarantor, typically the state, may punish those who break contracts or act against the common good. Thus, even the purely selfish will find it sensible to cooperate. The Responsibility Through Positive Sum Approach works without a neutral third party. In this view, social order (and general prosperity) may arise through the largely unregulated interaction of selfish agents by way of various mechanisms, most famously the surplus value generated by specialisation. Hence, classical economist Adam Smith’s (Smith, 1776/1993) well known claim that

“It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest. We address ourselves, not to their humanity but of their advantages.”

Buy a loaf of bread from the baker instead of baking it yourself and you’ll both profit.

This view is echoed in some quarters of economic/social game theory and rhymes well with many observations from biology.

Now, both of these approaches have been known to work under certain conditions. MMORPG designers will often have to strike a balance between the two approaches, letting the system itself assume the properties of the neutral third party while various mechanisms facility some degree of emergent social order. The details of how this can (and does) work will not be discussed here. Rather, it is important to understand that multiplayer games are subject to the exact same problems and concerns as any other human group. With one obvious exception; many games have strong competitive elements (indeed one could argue that the less competition we have, the less of a game do we have) and such elements differ somewhat from many forms of “physical” human cooperation. This is true to the extend that the competition is what game theorists refer to as zero-sum, a game with a fixed amount of points; one side wins as the other side loses. Examples of zero-sum games are (stand-alone games of) chess, tennis, and Tekken. MMORPGs are less competitive than Tekken and thus more obviously concerned with social interaction. However, it is worth noting that many games that may seem (practically) zero-sum have dimensions that rely on trust. For instance, the real-time strategy game Age of Empires (Microsoft, 1999) matched players for multi-player battles through a web interface that required some amounts of chatting and opened up a variety of trust issues. For instance, players would often lie about their skills in order to find willing opponents (whom they might even have the pleasure of giving a thorough and rating-reducing beating). Thus, whereas the actual battles with standard setting had no trust problems (they were zero-sum and you simply assumed that the opponent was out to get you) the matching interface was rife with such issues.

In MMORPGs, of course, cooperation is a necessity, when forming parties or guilds and when facing the need of a variety of character class specific skills. Also, these games generally share an ambition of creating worlds, presumably including some sorts of communities. What we have, then, is that very basic of human phenomena; the need for cooperation and the emergence and violations of norms. It may well be possible to establish a template for the emergence of social issues in online role-playing games or indeed many types of online communities. Certainly, many of the more well-documented specimen seem to have followed a common path.

1. The establishing of the system. Users may be few and friendly towards the project. Social issues will not be dramatic.
2. Opening of the world to outsiders that do not share the cooperative pioneering spirit of the first users.
3. Social trouble arising from the abuse of privileges.
4. Implementation of system-level norms and rules and a system of sanctions (if not, the system may well lose its value and fade away).

On many levels, this schema describes the evolution of systems such as the CommuniTree bulletin board (Stone, 1992), LambdaMOO (Dibbel, 1999; Curtis, 1992), the educational MUD called MicroMUSE (Smith, 1999), the early graphical MUD Habitat (Morningstar & Farmer, 1990:9) and Ultima Online which was initially plagued by large-scale social trouble. Famously, Blizzard’s Diablo was taught many game designers not to expect everyone to voluntarily refrain from cheating. A variety of “hacks” would seriously tip the balance in multiplayer games. It is interesting to note that an informal survey done in 1997 showed that 89% of those who had cheated would have preferred not to have been able to do so (Greenhill, 1997). The design lesson to be learned from that may be to help players stop cheating by leaving the system less open to exploitation and even not to be afraid to help players from themselves.

Collectively, game world sabotage (or forms of play that run contrary to the enjoyment of other players) is often labelled ‘grief play’. This problem may be decreasing as game worlds are designed with less utopian assumptions of player behaviour but it obviously still demands many resources and to some extent dictates design decisions. The FAQ of Mythic Entertainment’s Dark Age of Camelot (2001+) states that

“An unfortunate situation has arisen in several currently-available online games where some game players go out of their way to ruin the gaming experience for other players by killing them repeatedly, “stealing” their monster kills, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Camelot has several built-in methods for discouraging this behavior.“
(http://www.darkageofcamelot.com/faq/)

Expectations
Real-life successful communities usually fulfil a range of criteria (Ostrom, 1990). More generically, following Robert Axelrod’s seminal analysis (Axelrod, 1984), trust without central command may arise in positive sum systems characterized by
• Repeated interaction. The likelihood of future interaction must be sufficiently large.
• Knowledge of interaction history. Agents must be able to recall past interactions.
• Recognition capabilities. Agents must be able to recognize one another.

To this we may add that stable group boundaries and indeed small group sizes may support asynchronous niceness, known as reciprocal altruism (within biology) or generalized exchange (within sociology). In such situations, one agent will cooperate with another without the lure of immediate reward.
Now, if players recognize this on any level they may be expected to desire features that enable trusting in-game relationships to form, most notably: Strong communication features, limited and stable group sizes, persistent user identities (to enable recognition), and memory support in the form of note-taking or being able to attach labels to other players’ profiles. Of course, players might also care nothing for trust and just enjoy the lawless anarchy of online gaming.

Methodology
Survey methodology – as indeed all methodologies – is fraught with problems and pitfalls for the unwary. On a general level we should be sceptical about people’s self-perceptions. Asking someone about her media use, for instance, may yield highly non-factual answers. We are not completely conscious of our daily life and habits and we all present self-images clouded by wishful thinking – at times even to ourselves. Most obviously, people tend to downplay media use perceived as vulgar in favour of more socially respected pastimes (e.g. Lewis, 1991:53). Also, some types of knowledge cannot be put into words. While we can ask someone if he or she can ride a bicycle, we cannot ask someone how he or she rides a bicycle. Riding a bike is not an entirely conscious process. Similarly, we can’t ask someone directly how he or she communicates with others or evaluate the personalities of others. Thus, the answers given to this type of questions in the survey may not be accurate.

In this particular case the respondents involved were found on a limited number of websites etc. Or rather, they found themselves since they were perfectly able not to take the survey. Thus, the respondents who did chose to answer were self-selected. This introduces bias, since the sample is not representative. It might be that the opinions and habits of the hard-core gamers who answered are interesting to us (or to designers) but on the whole the results should be considered indicative rather than conclusive.

Practical approach
The survey was advertised, with an introductory text, at www.game-research.com between 5th of October, 2001 and 8th of January, 2002. In addition, respondents were recruited in a variety of USENETnewsgroups. The questionnaire itself was web-based and besides basic demographic questions consisted mostly of closed questions in which respondents were asked to rate statements such as “Communication/chat with other players is an appealing part of online gaming.” Results were analysed for statistical significance within single questions (could the outcome be a coincidence?) and between questions (for instance, do respondents who value communication/chat also find that users should have persistent user names?). Significance, here, is measured at the level of p<0.05.

Survey results
The most significant results of the survey will be presented below. Whereas this discussion focuses mostly on significant distributions within single questions, additional and different analyses may well be performed on the data than the ones discussed here.

Respondent demographics
Respondents were, not surprisingly, overwhelmingly male (91,7%). 42,5% were in their twenties, while the mean age was 24,7. Whereas Americans constituted the largest group (42,4%), British respondents accounted for 17,9% of all responses.

Saboteurs are a problem
Online gamers, of course, are a motley crowd. Different game genres may present different problems of cooperation and different player types may have different concepts of fun. Furthermore, we may speculate that people who find online gaming worthwhile at all do not find the problems to be critical.
Graph 1, however, shows that respondents do think that saboteurs are a problem. Even if we consider the middle category “sometimes“ as a statement of neutrality towards the issue (as is done throughout the following), a significant number (41,4%) reply that saboteurs are a problem “often” or “all the time”.

To what degree do you find that online gaming is troubled by saboteurs (player killers, cheaters etc.)?

Establishing trust
When players (or indeed avatars) meet, they will often want to gauge the trustworthiness of each other, whether to engage in trade or dragon slaying. Respondents were asked how they evaluate such trustworthiness by being requested to rate the following statements (among others):

• I judge by the seriousness of their user names
• I judge them by their writing skills and apparent level of education
• I judge them on the basis of dialogue (value statements etc.)

On the whole, user names were not taken by the respondents as valuable indicators of personality or intentions. One could speculate that silly or youthful names would signal low trustworthiness but respondents claim that this is not the case (at any significant level).

On the other hand, writing skills and apparent level of education is considered an important indicator. It might well be that paying attention to grammar and wording in general comes across as a commitment to the interaction. A communicator who is willing to spend time and effort on an exchange is likely to be serious about future commitment. It also means, of course, that good communicators (people who are used to textual interaction) have clear advantages when self-representation consists only of text.
Whereas form is important, actual statements and choice of subject matter appears to be even more crucial. Disregarding those who answer “sometimes” (29,5% of all) 81,4% of the remaining group claim to judge others on the basis of dialogue “often” or “all the time”. This is hardly surprising. Value statements go to the heart of trust, and it would be strange not to take stock of extreme statements of egoism or altruism (although in some settings, one might be sceptical of the last sort).

I judge them by their writing skills and apparent level of education?

I judge them on the the basis of dialogue (value statements etc.)?

I judge them by their reputation (eg. by asking others)?

I judge by the seriousness of their user names?

Design preferences
Respondents were also asked to evaluate a small series of design feature proposals and a few more general statements. These features and statements are directly related to the issue of trust. We might expect the gamers to desire strong communication features and to want ways of handling saboteurs. Particularly, if the respondents follow predictions derived from the theoretical perspective outlined above, they should want permanence on the issue of identity and clear connections between gamers and their user names (i.e. they should want user names to be more or less permanent).

The respondents, in fact, agreed to a high degree that it should be possible to hold others accountable by attaching labels to their user profiles (much like it is done on www.e-bay.com). Also, the responses stressed the importance of persistent identities. Not all respondents agree, of course, but on those two issues, the respondents in favour of such measures outnumber those opposed.

Interestingly, though perhaps not surprising to most, the respondents value communication for its own sake (not just as a necessary evil). This should not be taken to mean that what they really come for is the company – if that were the case they could fulfil their needs in other (much cheaper) systems, such as bulletin boards or instant messengers. But communication does seem to be a major reason to play online as opposed to single-player fun.

It should be possible to attach notes to other users about their reliability etc and to make these notes available to friends/allies?

Communication/chat with other players is an appealing part of online gaming?

Online games should focus heavily on communication features enabling coorperation between players (pooling resources with allies, teaming up etc.)?

Players should be clearly connected to user names (user names should be permanent/persistent and/or hard to get)?

There should be strict limits as to how many players are let into the same game world (or game room etc.)?

Management should try to let players work out their difficulties before stepping in?

Communication/chat with other players is a necessary but not appealing part of online gaming?

New players should have restricted powers within MUDs and roleplaying games until they’ve proven themselves in some way?

Conclusions and perspectives
On the issue of actual in-game player behaviour one must not place too much stock on player perceptions. Player claims, however, may inform us on what players look for in games and give us general impression of what features they value and would like to see improved. Importantly, saboteurs or grief players trouble many online games and even where they don’t we may want to ask if the game designers are avoiding unconstructive behaviour at the cost of restrictions on player freedom.
The results presented here indicate that gamers, consciously or not, are concerned with issues of trust and cooperation. They tend to prefer design features that facilitate constructive behaviour. Such features have been studied intensively by disciplines such as political science and sociology and it seems likely that game designers would be able to benefit from paying attention to these disciplines.
In the future it would be interesting to try to document what concrete design features lead to what types of behaviour. By systematically and empirically studying the sociology of MMORPGs we will even be able to generalize results and thus provide valuable knowledge that may extend far outside the field of games. Just as game desigers may benefit from the insights of sociologist, so the study of society and politics may be able to look to virtual worlds for valuable data and ideas.

Literature
• Axelrod, Robert (1984). The Evolution of Co-operation. London: Penguin Books.
• Curtis, Pavel (1992). Mudding: Social Phenomena in Text-Based Virtual Realities. Proceedings of Directions and Implications of Advanced Computing, Berkeley, California.
• Dibell, Julian (1999). My Tiny Life. London: Fourth Estate.
• Greenhill, Richard (1997). Diablo, and Online Multiplayer Game’s Future. Games Domain Review.
• Lewis, Justin (1991). The Ideological Octopus – An Exploration of Television and Its Audience. London: Routledge.
• Morningstar, Chip & Farmer, Randall F. (1990). The Lessons of Lucasfilms’s Habitat. In: Wardrup-Fruin & Montfort, Nick (2003). The New Media Reader. London: The MIT Press.
• Ostrom, Elinor (1990). Governing the Commons – The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
• Smith, Adam (1776/1993). An Enquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• Smith, Anna DuVal (1999). Problems of conflict management in virtual communities. In: Kollock, Peter & Smith, Marc (eds.). (1999). Communities in Cyberspace. New York: Routledge.
• Stone, Alluequere Rosanne (1992). Will the real body please stand up? – Boundary Stories about Virtual Cultures. In: Benedikt, Michael (ed.). Cyberspace: First Steps. Cambridge: The MIT Press.
NOTE: This article replaces a briefer version previously published at this site. For further discussion of the results and a more detailed theoretical framework, please see my MA thesis The Architectures of Trust – Supporting Cooperation in the Computer-Supported Community

Kunsten at skabe venlige brugere

Bragt i COMUNICARE no. 3, september 2003.

Når to mennesker mødes på gaden, har de et arsenal af muligheder for at vurdere hinandens troværdighed. Kropssprog, stemmeføring og sprogbrug er af største betydning, når tillid skal etableres. Men disse cues er nærmest ikkeeksisterende i computerunderstøttet kommunikation. Så hvad gør den designer, der søger konstruktiv og tillidsbaseret brugeradfærd?

Det var sådan set svært nok allerede. Softwareudvikling handlede i årtier næsten kun om forholdet mellem en bruger og vedkommendes maskine. Brugeren skulle, helst uden en doktorgrad i kryptografi, kunne skrive et dokument, tegne en graf eller vedligeholde et kundekartotek. Dette viste sig at kræve et omfattende samarbejde mellem dataloger og psykologer, som sammen fandt hensigtsmæssige standarder for design af brugerflader. Når man i dag kan betjene en PC helt uden forståelse for dens bagvedliggende logik, er det et resultat af dette vanskelige arbejde. Men det skulle blive sværere endnu.

Langsomt blev flere og flere maskiner forbundet til hinanden i netværk. Og det medførte et helt nyt problem: andre brugere. Ikke blot skulle man nu tage højde for individuelle brugeres adfærd og psykologi, men som systemudvikler blev man nu konfronteret med en hel række udfordringer af sociologisk og kommunikativ karakter. Et par eksempler: Hvordan tillader man folk at kommunikere effektivt uden kropssprog eller øjenkontakt? Hvordan forholder man sig til tavs viden, når man gerne vil samarbejde over nettet?

World Wide Web satte fra midten af 1990’erne problemerne på spidsen, men udfordringerne er de samme i f.eks. intranetsystemer og computerspil med mange samtidige spillere. Også et grundlæggende sociologisk spørgsmål blev pludselig yderst relevant: Hvordan får man folk til at opføre sig pænt over for hinanden? At dette er et vigtigt spørgsmål, var ikke umiddelbart oplagt for ret mange udviklere, der så det som deres opgave at levere teknologi og ikke at føre politik. Men erfaringerne talte for sig selv. Det ene demokratisk opbyggede diskussionssystem efter det andet blev udsat for misbrug, og computerunderstøttet samarbejde blev ramt af et vidensdelingsproblem: Det ville være fint, hvis de andre gjorde det, men hvorfor skulle jeg bruge tid og kræfter på at dele min viden?

Lidt forsimplet kan systemudvikleren arbejde på to overordnede niveauer, når han gerne vil tilskynde brugere af flerbrugersystemer til at opføre sig konstruktivt. Disse niveauer kan vi kalde henholdsvis incitament- og æstetikniveauet.

På incitamentniveauet skeler udvikleren til klassisk økonomi og statsteori og sørger for, at venlighed betaler sig. Dette kan gøres på et utal af måder. Når det er mest primitivt, kan systemets ejer smide den bruger ud, der ikke bidrager konstruktivt. Et dagblad har måske et digitalt diskussionsforum, og dem, der pjatter, larmer eller spreder racistisk propaganda, bliver opdaget af en redaktør og smidt på den virtuelle port. Denne trussel får måske nogle til at holde sig i skindet, men kræver også omfattende ressourcer i form af en fuldtidsansat redaktør og garanterer ikke, at alle syndere opdages. En mere elegant og betydeligt billigere løsning går ud på at lade overvågningen være op til brugerne selv. Denne selvovervågning bygger på, at brugerne har mulighed for at rate hinanden, når de interagerer, og en bruger med mange point får særlige privilegier. Dette har vist sig som en overordentlig effektiv løsning.

På æstetikniveauet beskæftiger man sig med f.eks. visuel stil og sproglig tone – alt det, som brugeren ser og hører. Den amerikanske litterat Janet Murray sætter vigtigheden af disse elementer i perspektiv med et godt eksempel: Gennem mange år har det været populært inden for forskningen i kunstig intelligens at udvikle såkaldte chatterbots, hvis eneste opgave er at indgå i dialog med mennesker og helst virke så overbevisende som muligt. Jo mere den menneskelige samtalepartner er tilbøjelig til at tro, at vedkommende chatter med et andet menneske, jo bedre. En klassisk strategi er gået ud på at hælde en stadigt større mængde ord og grammatiske regler i disse bots (sådanne strategier betegnes ofte Good old fashioned AI). Men Murray erfarede, at en meget simpel bot faktisk havde overordentlig stor succes.

Trylleordet her er selvfølgelig kontekst. Systemudviklere har mulighed for, ved hjælp af metaforer og lignende, at skabe en kontekst, som brugeren træder ind i. Og eftersom de fleste mennesker alt andet lige er tilbøjelige til at opfylde opfattede forventninger, har man her en meget effektiv måde at styre interaktionen på. Søger man at skabe et forum for oplyst, filosofisk debat, er det smartere at skabe en visuel og sproglig ramme, der henleder brugernes tanker på Antikkens Grækenland, end en, der får dem til at tænke på skyttegravskrig.

Konklusion

Internettet har skabt en ny virkelighed, hvor sociale interaktioner er blevet centrale. At understøtte ønsket om behagelig interaktion kræver den rette kontekst – en kontekst, der bedst etableres på baggrund af tværfaglig forståelse og med deltagelse af velfunderede kommunikatører.

The Road not Taken – The How’s and Why’s of Interactive Fiction

Date posted: June 1, 2000
Updated: Apr 11, 2007

Historical foreword
The details, unfortunately, are rather sketchy. This should not come as a surprise since, after all, the people involved had little idea what they were doing.

Surely, when Don Woods, a student at the Stanford University’s Artificial Intelligence Lab, sat down at his keyboard one day in 1976 to write an e-mail he didn’t realise he was also about to write computer history. Woods was determined to get in touch with a certain Will Crowther. Not that Woods had ever met or spoken to Crowther, actually he didn´t even know Crowther´s e-mail address.

The reason for Woods´ search was a computer game. Now this may well convey the wrong impression, because the game in question would surely stand out among its digital descendants of our day. Today´s games are audiovisual endeavours produced by teams of dedicated full-time designers. The game that had so intrigued Don Woods was something else entirely. It had no graphics, it had no sound, but nevertheless it was known as: Adventure.

Deducing a person´s e-mail address from a name would soon become hard bordering on the impossible. In 1976, however, only a handful of servers were connected through the ARPAnet. Woods simply tried them all, using ´crowther@´ as the prefix. In the message, which reached Crowther in Boston, Woods expressed his admiration for what he had found on the university computers. Adventure had been born in an attempt to combine Crowther´s interests in programming, caving, and fantasy role-playing. The small program was a crude cave exploration simulator, which let the player interact with an environment of caves interconnected through what the famous opening line of the game described as ´a twisty maze of passageways, all alike.´.

Now, at the time of Woods´ enthusiastic e-mail ´broadcast´ Crowther was somewhat busy contributing to the foundations of the ARPAnet. Woods, however, had less momentous things on his mind. He wanted most of all to expand and improve on the rather bug-ridden and frame like structure that was Adventure. Perceiving this as a flattering display of interest rather than an infringement of authorship Crowther happily gave Woods his blessings.

For this was indeed no scheme to change the world. By his own admission Crowther had been satisfied that his kids considered the game ´a lot of fun´ and Woods thought it appropriate to expand the structure, add to the game´s fantasy flavour in recognition of his admiration of J.R.R. Tolkien and then graciously leave the game behind on the network while going away for the summer.

There was a certain sense of naivety and unconcerned playfulness in the air when interactive fiction was born. The people involved indeed had little idea what they were doing.

Only in retrospect can we hear the distant sound of trumpets.

Section 1: Introduction
Stories are not what they used to be. There was a time when the bourgeois novel, leaning heavily on the time-honored tradition of classical Greek drama, represented the epitome of narrative perfection. The twentieth century saw an end to this ideal. Artists of most media joined forces in an aggressive attack on what was seen as uninspiring conventionalism, a conservative craftsmanship that hindered any radical potential of art. These artists were modernists, and almost by definition a modernist must attack tradition and the shackles of convention. In painting what had been accepted as progress towards truthful representation (see Fig. 1) now was accused of cowardice and even hypocrisy as its striving for truth in perspective was considered both naïve and ideologically biased.1

Figure 1 ´ Mabuse: St Luke painting the Virgin [section] (c. 1515). The scientific perspective and academic/religious motive would later be considered tasteless by many modernists.

In literature, following examples set by the provocations of Joyce, Kafka, Borges and others, modernism made a spectacle of challenging narrative cohesion, particularly by employing motives and techniques inspired by the thriving science of psychoanalysis. Filmmakers such as Bergman, Fellini, Antonioni and others later employed a modernist aesthetics as part of a quest to raise cinema to the level of art form (Thompson & Bordwell, 1994:492-557) and relied heavily on a deconstruction of Hollywood conventions and a focus on internal (often, it seems, psychopathological) realism.

In what may be termed linear media one can observe a tireless attempt to confront the limits of narrative form. The streams of consciousness and rigorous jump-cutting have been an attack on the vice like causality of linear projection (and printing). It has been an attack on the seductive qualities of traditional fiction and a call for a more critical audience, an audience in charge and in a state of constant reflection. It has, in many ways, been a call for interactive fiction.

This article attempts to map the promises and the limits of interactive fiction. This task is undertaken in a spirit of enthusiasm but also with a critical sense of purpose. While this article is no manual for the construction of such fiction and certainly has no wish to promote one design style at the expense of others it does take the form of a critical inquiry into what has been said and done in the field. For, as I hope to make clear, some rather unfortunate choices have been made.

The title of this paper refers to the themes that will be examined within. First of all it hints at the very pleasure or pain that may ´ or indeed may not ´ be specific to interactive fiction, that is the issue of deliberate choice. Secondly, and more importantly, it serves as a heading for A) a description of how the future of interactive fiction seems to lie in the very opposite direction from where it has been headed since Adventure, and B) how a disturbingly large number of people in an effort to theorize the phenomenon have walked down a crooked path that unfortunately leads nowhere in particular. The road they travel spins in circles because they have chosen to focus on questions of the ´what´ type. In this paper I argue that to understand the limits and potential of a phenomenon one must start with the ´how´s and ´why´s.

A note on language
Some of the cited literature is only available in Danish. To ensure the usefulness of this text, however, I have focused on English language works and wherever possible I have supplemented all references to Danish literature with a reference to the English version of the text. All Danish quotations are translated by the author.

Focus
Essentially this paper seeks to prove the following hypothesis: There is no logical contradiction between interactivity and engaging narrative experience. It is argued that the widespread conception that such a contradiction exists is a result of a particular (and according to its own ideals somewhat peculiar) design choice and that the most loudspoken branch of theory has mistaken this choice for the nature of interactive fiction.

Structure of the argument
As implied this paper attempts to add bricks to the foundation of a research field. Rather than applying diffuse terms to a highly specific aspect it aims to supply a rough map of this field. To stick with this metaphor I find it arrogant, if not down-right wrong, to believe that one can just pick any plant in a field and use it as a basis for wide reaching generalizations (analyzing one computer game without bothering with the history of the medium, for instance). This is very different from saying that one can learn nothing from a detailed case study ´ quite the opposite is true ´ but this case must be chosen with care on the basis of a broad understanding of its context and history.
The argument presented here falls into four sections.

  • Section 1 presents the case.
  • Section 2 tells the history of interactive fiction and attempts to explain why it went astray (according to its own ideals). In the service of illustration and ´grounding´, the game Gabriel Knight III (Sierra, 1999), a typical example of the genre, is analyzed.
  • Section 3 confronts existing theories of interactive fiction. This section argues that, while impressive work has been done to systematically approach the subject, much effort has been wasted in a battle of words. Theorists from humanistic disciplines have fallen victim to, what may be termed, the ´substantialist fallacy´, thereby actually working within the same faulty (or unconstructive) framework of the game designers. As an alternative I suggest an increased focus on why anyone would want to spend time on fiction in the first place and call for heightened attention to the need for interdisciplinarity.
  • Section 4 sums up the arguments and presents ideas for future research.

Terms used
Not surprisingly the explosive spread of digital communication and the rapid change these technologies have undergone has left us somewhat at a loss for words. What was almost securely categorized under a heading of number crunching hard science broke loose rather unexpectedly and became a full-fledged medium. Computing so obviously a method of calculation became a medium of communication. Meanwhile, with the growth of an industry able to promote its services almost entirely on grounds of novelty, considerable sums were spent on the word game. New terms were coined and shaky metaphors constructed in a haphazard manner. What we have from this source is a plethora of ad hoc terms counting such notabilities as ´Cyberspace´, ´Information Society´, ´Global village´ and a true magnet of fragile definitions: ´Interactivity´. Certainly the major players on the market were never at a loss for words. Some would argue they used far too many.

To reach any sort of progress in any scientific endeavor knowledge must be systematized, hypotheses operationalized, and terms clarified. With this in mind I carefully use the following:

Interactive Fiction: A highly contested, some would say ideological, term. It was formally introduced in a Byte article in 1981 (Aarseth, 1997:48) as a label for what had previously been known as ´storygames´, ´compunovels´ etc. It was used as a label for story centered computer games. At other times, however, it has been applied to books* * Most notably the Swords and Sorcery series of the early 1980s. The cover of board and role-playing game designer Steve Jackson´s The Citadel of Chaos promised “A fantastic story with YOU as the hero.”, theater (Laurel, 1993:52) and film2. Espen Aarseth (1997) claims that the term unjustly connotes freedom and revolutionary potential. Indeed like ´interactive entertainment´ it appears to be a way for both industry and players to escape possible pubescent connotations of ´computer games´. Finally it should be noted that many fans exclude anything from this category that isn´t the real (that is: the old) form of the adventure game, in other words they exclude anything that is not purely textual interaction. In this paper the term signifies any fiction in which the user is required to participate at the level of the syuzhet3. The term ´adventure game´ is used interchangeably.

Interactivity: While this term has proved extraordinarily slippery and hard to define within media studies it will be used loosely as a measure of a medium´s potential for letting the user shape contents and form (for a discussion of the concept see Jensen, 1998).

Syuzhet: The denotative level of a text. As opposed to fabula, the mental construct of the individual reader (following Bordwell, 1985:49ff). These terms have the disadvantage of being obscure but the clear advantage of being uncontested (unlike various semiotic equivalents).

Computer game: Any piece of software on any platform, which explicitly rates the performance of the user/player or demands a certain performance in order to make the program proceed in a manner described as desirable. Although one may find software that only border on this category (mainly virtual isotopes but also goalless strategy games such as SimCity, Maxis 1997) this definition is adequate for the purposes of this paper.

Interactor: The user of interactive fiction4. The interactor exists between old categories such as author, reader and viewer (Laurel, 1997:152; Montfort, 1995) but is best thought of as an agent in a world made by others. A virtual representation of the interactor will be referred to as an avatar.

Interactive fiction is a young research field to say the least. Terms employed within the design community are often unknown even to players and in order to avoid misunderstandings I make comprehensive use of explanatory notes and illustrations.

Section 2: The ´how´s of interactive fiction
Adventure games were always a little different. Set apart from the mainstream of computer games by their focus on contemplative deduction and their lack of immediate commercial appeal to owners of arcades they have long been considered worthy of attention from even the most serious of ´old media´ (e.g. Rothstein, 1983; Lassen, 1997; Frost-Olsen & Schmidt, 1998). Far from the hard rock soundtrack and junk food of contemporary arcades (for a nostalgic history of arcades see Herz, 1997:43-61) adventure game players would sit silently in the night pondering the logical puzzles that soon became an important hallmark of the genre. Thus these games would fall squarely within the category of fine art in that they:

´ Required intense contemplation/reception (as do literature and painting)
´ Required (or invited) solitary reception (as do literature and painting)
´ Were obviously based on story types found in literature (although the crime mystery and fantasy templates often employed would not qualify as high-brow)

Western culture speaks of art in the language of literature. Artists are identifiable individuals with a need to express deep-felt insights into the human condition, preferably with no thoughts of marketability. Franz Kafka, in this perspective, was an artist par excellence, as he preferred to see much of his work burned before he died. The artist-as-person criterion has forced filmmakers and critics to perform a rather peculiar maneuver. In order to define film ´ a highly collaborative form of expression – as art the filmmaker has had to become an auteur, a writer, who paints with the ´camera as his pen´. In the words of film critic Alexandre Astruc:

´After having first been a jester attraction in a marketplace, then an entertainment form much like boulevard theater, or finally a means of storing the images of an epoch, film is little by little becoming a language. A language, that is a form in which an artist may express his thoughts, however abstract they may be, or articulate his problems, as had it been an essay or a novel.´ (Astruc, 1948/1970; see also Bordwell & Thompson: 37-38).

A similar strategy was employed by adventure game designers. The game industry has traditionally been peopled by anonymous craftsmen, but within the adventure genre the auteur principle has produced such titles as Roberta Williams´ King´s Quest (Sierra, 1984) and Al Lowe´s Leisure Suit Larry (Sierra, 1987). So indeed adventure games have tried to remain different. But are they truly more worthy of cultural recognition than other genres? Obviously this is a dangerous question, but I suggest that a case can be made for the opposite position; adventure games ´ in their present incarnation – are the least interesting of all. This requires an explanation. And for that we must inquire into the history of the matter.

A history of interactive fiction5
At the time when Will Crowther was writing the first lines of Adventure dungeon exploration was already a popular pastime in the computer community. In 1972 Gregory Yob of the University of Massachusetts had developed the legendary Hunt the Wumpus (Hunter, 2000; Herz, 1997:9-10). Wumpus is usually considered too crude to qualify as an adventure game as the input of the interactor was restricted to a multiple-choice response in the form of a direction (e.g. ´North´) and one principal action (´Shoot´).

Although at this time producers of arcade games ´ particularly early believers at Nolan Bushnell´s Atari – were experiencing a number of remarkable successes with titles such as Pong (Atari, 1972) programmers of the time-sharing networks had little thought for marketing their entertainment products. Mainframe based games were considered collaborative endeavors in a culture that conceived of computers as a means of resource and knowledge sharing6. That is until Zork (Infocom, 1979) came along. Sensing unfulfilled potential in Adventure an MIT based group began work on a more complex and artistically rewarding game, which was to dramatically enhance the interaction between machine and interactor. In an effort to decrease the level of frustration stemming from the inhibiting parsers of earlier attempts the programmers of newly founded Infocom went to work on allowing the machine to make qualified guesses as tothe wishes of the interactor (Lebling, 1982; Murray, 1997:74-82). Zork, communicating only in text, greeted the interactor like this:

West of house.
You are standing in an open field west of a white house, with a boarded front door.
There is a small mailbox here.
>

Figure 2 ´ A map supplied with Zork (Infocom, 1979). The inspiration from fantasy novels and role-playing games of the time is obvious. For a long time elves, dwarfs, and dragons were a mainstay of interactive fiction (as they still are to some degree).

Figure 3 ´ Mystery House (Sierra, 1981). Crude illustrations help convey the story.

Figure 4 ´ King´s Quest (Sierra, 1984). This game used a combination of colourful graphics and traditional textual interaction. The graphical avatar (seen between castle and tree) interacts with the environment.

The ´>´ invited the interactor to state his wish in natural language. The command “Open mailbox´, for instance, would motivate the response ´Opening the mailbox reveals a leaflet´. A strength of Zork was its ability to respond creatively to unanticipated (and unknown) commands. ´Hit mailbox with hand´ resulted in the response ´I´ve known strange people, but fighting a small mailbox?´ (where ´small mailbox´ is merely the particular noun employed in this case. In other situations it would be ´tree´, ´rock´ etc.). The program understands the noun ´hand´ but instead of responding with say ´You hit the mailbox to no effect´ the actual response serves to ´script´ the interactor. It communicates: ´Stay within the framework of the fantasy genre or be ridiculed´ thus ensuring that the interactor will not wander aimlessly outside the range of anticipated actions.

The game became hugely popular, especially when ported in 1981 to the Apple II micro-computer and ensured the immediate future of Infocom, which came to stand for thought provoking high-quality adventure games throughout the early and mid-eighties (counting such highlights as Deadline, Planetfall, Witness, and A Mind forever Wandering; see Wilson, 1991).

Others, however, were quick to catch on. With the growing penetration of microcomputers a market appeared for games that were not dependent on the repeated restarts that were a certain feature of arcade games. Programmers Roberta and Ken Williams founded Sierra (first known as On-Line Systems) on the success of Mystery House (Sierra, 1981), one of the very first adventure games to employ graphics as illustrations of the story (see Fig. 3). At this point, however, the graphics were still ´dead´, inactive in the sense of plot as they merely provided redundant information. In this fashion they may be likened to pictures in a novel – means of establishing ´atmosphere´7.

While Infocom´s text adventures became increasingly complex Sierra placed their bet on more spectacular (and thus marketable) family friendly games with colorful graphics. Taking their cue from television series that benefited from familiar characters and low production costs Sierra became famous for their ´Quest´ series. King´s Quest (Sierra, 1984), in particular, promised colorful experiences that would take machines to the limit of their capacity. But perhaps the truly important innovation was the introduction of the on-screen character, or avatar (see Fig. 4). The interactor assumed the role of King Gawain using the avatar as a concrete extension of himself8. Although surely felt as limiting to the explosive imagination of die-hard Zork fans this construction did serve to ´ground´ the interactor within both story and genre and to minimize the spatial confusion that might arise from purely textual descriptions.

With one very important exception this was the dominant form of the adventure game until 1987. The exception was a very strange concept known as Little Computer People (Activision, 1986). Now, following a number of unfortunate dispositions the once-proud Infocom had been acquired by Activision who were known for their contributions to the action genre. The take-over, however, did not sit well with the Infocom ´artists´ who saw the development as a threat to their artistic integrity and to what was seen as a style and humor specific to Infocom (Wilson, 1991). Little Computer People was a game unlike most. Actually it was not even a game by most standards. First of all it had no goal, no way to unambiguously win or lose. The role of the interactor was to ´look after´ a man living in a three-story house – no more, no less. The on-screen character needed food, sleep and comfort to thrive. If he were mistreated he would grow listless and possibly sick. Although a similar structure was later used for bestsellers such as SimCity (Maxis, 1987) and Sims (Maxis, 2000) (and obviously also resembles such phenomena as the ´Tamagotchi´) Little Computer People received nothing but scorn from the Infocom crew. The celebrated Infocom creators of interactive fiction saw their own way as ultimately superior to this virtual pet. They should, perhaps, have looked more carefully.

Meanwhile a new player arrived on the scene. LucasArts backed by the thriving LucasFilm empire set out to conquer the adventure game industry and did very well indeed. Perhaps their fresh perspective allowed them to boldly discard what had been considered an essential component of the genre: the textual interaction. Just as likely though it was a sure grip on other forms of narration that allowed them to eradicate the alienating effect of parsers that would often force the experience dangerously towards a word guessing game. In Maniac Mansion (LucasArts, 1987) they aimed at continuity and flow by inspired use of the point-and-click interface9.

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Figure 5: Maniac Mansion (LucasArts, 1987). The point-and-click interface lets the interactor combine a dynamic set of verbs (bottom) with graphical objects of the game world.

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Figure 6: Myst (Brøderbund, 1993). Although the game was heavy on puzzles and still made the interactor follow a certain route Myst presented itself as an experience, as a world to explore.

A set of essential verbs would change to accommodate likely actions based on context (see Fig. 5). While this gave strong hints as to the required action it allowed the designers to focus their energy on the possible rather than devote their time to devising clever ways of avoiding and discouraging attempted impossibilities.

Realizing the potential of this approach Sierra quickly adapted, but LucasArts ensured their position with Zak McKraken and the Alien Mindbenders (1988), Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989), Loom (1990), and the Monkey Island series (1990-1997).

With few variations the point-and-click interface dominated the adventure genre in the 1990´s. Indeed the form seems to have remained essentially the same while dramatically increased storage media capacity has motivated an explosion of audiovisual sophistication in what some have seen as an immature focus on dazzling effects. Most notably the aesthetics of Hollywood cinema were embraced halfway through the decade in a costly attempt to substitute computer drawn 2D graphics with digitalized film. Almost invariably the prohibitive expense of needing to shoot every action performed without relying on any sort of computational short cut resulted in games suffering from painfully rigid structures.

That players could still be swayed by less dazzling displays, however, became more than evident with the unprecedented success of Myst (Br´derbund, 1993 ´ see Fig. 6)10. To some extent Myst may be seen as a counter reaction to the still more linear structures dominant within the genre. The almost meditative and highly process-oriented experience apparently spoke to new audiences that cared little for more action-tilted designs.

At one point this fact may have been belied by singular bestsellers but the genre was fighting a losing battle. The decline had little to do with interfaces and even less to do with visuals but time was running out for a breed of games that strove to lead one interactor through a prewritten story. As network technology blossomed in the mid-nineties computer game playing became once again a more social activity. From the public arcades of the seventies, the eighties had brought computers into the privacy of consumers´ homes (Egenfeldt-Nielsen & Smith, 2000:51-57/86-89). This was the perfect setting for games of deductive logic but now the possibilities for intelligent and less predictable opposition and team play sparked a cry for connectivity ´ for games that allowed several players to interact within the same environment. This was a demand the adventure genre could not honor. Since adventure games following Adventure have been character-oriented the worlds created have been mere backdrops, objects nothing but stage props, in essence just as ´dead´ as the graphics of Mystery House (everything is set in motion by the choices of the interactor that work rather like the movie director´s call to ´action!´). In a time of networks the excruciating linearity behind traditional interactive fiction stands out in flashing neon. The much-touted interactivity of interactive fiction seems little more than a gimmick added to stories that perhaps ´belong´ in other media. For a clear diagnosis we need a closer look. The following section presents a brief analysis of a carefully chosen specimen.

The linear case of the shadow hunter – an analysis of Gabriel Knight 3
I have claimed that the difference between Adventure and its predecessors is mostly cosmetic. Now whether a certain change in expression is ´purely cosmetic´ may of course be a question of heated debate. While many would probably argue that adding sound to movies may be considered substantial progress in narrative terms other ´surface´ changes such as the switch to a modernist style of painting may also be construed as a purely cosmetic change. Thus whether the alterations and subtle techniques employed in contemporary adventure games are in combination sufficient to count as a ´fundamental´ change is not a question easily answered. The aim of this section is more modest: To show that present-day adventure games suffer from almost the exact same range of problems that faced Crowther and Woods. Secondarily I provide the argument that the present form is a consequence of a way of thinking common to artists of linear media.11

To do this I will perform a brief analysis of a game that seeks to embrace tradition and carry on the genre: Gabriel Knight 3 ´ Blood of the Sacred, Blood of the Damned (Sierra, 2000)12. I assume that some generalization will be possible considering that the case is situated within the history described above and handpicked for its general qualities. For a recent and highly influential discussion of case study methodology see Flyvbjerg, 1991].

´San Greal´ are the first audible words we hear. Amid swirling shapes and patterns human figures are seen standing in a dimly lit compartment. Details are impossible to make out as the blurry vision is suppressed by a feverish dream peopled with creatures of legend.

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Figure 7: Gabriel Knight III introduction. Strange figures loom above Gabriel. The sound of a driving train is heard.

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Figure 8: Gabriel Knight III introduction. Gabriel slips in and out of a strange dream.

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Figure 9: Gabriel Knight III introduction. Slowly awakening we try to get our bearings. This is the interactor´s first in-game view of the avatar, Gabriel Knight. On-screen credits betray obvious inspiration from cinema.

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Figure 10: Gabriel Knight III (Sierra, 2000). In 3D action mode the interactior may move the perspective around as in this church. When an object is clicked Gabriel will attempt to perform the chosen action.

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Figure 11: Gabriel Knight 3 (Sierra, 2000). Hotel guests drinking coffee in the hotel eating room. They show no particular interest in the avatar.

This is the beginning of an adventure. Willing or not, from this moment we must pursue the answers to a mystery set in motion by others. While we, the interactor, watched the introduction to Gabriel Knight 3 we were, if we listened carefully, perhaps able to pick up the muffled sound of a train in motion (see Fig. 7-9). As Gabriel, our avatar in the game world, painfully comes to his senses we find that we are indeed on board a train ´ the sounds were diegetic ´ but as we diligently pursue the enigma that is the story and struggle with the puzzles that would bar our way another interpretation presents itself. Whether intentionally or not, the designers, by choosing the sound of a train, has employed a fitting metaphor. Indeed there is only one path.

Still independent of our input Gabriel stumblingly leaves the train at the first stop. On the darkened platform he is greeted by a conductor who informs him that a taxi is waiting outside the station to take him to a nearby hotel.
We have just witnessed the full introduction performed as a 2D cut scene, one of the four modes of the game:
2D cut scene: Bits of the story presented as traditional linear cinematic narrative told outside the game’s own engine.13
3D cut scene: Usually dialogues or small one-location drama told within the engine. The default setting has prescribed editing (choice of camera positions) but the interactor may maintain control of the camera if desired.

Special puzzle interface: Puzzles of deductive logic have been a steady feature of adventure games since Adventure. Gabriel Knight often transports the interactor to special modes of interaction in order to solve a given puzzle.
3D action: Most of the game is played with the interactor in control of one of the two main characters, Gabriel and Grace. The action is shown in polygon-based 3D graphics, allowing for extensive freedom of movement within the scenery (see Fig. 10). Whereas Myst and its contemporaries used a limited collection of still images (sometimes enough for animation) the engine of Gabriel Knight is able to compute and display any camera angle on the fly (for an example of several graphic modes see supplement A).

Untraditionally the interactor is mainly in control of the perspective mimicking a moving movie camera. Thus the user may move the perspective around and only needs to click on objects that should be handled by the avatar. In the tradition of cinema the perspective may roll, tilt, pan, and track but may not pass through solid objects.

The limits of freedom
Standing in a sunny hotel room at the first moment of interaction the world of Gabriel Knight appears open to the interactor. A flight of stairs lead downwards and into a small rural French town that seems at first charmingly alive. The hotel staff display mild interest but otherwise most characters in the hotel often ignore the snooping Gabriel unless spoken to. Letting the inhabitants seem to mind their own business and often seem annoyed when the ignorant American commits yet another social faux pas is an inspired design decision. It goes a long way towards masking the fact that these creatures do nothing, and indeed do not exist but for their importance to Gabriel and Grace (see Fig. 11). Now this may appear glaringly obvious as in many ways this is analogous to movie characters that strictly speaking do nothing off screen. But when this principle is translated into game terms it poses a serious problem: a problem of predetermined causation.

Imagine, if you will, a sequence of events connected by causality: A murder leads to a hunt for the perpetrator who is ultimately caught. If this is the story one wishes to tell a free protagonist becomes a threat. Surely one cannot allow the protagonist to make choices that derail the narrative; the risk is obvious that the story would never get told and that the interactor will be bored as nothing happens. A designer who wants to tell the story of how A leads to B while maintaining an interactive element will start going to great lengths to ensure the interactor that the choices he makes are important while making absolutely sure that they are not14. Enter the puzzle.

The interactivity of cross-word-puzzles
As the designer cannot let the interactor upset or change the series of events in any important manner he is faced with the choice of either letting the interactor watch passively as events unfold (not a game by any definition) or maintaining that the interactor is important by other means. The strategy chosen throughout the history of interactive fiction is the interactor as starting gun. Only when cued by the interactor the inertia of the story is dispelled and the narrative progresses15. Such cues may take any form but since walking through an open door is seldom associated with glorious victory doors in adventure games tend to be locked. The quest now becomes one of finding the key, the crowbar or better yet the rope that when used with the hook will grant the avatar access through the window instead. Puzzles rarely have more than one solution so often the freedom of the interactor is limited to discovering the ´right´ choice ´ it is a question of ´solving´ a story rather than participating actively. In Gabriel Knight much time is spent on perusing obscure evidence for clues to the many deductive/geometric puzzles that sometimes threaten to halt the game entirely. The fact that finding the solution to such a puzzle instills the interactor with an unambiguous sense of victory may explain the genre´s penchant for detective fiction that often celebrate the relationship between logical reasoning and success.16

The horrors of geometric progression

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Figure 12: Standard narrative model for linear fiction. This model may be traced to the poetics of Aristotle and remains the basis of traditional literary fiction as well as a cornerstone in the Hollywood style of script writing (Adapted from Larsen, 1995:102).

While the main barrier to consequential interactivity is the problem of causality the interactor as starting gun approach presents the designer with more pragmatic difficulties. If an object only reacts in strict correspondence with a predetermined reaction (and thus is not an object with special properties but rather known to the engine merely as a graphical element) then every reaction to every possible action needs to be programmed. Similarly if, for instance, the interactor of Gabriel Knight guesses the truth about the free masons operating in the area he may not act upon this knowledge before the appointed time. In essence the interactor will know more than the avatar does. The exposure of the secret society is carefully entwined with other story elements and if the interactor were able to alter the order of events however slightly the whole structure would have to be rearranged. This problem presents itself to the designer, as a fear of geometric progression ´ if choices really mattered a tremendous amount of expensive material, or ´lazy bytes´ (Crawford, 1982/1997:46), would not be displayed to a given interactor and the manuscript of the game would soon become impractically complex.17

figure13.gifFigure 13: A model of traditional interactive fiction. Within normal sections (or chapters) the interactor may operate with some freedom. But to get to the next section he must bow to the prescriptions of the story and thus temporarily abandon his freedom in order to progress.

Roundabouts and plot points – a model of traditional interactive fiction
Models work best in retrospect. While one may ´ unconsciously perhaps – base a narrative upon time-honed templates a scientific model should only (and indeed can only) deal with realities, whether concrete or theoretical. What models do best then is alert us to general principles in what may seem at first glance random and indeed to remind us that what may seem natural is often, though far from always, merely traditional.

Figure 12 is the basis for much linear fiction. Such a structuring of events may even, as cognitive film theory has suggested, be a standard model of human perception (Bordwell, 1985; Branigan, 1992). Traditional interactive fiction often works towards maintaining this overall form. From a position of ignorance the interactor is taken through a learning process that ends in a climax.18

The above model (fig. 12) works on the level of syuzhet but as the interactor may well use or abuse his control to ´flatten´ or break this curve a more enlightening approach may focus on the amount of interactivity present throughout the course of events. Such a model has been proposed by game designer Michael Valeur on the basis of a rigorous analysis of the ´how´s of the genre (Valeur, 1998). Figure 13 is a loose adaptation.

While the interactor may enjoy some freedom within chapter 1 and even some influence on temporality he must conform to the logic of the narrative if he wants to proceed. Although this model gives little indication of the circular paths that the interactor must often follow in search of vital clues it is a very accurate description of how the structures work.

Against text
But the structures are arbitrary. They can be changed. Before we attempt this, however, we need to realize one thing: The problem is in the words. Culturally we measure quality by standards of literature. Artists of new media need to present themselves as individual vehicles of creativity, as writers, as auteurs. As in the model above we speak of chapters as if they were a natural way of delaminating experience. Adventure game design is done by writers who produce manuscripts. If these manuscripts map any sort of narrative process they will have endings. Endings are like destiny ´ if you have it, then every choice you make is unimportant. We can´t have endings.

Deistic narration
Deism is the belief that the Christian God set the universe in motion and then left it to its own devices. Presumably God did not plan for all contingencies. Actually, according to this belief, God didn´t plan for anything, but merely constructed a frame. But what is narratologically important is that event will occur, stories will appear, on the basis of ground rules and relationships. Perhaps J. C. Herz´ analysis has been underrated due to its journalistic style:

´There are some major advantages to creating the world first and worrying about the characters and plot later ´ the Old Testament approach to game design. First of all, it´s a way around the ´Pirates of the Caribbean´ syndrome, where you feel like you´re on some kind of monorail through the game. You can veer slightly in one direction or another, but you can never go outside the lines. Either the characters push you back into the main lane by implacably parroting the same three lines, or the virtual camera takes you prisoner on a forced march of zooms and dolly shots.´ (Herz, 1997:154).

Herz mockingly describes Dragon´s Lair (Bluth, 1983) as a worst-case scenario of cross-media hybrids. In her own words the game was “just a television that someone had made really, really difficult to watch” (Herz, 1987: 147). If the choices of the interactor are to have any significance beyond the continue/stop dichotomy situations must be open-ended. Such situations are object-oriented.19

To achieve this kind of freedom the designer must lay behind the thinking of the writer and become an architect. The architect conceives of a building holistically. This is highly important for consistency and verisimilitude but far more importantly, a building is not dependent upon any specific action being performed inside. Instead the architect draws the building with the highest degree of non-linearity, has it build and then steps back.

An example: A virtual living room is designed, the avatar is placed on a couch, and a dragon is placed under the couch. What we then have is not a story but a story is what we may get. What we have is a starting position with narrative potential but without direction.

To turn the dragon into a true object it must be given properties and preferences. It must have a system of interpretation and a range of reactions. This may for instance take the form of a system that interprets anyone coming within 100 pixels of the dragon carrying a visible weapon as a threat. According to parameters such as cowardice/bravery, sleepiness/restedness (the dragon´s personality) a reaction is chosen. If the dragon´s options are limited to ´fight´ and ´run´ the interactor is unlikely to feel part of an outstanding artistic experience but with only a few variables what we have is a self-supporting system of unpredictable direction and better yet: We need no longer worry about the branching paths of geometric progression.

Experiences from virtual worlds
The computer game industry may not appear to be sparkling with the youthful fervor characteristic of the innovative early 1980´s (Crawford, 2000). Still, newly developed technologies such as improved hardware for on-the-fly 3D graphics rendering, are quickly adopted by a business that often markets its products by reference to minute improvements in frame rate. When the Internet came along it was not ignored. Newly found distribution channels were pushed to the limit (Herz, 1997:83-90) but inexpensive network technology also revolutionized multi-player functions by letting several players interact simultaneously. As mentioned above this was a dead end for character-centered adventure games but the other genres competed aggressively for the bandwidth.

Figure 14 ´ Ultima Online (Origin, 1997). Players log on to a virtual world of medieval adventure. The world is persistent and in principle every choice may change the world forever. In this picture a party of avatars is attacked by a band of lizard men. A traditional role-playing style character sheet is available in the upper right corner.

In 1997, though, a world was created. Origin, makers of the long-standing Ultima series (1980-2000) challenged the need for endings.20 Ultima and its predecessors have been fantasy role-playing games, often considered a sub-genre of the adventure game. Role-playing games, often heavily combat-oriented, typically follow J. C. Herz´ principles of ´Old Testament game design´ by establishing worlds in which stories may take place. The principles of random encounters and the importance of trade make a game such as Baldur´s Gate (Interplay, 1989) highly flexible and, while not open-ended, highly unpredictable and customizable. Appropriately enough Origin named their latest creation Ultima Online (see Fig. 14).

Ultima Online was soon followed by competitors Everquest (Verant Interactive, 1999) and Asheron´s Call (Microsoft, 1999). All follow the same general principles: Players purchase the game and must then pay a monthly fee (along with any dial-up charges) to be allowed access. Once inside the player creates a character from a set of options, deciding on skills, character class, and various aesthetic settings (hair color, gender etc.). What happens then is a combination of the player´s choices in relation to the choices of others and of course the natural ´laws´ of the game world.

The poetics of the starting point
Short of a frame it is difficult to construct a model for truly non-linear fiction. But the frame is all-important. At a glance it may be hard to appreciate the difficulties of deistic narration; it would perhaps seem that the players do all the work. In many ways Ultima disproves this, for the game is crippled with problems of design.21 Despite the collaborative ambitions of Origin (and indeed of the role-playing genre) teamwork in Ultima Online is more than difficult. The interface is arbitrary, communication is challenging, and the concessions to a range of connection types make the game appear sluggish and unstable. But although these problems must be solved before much else can be achieved the challenge of imbuing a starting point with narrative potential while weighing all elements against one another is the more daunting task. The unpredictability of this self-supporting system makes it imperative that no major imbalance is introduced, as this imbalance is apt to increase over time. These are the problems most often mentioned by game designers but as Janet Murray hints (Murray, 1997:283-284) a deistic poetics will also need techniques for creating an atmosphere of true role-playing. Ensuring that all ´ or just enough ´ of the players remain ´in character´ and thereby add to the enjoyment of others requires the careful use of genre cues and the introduction of techniques that reward role-play without restricting player freedom.22

A good example of the importance of genre cues is given by Murray. She describes how the liveliness and therefore successfulness of ´chatterbots´ is not dependent upon the size of their vocabulary or their understanding of grammar but rather on their ability to ´script´ the interactor. Thus a ´psychotic girlfriend´, by its very name cuing the interactor, does a good job of subtly limiting the interactor´s responses (Murray:1997:219-220).

While suffering from a broad range of childhood diseases online role-playing games seem apt to change the future of the medium. It is true that a good case can be made that the industry shows signs of conservatism (and certainly the fantasy templates seem hard to put aside) but in this case what is, from the perspective of this paper, a narrative revolution has been started. Hard-core adventure fans mourn the apparent lifelessness of their genre, but if they looked a little more closely they might realize that instead of dying the genre has adapted.

Section 3: The ´why´s of interactive fiction
´You are standing in an open field…´. Not long after Zork had greeted its first interactor in the second person voice literary theory turned its searchlight upon this curious phenomenon. Since then the theories of interactive fiction have tried to accommodate this new form of literature into an existing framework. There is nothing wrong with this approach. In this paper I have made numerous references to cinema and film theory without, I hope, bending interactive fiction to fit old categories. The problem is that much theory has focused on the ´what´s of the phenomenon asking if there is a fundamental contradiction between ´interactivity´ and ´fiction´23. In the following section I argue that such a question cannot be answered scientifically and that asking it hints that one has committed a ´substantialist fallacy´. While not underrating the important pioneer work done I suggest that energy be focused elsewhere, possibly on the ´why´s of interactive fiction.

Espen Aarseth and the rhetoric of revolution
Literary theorist Espen Aarseth (1997) makes the important point that attempts of nonlinear fiction are not tied closely to computer technology but can be found throughout the entire history of written literature. Secondarily he aims to cut through the ´hype´ of interactivity, seeing the term as highly ideological and as connoting revolutionary/utopian expectations that can never be fulfilled:

The industrial rhetoric produced concepts such as interactive newspapers, interactive video, interactive television, and even interactive houses, all implying that the role of the consumer had (or would very soon) change for the better. [´] To declare a system interactive is to endorse it with a magic power.´ (Aarseth, 1997: 48).

The industrial rhetoricians did not argue alone. From literary theory proponents of a postmodern aesthetic would advocate ´open texts´ that didn´t force the reader into narrow interpretations. Within media studies John Fiske spoke of the ´writerly text´ that

…requires us, the readers, to participate in the production of meaning and thus of our own subjectivities, it requires us to speak rather than be spoken and to subordinate the moment of production to the moment of reception.´ (Fiske, 1987:95).

Similarly Jacques Derrida made use of a society-theater metaphor to attack the constraints placed upon modern man and upon users of traditional fiction:

[The author-creator] lets representation represent him through representatives, directors or actors, enslaved interpreters´who´more or less directly represent the thought of the ´creator´. Interpretive slaves who faithfully execute the providential designs of the ´master´´ Finally, the theological [teleological?] stage comports a passive, seated public, a public of spectators, of consumers, of enjoyers. (quoted in Ritzer, 1996:597).

In this way interactivity has been promoted as a way to escape the shackles of determinist interpretations. Aarseth makes this point well but his more polemic attack on the term (he claims that the real fiction is that there exists such a thing as interactive fiction) is equally based upon on a far weaker argument.

The substantialist fallacy24
That interactivity as a term has been stretched to the breaking point cannot be argued. Aarseth´s account of the infancy of the genre and his commitment to a strict typology is exemplary but the overall interest in mapping the relationship between interactivity and narrative is more problematic. Though later modifying this slightly Aarseth notes: ´To claim that there is no difference between games and narratives is to ignore essential qualities of both categories´ (Aarseth, 1997:5). In other words, the problems of traditional adventure games are fundamental. I hope to have shown that this is not so. The problem with Aarseth´s claim, of course, is the reference to ´essential qualities´. ´Games´ and ´narratives´ are terms, they are words applied to groups of phenomena. In other words: They are definitions, and definitions have no ´essential qualities´. Definitions are means by which we distinguish between objects; they do not exist externally of language. Thus we cannot discover the ´true´ definition of games. One cannot even argue with a definition made by someone else.25 What Aarseth does is argue that A is not B on the grounds that they are considered different letters.

Aarseth´s problem is widespread. The idea that one can somehow prove that narrative and interactivity are separate and opposite categories is popular. Assumably this logical mistake springs from an unconscious conception of narrative as linear storytelling. This comparison has motivated game designer Walter Freitag to claim that:

´There’s a conflict between interactivity and storytelling: Most people imagine there’s a spectrum between conventional written stories on one side and total interactivity on the other. But I believe that what you really have are two safe havens separated by a pit of hell that can absorb endless amounts of time, skill, and resources.´ (quoted in Juul, 1996).

Now this claim is obviously true (if we follow common definitions). The combination of linear storytelling (based on conventional written stories) and interactivity is the problem of traditional interactive fiction. Jesper Juul agrees when he claims that:

´Computer games and narratives are very different phenomena. Two phenomena that fight each other. Two phenomena that you basically cannot have at the same time. Any interactive narrative or attempt at interactive storytelling is a zigzag between these two columns.´ (Juul, 1996).

But this doesn´t say much. In essence much effort has been put into proving the following: If narratives are linear stories written without the presence of the interactor then narrative and interactivity are opposite categories. This is truth by definition. As the fascinating but unpredictable series of events that may occur in online role-playing games imply, too much time has been spent in claiming something, which may be true but is not very important.

Reasons for interactive fiction
In 1996 film theorist Joseph Anderson published a book entitled ´The Reality of Illusion´. This book is an eloquent attack on most major film theories articulated before the mid-1980´s. It contains a controversial approach to film and states its case soberly although accessibly. It was widely ignored.

Perhaps this was due to its somewhat obscure subtitle ´An Ecological Approach to Cognitive Film Theory´. The word ecological is probably poorly chosen, as it tends to have different meanings within different academic fields. Furthermore other more fitting terms might have been used to indicate that this was an interdisciplinary approach to film, trying to span the gap between (socio)biology and film theory.

In the following I shall briefly outline Anderson´s theory and suggest how it may be adapted to include interactive fiction.

All higher animals play. This is the basic tenet of Anderson´s argument. If biological creatures almost as one exhibit a given behavior then there is a reason for this behavior. Standard natural selection (by most interpretetations) prescribes that a general trait, to have surfaced and subsisted, must entail (or have entailed in the past) an advantage to the survival and reproductive chances of the individual. Thus the ability and the inclination to play is helpful to our survival.26

Drawing upon psychology Anderson notes how play entails cues that continuously remind the players that what they are doing is to be considered quite different from the simulated activity. Thus when children play at wrestling they should always consider it different from a fight for survival. Similarly when dogs play at fighting with their owners they should never bite with any strength. This is hardly controversial. Anderson then goes on to describe another activity that displays almost the exact same characteristics as children´s play: Movie going. This activity is so entrenched in ritualistic behavior serving the function of framing that we normally fail to realize it (Anderson, 1996:122). Since playing is the ´framing´ of a certain activity a probable evolutionary advantage would be the ability to rehearse various situations (dangerous or otherwise) in a safe setting. The only difference between the playing done by children and that of adults is that children´s games are about (´about´ in the external sense) learning senso-motorical skills that adults have already developed. Adults play different games but the basic reason remains the same. In Anderson´s words:

´A motion picture makes it possible for viewers, in a purely cognitive space, to test the efficacy of certain strategies and feel the exhilaration of victory, the relief of a ´close shave´, or the devastation of defeat without the risks that would attend that behavior in the real world.´ (Anderson, 1996:114).

One important point needs to be made. Inclinations and preferences developed in our evolutionary past are of course not to be considered ´good´. They are ´natural´, nothing more. Darwinism tells us little of morals (although it may explain why we have them) and does not proclaim, of course, that the preferences should be followed. The survival value of eating fresh fruit carries over to our day into a less desirable (even less reproductively wise) desire for candy.27 The same holds true for playing. The inclination to play doesn’t filter out games that might in other ways be harmful (although other functions might).

It may well be that Anderson overstates his case when noting the similarities between different types of play but the chance for grouping phenomena according to something as concrete as their function presents itself as a welcome alternative to the far more arbitrary genre and media categories of much theory.

It is of course possible that we may prefer to actively participate in a certain kind of game whereas others lend themselves better to ´passive´ watching or listening. But these are questions for later studies.

At the very least Anderson´s theory makes a good foundation for the argument that the narratives we ourselves interact with serve a similar function to the ones we engage with through others, such as the movie protagonist. They are means of procuring skills and experience.

If one accepts the general direction of this argument, and it seems difficult not to, it is hard to see how such an insight might have been gained through a continued narrow focus on questions of the ´what´ type.28

The relative strength of Anderson´s interdisciplinary approach provides food for thought. Within specific theories of interactive fiction perspectives combining computer science with humanist methods seem to hold the greatest explanatory value. Janet Murray´s ´Hamlet on the Holodeck´ mixes a solid knowledge of computer architecture with a well-founded literary perspective. The result is a number of valuable insights that surely rival the importance of others of a more structuralist and systematic bend such as Aarseth (1997) and Konzack (1999).29

Section 4: Conclusions
Although we work within the limitations of hardware and human perception, design is primarily a matter of choice. So is the way we choose to approach a phenomenon scientifically. Within game design the storytellers of interactive fiction have chosen to adopt time-honored traditions of linear media. Many, it seems, have been content to be mere translators perhaps seeing contemporary movie making as the culmination of centuries of narrative experience. While we cannot blame them from a moral or even a commercial position ´ it may well be that the market was equally conservative ´ we may help to light up what apparently remains unseen. By pointing out the road not chosen we point to an approach to narrative that is truly novel and although novelty is not a virtue in itself deistic narration is a form of expression that is unique to computer technology. While not essentially superior this new form is surely worth the effort of experiment. Game designers may well benefit from thinking of themselves not as auteurs but as architects.

While one may make suggestions for improved designs, mystifying theories are perhaps a graver matter. There is a certain detectable arrogance to the all-encompassing systems of some humanist genre theory. A battle of words is joined apparently without even acknowledging the possibilities for simpler explanations; explanations that take less for granted and thus provide more solid foundations.

Joseph Anderson despairs of the turn film theory has taken and reminds us that it didn´t have to go this way. He mentions the lucid work of early film theorist Hugo Münsterberg claiming that:

´[Münsterberg] set film theory clearly on a path that would have confronted the basic questions about the nature and function of film in a direct and systematic way. Unfortunately, his was a path no one chose to follow.´ (Anderson, 1996:4).

Instead film theory turned essentialist, arguing for decades about the true nature of film, making claims that editing, darkened theatres or certain narrative styles were the qualities that set film apart from other forms of expression. This is the ´what´ approach. This is the effort to separate one phenomenon from others by the introduction of arbitrary criteria. It is the mistaking of means (establishing analytic definitions) for goals (saying something significant about film). And it is the same problem that plagues theories of interactive fiction. One searches for those special qualities that sets the medium apart instead of acknowledging similarities that may hint that what we are dealing with is a medium that can be explained within the framework of media history. With a focus on the ´how´s, the history and techniques, of interactive fiction one would be able to see that a description of the road chosen speaks little of the ´essential qualities´ of the medium and more about conventionalism, tradition and chance.

Humanist approaches have proven their value to a computer science that must understand the computer as both machine and medium. Communication science and aesthetic disciplines are valuable in the study of human-computer-interaction as they help provide the basics of sensible interface design. But they should not work alone, just as engineers should not. In recent years humanists have been accused of posing as experts in areas where they are amateurs. Most importantly Alan Sokal and Jean Brickmont´s ´Intellectual Impostures´ has documented the abuse of natural science in various obscure (but popular) literary theories (Sokal & Brickmont, 1997). While obviously not devastating to humanist scholarship as such the authors point to deep problems in specific theories that may well indicate problems of a more general scope. This exposure is sometimes interpreted as a warning against meddling in the affairs of others. It is taken as proof that one cannot be an expert in all fields. While this is obviously true the problems should not be contributed to too much interdisciplinarity. Rather it should be seen as a warning against lack of interest in the work of others. The theorists attacked by Sokal and Brickmont do not take the sciences they so readily use seriously ´ they find their own perspective vastly superior. This is arrogance, not interdisciplinarity.

A constructive approach to interactive fiction orients itself broadly and humbly. It constructs a solid foundation by taking seriously the history and technical issues of the genre. It even searches for deeper explanations as to the function of fiction and the biological basis for games. Then, with a secure understanding of the ´how´s and the ´why´s we may truly understand the limits and potentials of this thing called interactive fiction.

Works cited
[Dates are in dd.mm.year format and are included in references to newspaper articles and used to indicate versions of web pages.]

* Aarseth, Espen (1997). Cybertext ´ Perspectives on Ergodic Literature. London: The Johns Hopkins University Press.
* Anderson, Joseph D. (1996). The Reality of Illusion ´ An Ecological Approach to Cognitive Film theory. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press.
* Astruc, Alexandre (1948/1970). En ny avant-gardes f´dsel: Kameraet som pen. In: Monty, Ib & Piil, Morten (eds.). Se, det er Film – i klip. Copenhagen: Fremad.
* Bordwell, David & Thompson, Kristin (1993). Film Art ´ An Introduction. New York: McGraw-Hill.
* Bordwell, David (1985). Narration in the Fiction Film. London: Routledge.
* Branigan, Edward (1992). Narrative Comprehension and Film. London: Routledge.
* Crawford, Chris (1982/1997). The Art of Computer Game Design. http://members.xoom.com/kalid/art/art_of_cgd.pdf. [Download: 04.05.2000].
* Crawford, Chris (2000?). Computer Games are Dead. The Journal of Computer Game Design, vol. 9. http://www.erasmatazz.com/library/-
JCGD_Volume_9/Games_are_Dead.html. [Download: 25.06.2000].
* Dalum, Astrid & S´rensen, Finn (1996). Interactive Fiction ´ A Case Study. University of Roskilde. Thesis. http://www.centrum.dk/users/finnv/intfict.htm. [Download: 05.05.1998].
* Egenfeldt-Nielsen, Simon; Smith, Jonas Heide (2000). Den digitale Leg ´ om b´rn og computerspil. Copenhagen: Hans Reitzels Forlag.
* Fauth, Jurgen (1995). Poles in your Face: The Promises and Pitfalls of Hyperfiction. Mississipi Review Web. http://orca.st.usm.edu/mrw/mr/1995/06-jurge.html. [Download: 30.03.2000].
* Flyvbjerg, Bent (1991). Rationalitet og Magt. Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. [English version: Rationality and Power ´ Democracy in Practice, 1998].
* Frost-Olsen, Peter & Schmidt, Rigmor K. (1997). Den 5 alder eller Riven. Weekendavisen Berlingske. 21.11.1997.
* Gombrich, E. H. (1997). The Story of Art. London: Phaidon.
* Graetz, J. Martin (1981). The Origin of Spacewar. Creative Computing. No. 8. http://www.wheels.org/spacewar/creative/SpacewarOrigin.html. [Download: 24.04.1998].
* Hafner, Katie & Lyon, Matthew (1998). Where Wizards stay up Late ´ The Origins of the Internet. New York: Touchstone.
* Herz, J.C. (1997). Joystick Nation. London: Abacus.
* Hunter, William (1999-). The Dot Eaters ´ Classic Video Game History. http://www.emuunlim.com/doteaters/index.htm. [Download: 12.04.1999].
* Jackson, Steve (1985). Kaos-borgen. Copenhagen: Borgen. [English version: The Citadel of Chaos, 1983].
* Jensen, Jens. F. (1998). Interaktivitet og interaktive medier. In: Jensen, Jens. F. (ed.). Multimedier, Hypermedier, Interaktive Medier. Aalborg: Aalborg Universitetsforlag.
* Konzack, Lars (1999). Softwaregenrer. ´rhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag.
* Larsen, Peter Harms (1995). Faktion som udtryksmiddel, Viborg: Amanda.
* Lassen, Nikolaj M. (1997). Knockout!. Weekendavisen Berlingske. 18.04.1997.
* Laurel, Brenda (1993). Computers as Theatre. Berkeley: Addison-Wesley.
* Lebling, P. David (1982?). Zork and the Future of Computerized Fantasy Simulations. Byte Magazine. http://www.lysator.liu.se/Infocom/Articles/byte.html. [Download: 22.02.2000].
* Montfort, Nicholas (1995). Interfacing with Computer Narratives ´ Literary Possibilities for Interactive Fiction. The University of Texas at Austin. Thesis. http://nickm.com/writing/bathesis/. [Download: 05.05.1998].
* Murray, Janet H. (1997). Hamlet on the Holodeck ´ The Future of Narrative in Cyberspace. Cambridge: The MIT Press.
* Ritzer, George (1996). Sociological Theory (fourth edition). London: McGraw-Hill.
* Rothstein, Edward (1983). Reading and Writing: Participatory Novels. The New York Times Book Review. 08.05.1983. http://www.lysator.liu.se/Infocom/Articles/nyt83.html. [Download: 22.02.2000].
* Sokal, Alan & Brickmont, Jean (1997). Intellectual Impostures. London: Profile Books.
* Therkelsen, Inge-Lene & Dalum, Lisa (1998). Blackout ´ Interaktivitet og fort´lling. University of Roskilde. Thesis.
* Thompson, Kristin & Bordwell, David (1994). Film History ´ An Introduction. New York: McGraw-Hill.
* Turkle, Sherry (1995). Life on the Screen ´ Identity in the Age of the Internet. London: Phoenix.
* Unknown (2000). The Collossal Cave Adventure Page. http://people.delphi.com/rickadams/adventure/a_history.html. [Download: 01.06.2000].
* Valeur, Michael (1998). ´Blackout´ ´ erfaringer omkring arbejdet med interaktiv manuskriptskrivning. University of Roskilde. Thesis.
* Wilson, Johnny (1991). The Rise and Fall of Infocom. Computer Gaming World. http://www.lysator.liu.se/adventure/Infocom/Articles/rise.html. [Download: 22.02.2000].

  1. The deliberate focus on form and the rhetoric of revolution, however, have been dominant for much longer (Gombrich, 1997:557). [↩]
  2. At the 1967 World Expo in Montreal, Canada the Czech Pavilion featured a movie that allowed audience members to make choices at crucial moments in the plot (Laurel, 1993:53) [↩]
  3. This definition will serve my purpose although there may be media forms that invite but don´t require audience participation (computer game demos, various forms of hypertext etc.) [↩]
  4. Conceptualizing the interactor´s activities proved an insurmountable challenge to game designers at the legendary production company Infocom. In a newsletter the company mused: ´Back when they were simply adventure games, you played them. But does one play an interactive fiction? Or do you read it? Some Californians here at Infocom have suggested that you ‘do’ interactive fiction.´ (quoted in Montfort, 1995) [↩]
  5. For the history of computer games in general see Herz, 1997; Hunter, 2000; Egenfeldt-Nielsen & Smith, 2000:28-48. For a discussion of computer game genres see Konzack, 2000; Egenfeldt-Nielsen & Smith, 2000:28-32 [↩]
  6. The exploits of the early ´hackers´ are well documented. See for example Hafner & Lyon, 1998. For an entertaining description of the work with the 1962 game Spacewar see Graetz, 1981 [↩]
  7. They may also be compared to the use of voice-over in narrative film; a technique often seen as an artistic surrender since it signals a lack of comfort and ability with the visualization of narrative [↩]
  8. Of course one may argue that text adventures make use of an ´implied avatar´ as they address a ´you´ that is both interactor and avatar. Perhaps any real difference should be sought in terms of spatial orientation rather than identification [↩]
  9. A few other games had used this interface before but Maniac Mansion was the first game to combine it with a technical and artistic expertise that could challenge Sierra´s supremacy. Besides benefiting from the highly usable interface the game was a clever genre pastiche that allowed the player to switch between three avatars with different abilities [↩]
  10. As the computer game industry is after all based on numbers and digits it becomes close to ironic that reliable statistics on sales and sizes are exceptionally hard to come by. Although such charts should be regarded with the deepest skepticism one computer magazine lists Myst as the best-selling (PC) game of the period 1993-1998 with 3,8 million copies sold and with Microsoft Flight Simulator as a distant second with 2,4 million copies sold (one should particularly note that this does not necessarily translate into exorbitant revenues as games may be sold at discounts or bundled with hardware). See http://www.barracuda-gssm.com/timelapse/specials/bestgames.htm [↩]
  11. One cannot scientifically rate one form of expression as essentially better than another and indeed I shall not attempt to do so. But I will show how the tension between narrative and the interactor´s freedom of choice is not fundamental but merely a consequence of a certain style of design [↩]
  12. More than one computer game analysis goes too far on the basis of an arbitrarily chosen case (eg. Valeur, 1998; Therkelsen & Dalum, 1998; Dalum & Finn, 1996) [↩]
  13. A game engine is the ´narrative programming language´ through which the game action is presented. It schematically prescribes the qualities and relationships of all objects as well as the representation of any game element. Although this metaphor may certainly be stretched too far the engine may be compared to a system of musical notation. When the system is in place the programmer/designer places the notes and the interactor plays the piece (the last phase becomes meaningless if the game is highly nonlinear) [↩]
  14. We need not concern ourselves with whether or not this is normal human behavior. The issue here is adventure game designers and the way they have shaped their genre [↩]
  15. A curious exception to this is Leisure Suit Larry 5 (Sierra, 1991) where the story would not be hindered by the interactor’s failure to solve major puzzles. Instead the game could be finished quickly and the climax would then be toned down, as the objectives had not been met. Assumably this was a disappointing experience for many players (but no systematic evaluation has been published) [↩]
  16. One may also note how crime-solving themes are well suited to combining complex stories with a fair amount of interactivity as the action centers on piecing together a story that has already happened and thus need not be restricted by concessions to freedom. See also Therkelsen & Dalum, 1998:55 [↩]
  17. A range of techniques to minimize this problem have been developed (particularly principles of looping and guiding) but they are mostly utilized as damage control and can never eliminate the problem entirely [↩]
  18. [Some adventure games include the possibility of critical failure. For instance the avatar may die or be otherwise incapacitated at crucial moments in the plot. Most games, however, take such occurrences lightly as the interactor is typically just set back to before the ´wrong´ decision. In the case of critical failure it is rarely assumed that the interactor will be prepared to play again from the beginning although this is a common conception in other situations (a common misconception most likely as the principle of lazy bytes preclude that there be much new of interest to explore in subsequent attempts) [↩]
  19. While programming may be object-oriented I use the term to describe any situation that evolve according to properties of discrete objects of any type. Thus (unless one believes in divine determination) any real-life situation is object-oriented while situations in virtual worlds may be governed by forces other than those apparently vested in the objects involved [↩]
  20. It should be noted that MUDs and MOOs (Turkle, 1995) share many of the same characteristics, although on a smaller scale. A slightly different approach was attempted by Lucasarts in their Habitat project (Murray, 1997:266) [↩]
  21. Critics have somewhat appropriately renamed the game Ultima Outline [↩]
  22. One can probably draw on the experience of traditional role-players who have struggled with similar problems. It seems likely that many of the techniques that human game-masters have developed can be built into computer systems [↩]
  23. The (wrong) arguments most commonly leveled against the possibilities of interactive fiction are clearly summarized in Fauth, 1995 [↩]
  24. This is not strictly a fallacy in the philosophical sense where the term typically refers to conclusions that are not justified by the premises of an argument. I use the term in the looser sense to relate it to ´the naturalist´ and ´the intentional´ fallacy. [↩]
  25. One may of course question the usability of a given definition and advocate the use of another. Should one define ´art´ as ´everything human´ this definition would have little analytical value, but it would not be wrong [↩]
  26. I shall only briefly outline the theory here. There may be some objections to the argument but most are dealt with in Anderson´s book. I will use the present tense only although the correct form would at all times be “is or have been in the evolutionary environment” [↩]
  27. The causality, of course, must be reversed. Candy would not exist if our ancestors and we hadn´t been fond of fruit [↩]
  28. The focus on causes is also present in a farsighted 1982 account by legendary game designer Chris Crawford (Crawford, 1982/1997) [↩]
  29. This is not to say that being systematic is the problem. Quite the contrary: Without such rigor it would be impossible to discover the problems and faults in these accounts [↩]

Dragen på loftet – om rammerne for interaktiv fiktion

Oprindeligt bragt i Samson, Juli 2000

Den computerbaserede interaktive fiktion er faret vild. I følge skribenten bygger den på principper, som er tænderskærende lineære, og derfor er den ikke nogen værdig konkurrent til andre medier. Blandt andet den udmærkede bog. Denne artikel forsøger at skitsere den interaktive fiktions potentiale.

Det virkede ellers så oplagt. For godt tredive år siden sad programmøren Will Crowther og baksede med et lille program, han kaldte ‘Adventure’. Det var egentlig ikke noget særligt – mest af alt var det en kombination af Crowthers største interesser: programmering, huleklatring og fantasy-rollespil. Og så var det mest tiltænkt hans børn. Blandede man disse faktorer med datidens computerkraft, blev resultatet en huleudforskningssimulator, der udelukkende kommunikerede med brugeren ved hjælp af tekst.

Det var denne primitive konstruktion, som Crowther, der snart skulle få travlt med noget så trivielt som at lægge fundamentet for Internettet, kastede i grams ved at gøre spillet frit tilgængelig på tidens computernetværk. Nu var denne gestus hverken akkompagneret af trompetfanfarer eller trommehvirvler, men faktisk havde Crowther hermed lagt grunden for ganske store formuer, nemlig dem som igennem tiden er blevet tjent på såkaldt interaktiv fiktion.

Crowther kan naturligvis ikke holdes ansvarlig for, hvad branchen senere har fundet på. Men på den anden side er der en klar sammenhæng mellem hans valg ved kodningen af ‘Adventure’ og så det, som branchen senere ikke har fundet på. I det hele taget har branchen et betydeligt behov for at lægge historien bag sig.

En genres historie

For at lægge noget bag sig må man dog først forstå det. Lad os derfor kaste et blik på hvad der videre skete.
‘Adventure’ vakte stor jubel på det der efterhånden blev kendt som ARPAnettet. Af denne vej nåede det sidst i 1970erne en gruppe foretagsomme studerende ved MIT i Boston. Her havde man længe forstået det, som først var ved at dæmre i den folkelige bevidsthed, nemlig at computeren ikke blot var en koldblodig talknuser, men måske endda kunne opfattes som et medie. Med dette in mente konstruerede gruppen, der med det samme startede firmaet Infocom, et nyt, større og mere litterært ambitiøst ‘Adventure’. De navngav deres barn ‘Zork’.

Ligesom i ‘Adventure’ bestod interaktionen med ‘Zork’ udelukkende af tekst, men ‘Zork’ var så sindrigt konstrueret, at dets sprogforståelse – den såkaldte parser – var i stand til at opretholde historiens flow, selvom denne parser reelt set ofte måtte give fortabt overfor selv de mest simple sætningskonstruktioner. Skrev spilleren for eksempel ‘Hit mailbox with hand’, ville spillet respondere med ‘I’ve known strange people, but fighting a small mailbox?’. Selvom spillet reelt set ikke forstår en meter af, hvad brugeren siger, opfatter parseren, at brugeren forsøger at slå ‘noget’ med ‘noget andet’ og svarer på en måde, der søger for at holde brugeren inden for rammen af spillets begrænsede muligheder. ‘Zork’ var en overordentlig stor succes.

Senere blev konceptet videreudviklet med først en grafisk over- eller tilbygning fra og med Sierras ‘Mystery House’ (1981). ‘Mystery House’ var lidet kønt og brugte primært grafikken til at pynte på den endnu rent tekstlige interaktion, men i senere spil blev grafikken ‘levende’, i og med at spilleren kunne styre en figur omkring i de tegnede miljøer. Når det gik højt for sig, havde grafikken endog en fortællende rolle som ikke blev gentaget af teksten.

Men behøvede man overhovedet tekst? Kreative folk hos LucasFilms spilafdeling LucasArts fandt det ødelæggende for oplevelsen, at spilleren skulle tvinges til at gætte præcist, hvilke ord parseren forstod. I deres ‘Maniac Mansion’ fra 1987 var det slut med den sproglige gætteleg. Ved hjælp af et såkaldt point-and-click-interface kunne brugeren (med joystick eller mus) kombinere en række verber fra en liste med spillets grafiske elementer. For eksempel kunne man trykke på ‘open’ og derefter på en dør. Læseren kan selv gætte hvad dette medførte, og dette var netop pointen – det var logisk og ligetil.

Myst (Bröderbund, 1995)Den nye brugerflade fungerede så godt, at den med enkelte modifikationer endnu bruges. Den væsentligste udvikling siden ‘Maniac Mansion’ skete, da man i de tidlige halvfemsere, i kraft af CD-ROM-lagermediets indtog, kunne begynde at lagre større datamængder. Dette førte til en audiovisuel eksplosion med særlig forkærlighed for digitaliseret film. Men da støvet så småt havde lagt sig, stod mange tilbage med en dårlig smag i munden. Følelsen af, at lækkerierne dækkede over manglende fortællemæssig opfindsomhed, var udbredt.

Der skulle mere til, og det kom der med det dvælende ‘Myst’ (Bröderbund, 1995), der nåede helt ind i bogelskeres hjerter med sit litterære finish og eksplorative fokus. På trods af at ‘Myst’ er blandt de bedst sælgende spil nogensinde, gik det fra midten af halvfemserne langsomt ned ad bakke for genren. Mens ‘Doom’ (ID Soft, 1994) og dets børn overhalede indenom, erobrede strategispillene ethvert netværk med deres oplagte multiplayerfunktioner. Adventuregenren – altså den type computerspil, der lægger særlig vægt på ‘den gode historie’ – var på vej mod en tidlig grav. Bevares, på det seneste har Sierra og andre forstået at drage fin nytte af landvindingerne indenfor 3D-grafik, men det er som om genren, udviklingsmæssigt set, har hamret hovedet ind i en hård mur.

Og det er der en rigtig udmærket grund til.

Den lineære skruetvinge

På trods af alle spildesignernes, forfatternes og for nylig endog Dogmebrødrenes snak om interaktivitetens velsignelser er de fanget af fortiden. De skriver bøger med få valgmuligheder forneden på udvalgte sider, og de laver spil, som nærmest er at sammenligne med film, der af og til stopper, indtil brugeren har løst en kryds-og-tværs. Hvis dette er, hvad man kan præstere, er det ikke underligt, at nogle bogelskere kun har hån tilovers for computerens evner som fortællende medium. Men det skyldes alt sammen en misforståelse.

Hvis vi skal give nogen skylden for forvirringen, kan vi kaste os over stakkels Will Crowther. For ‘Adventure’ havde en begyndelse og en slutning, og det dur simpelthen ikke. Hvis spilleren skal ledes mod en bestemt slutning på en måde, som giver logisk/kausal mening, kan det kun ske på bekostning af handlefriheden.

Lad os tage et simpelt eksempel: En mand går ind i en kiosk for at købe en avis. Denne lidet sindsoprivende historie kan fortælles på et utal af måder. Men skal den fortælles interaktivt er valget af hovedperson (en mand), handling (at vælge én kiosk blandt flere for eksempel), ambition (at købe en avis) allerede fastlagte. Der er med andre ord ikke særligt mange interessante valg tilbage at træffe, og situationen er næppe særligt interessant for brugeren. Til gengæld vil en formidlingsekspert, eller ‘kunstner’, kunne formidle historien på en fascinerende måde i sit medium. Og netop dette er et stærkt argument mod den interaktive fiktion – brugeren er jo ikke ekspert. Brugeren er rent faktisk oftest en luset amatør, der for øvrigt ikke har den tid, det tager for eksempelvis en dedikeret filmklipper at tilrettelægge stoffet optimalt. På dets egne præmisser er dette argument ikke til at slippe udenom. Men det er også noget vrøvl, for det forudsætter, at brugeren skal motiveres til at træffe de samme valg, som kunstneren ville have gjort.
Og er dette tilfældet, er det hele blot en ureflekteret overførsel af gammelkendte principper til et nyt medium.

Brugeren som problem

Traditionelt har interaktiv fiktion altså været forstået og designet som fortællinger med begrænset handlefrihed – primært af typen ‘Vil du gå til højre eller til venstre, først?’
Med inspiration fra den danske spildesigner Michael Valeur kan tankegangen illustreres som på Figur 1.

I kapitel 1 har brugeren et vist spillerum, men for at komme videre til Kapitel 2 må vedkommende underkaste sig handlingens retning og acceptere en væsentlig frihedsreduktion i forbindelse med det man kunne kalde historiens ‘plot points’. Det nytter for eksempel ikke, at brugeren slår skurken ihjel i kapitel 1. Michael Valeur har selv sammenlignet modellen med en lejlighed. For at komme fra køkkenet til stuen må man gå gennem entreen og så fremdeles.

Men selv om dette er en meget præcis beskrivelse af, hvordan adventurespil typisk opbygges, er det også en højst mærkværdig konstruktion. Designere, der arbejder med denne model rammes ofte af angst for, at konsekvensen af brugerens valg vil forgrene sig i det uendelige, medmindre man opstiller stramme restriktioner. Man foregøgler en bruger, at han er fri, og så bruger man alle sine kræfter på at opretholde denne illusion.

Men hvad ville der ske, hvis man gjorde alvor af sin ambition og faktisk gav brugeren fri?

Brugeren som ressource

Ovenstående spørgsmål bør ikke stilles til en forfatter. Det bør stilles til en arkitekt. Arkitekten bygger rum, træder tilbage og lader folk bruge dem. Arkitektens bygning repræsenterer en række ydre grænser for folks aktivitet, mens naturlovene sørger for, at samme folk ikke begynder at gå på loftet. Det bemærkelsesværdige er, at det, at vi ikke kan tage en spadseretur med hovedet nedad, er noget, de færreste af os går og lader os irritere over til daglig. Vi kan sagtens acceptere grænser for udfoldelse. Hvad der derimod kan være sværere at håndtere, er et klassisk problem for adventurespillet: Døren kan ikke åbnes, fordi den ikke skal bruges – endnu.

I stedet for at kræve at brugeren skal gennemgå en fastlagt erkendelsesproces på sin rejse gennem lejligheden, kan man forestille sig følgende opsætning: Brugeren starter i et slots forhal og på loftet placeres en drage. Dragens adfærd reguleres af et antal parametre, heriblandt vrede/glæde, aggressivitet/passivitet, mod/frygt med videre. Hvis dragen og brugeren mødes, tolker dragen enhver handling fra brugeren som et udtryk for et ønske og reagerer på baggrund af de parametre, som designeren har fastsat.

Med selv et begrænset antal parametre vil det være snart taget umuligt for designeren at forudsige forløbet. Til gengæld er angsten for tælletræet helt væk – systemet er selvjusterende, og mens en stor række hændelser er mulige, er ingen hændelser påkrævede. For der er i realiteten ikke noget mål.

Der er altså tale om en slags ‘udgangspunktets poetik’, løst illustreret ved Figur 2.
Dette er en strukturløs model eller for nu at sige det, som det er: det er en ramme. Men når rammen er udstyret med mønster, er det for at påpege, at den er yderst vigtig.

Deistisk narration

Den såkaldte ‘deisme’ er troen på at Gud opstillede rammen og spillereglerne og derefter lod os mennesker overtage initiativet. I al beskedenhed er det netop sådan, designeren bør arbejde.

Ikke blot er rammen de love, der gælder i designerens univers. Rammen er også alle de genrekoder og kulturelle referencer, som indkorporeres i fiktionens udtryksside og derved opfordrer brugeren til at spille sin ‘rolle’. Har designeren eksempelvis konstrueret et koldt og undergangstruet fremtidsunivers, vil brugen af film noir-cues kunne anvendes strategisk til at anspore brugeren eller brugerne til at påtage sig roller, som er forlignelige med dette univers (for eksempel rollen som hårdkogt detektiv snarere end rollen som frygtløs ridder). Tilsvarende har arkitektens konstruktion af en bygning betydning for, hvad den sandsynligvis vil blive brugt til.

Idéen med den deistiske narraton er altså helt grundlæggende, at historier ikke behøver at være noget, man har. Det kan lige så godt være noget, man får.

Teoretiske afveje

Sætningen ovenfor er dog genstand for nogen kontrovers. Mens adventurespillene upåvirkede fulgte i ‘Adventure’s begrænsende fodspor, fik en række forskere – primært af litteraturvidenskabelig overbevisning – øje på fænomenet. Efter alt at dømme har disse forskeres baggrund dog været dem en klods om benet.

Forfatter og spildesigner Michael Valeur skriver ganske fornuftigt: “Frihed og forførelse peger grundlæggende hver sin vej”. Det kan man næppe være uenig i, for forførelse er jo netop en passiv overgivelse til fiktionens præmisser – det er vanskeligt at blive forført med en mus i hånden. Men det er ikke præcist det, Valeur mener. Problemet er, at Valeur i nogen grad sætter lighedstegn mellem fortælling og forførelse: “Når man fortæller en historie, altså forfører folk, så har man brug for en lineær dynamik til at lokke dem med.”. Valeurs “man” er forfatteren – og ikke brugeren. Hermed ignoreres muligheden for, at gode historier kan opstå på baggrund af de rette narrative præmisser, og selvom Valeurs overvejelser er blandt de mere interessante, må han netop på dette punkt siges at fægte løst i luften.

Han får dog støtte fra den norske litteraturforsker Espen Aarseth. Aarseth tager emnet forbilledligt seriøst, men vil alligevel ikke fralægge sig princippet om, at adventurespil selvfølgelig skal fortælle historier. Dog hævder han, at der er en grundlæggende modsætning mellem fortælling og interaktivitet. Igen er argumentet det fuldt forståelige, men lidet interessante, at det er svært at fastlægge et forløb og give brugeren stor indflydelse på dette samtidigt.

Det virker grangiveligt, som om at disse teorier bygger på en fejlagtig præmis. De søger at definere den interaktive fiktion i forhold til et fortællingsbegreb, der er alt for løst og traditionelt stort set kun har skullet dække lineære fortællinger. Går man, som disse teoretikere gør, til Aristoteles og får at vide, at en historie kræver en begyndelse, et midterstykke og en slutning, ja så har man jo samtidig defineret interaktivitet som en modsætning.

Den fejlagtige præmis er, at definitioner af denne type begreber er noget, der eksisterer i virkeligheden og derfor kan opspores. Det er forkert. Definitioner er noget, man bruger. Jeg kunne i begyndelsen af denne artikel have defineret interaktiv fiktion som pantomimeteater. Det ville sikkert have virket fjollet, men ville ikke desto mindre have været helt reelt. Den intense jagt på adventurespillets ‘natur’ kan derfor – hvis man skal være flink – kaldes spild af tid.

Kunsten at bygge verdener

Især adventuregenrens kommercielle nedtur har affødt kreative refleksioner hos en mængde designere. Revolutionen indvarsledes så småt i 1997 med Origins Ultima Online. Spillet – og begrebet begynder at flyde – er en verden med en række narrative vektorer. Enhver beboer i spillets verden – uanset om denne person er styret af et menneske eller af en computer – har evner og præferencer. Der er ingen, der kender verdenens fremtid, for ethvert valg har betydning, og mængden af valg som foretages hver dag af de mange tusinde spillere er uoverskueligt.

Rammen er konstrueret med stærk inspiration fra traditionelle fantasyuniverser: elvere, dværge og orker hører til dagens orden. Men valget af denne genre skyldes jo kun konservatisme og segmenttilhørsforhold i designgruppen. Det er oplagt at tænke sig digitale verdner opbygget omkring andre tidsaldre eller omkring genrer som kriminalromanen, horrorfortællingen eller endog mere lyriske alternativer.

Nostalgiske fans af adventuregenren græder salte tårer. De føler, at deres yndlingsgenre er ved at afgå ved døden. Hvis de løftede blikket ville de se, at fremtiden er lys og fuld af fortællinger.

Anvendt litteratur

· Aarseth, Espen. Cybertext – Perspectives on Ergodic Literature. The Johns Hopkins University Press. London. 1997.

· Murray, Janet H. Hamlet on the Holodeck – The Future of Narrative in Cyberspace. The MIT Press. Cambridge. 1997.

· Valeur, Michael. Blackout – erfaringer omkring arbejdet med interaktiv manuskriptskrivning. Speciale, RUC. 1998.

Klik her for at fortsætte!

[Oprindeligt bragt i Inquirer, studentertidsskrift ved Institut for Film- og Medievidenskab, KU. En gang i 2000.]

Fremtiden tegner lys, ingen tvivl om det. Ja, vi har endda grund til at glædes, vi som befinder os på kanten af medieudviklingen. For kammerater, brødre og søstre! – nu er den lige ved at være der, revolutionen.

Interaktivitet. Smag engang på ordet. For de fleste smager det sukkersødt, frisk og appetitvækkende. Det er der en række grunde til. I løbet af de seneste 10-15 år har ordet sneget sig ind i snart taget enhver diskussion om fremtidens mediebillede. Begrebet er blevet snoet, bøjer og strukket til at dække en yderst bred vifte af fænomener; fra video-on-demand over CD-ROM-leksika til dogmebrødres småavantgardistiske tv-eksperimenter, hvor seeren selv får lov at blive ’producer’.

Den grundlæggende idé er den at modtageren længe nok har ladet sig underholde passivt – det er tid til feedback, dialog og autonomi; tid til at fravriste eliten sit formidlingsmonopol og placere hr. og fru Danmark i instruktørstolen med kontrol over eget liv og programflade. Interaktivitet er altså hamrende demokratisk.

Dertil kommer at begrebet har været en ledestjerne for en industri med et overordentlig godt øje til det nye og spændende. Interaktivitet er blevet udråbt til selve essensen i de ’nye’ medier, som den merværdi, der gør det ikke blot sensibelt, men bydende nødvendigt at omstille sig til morgendagens digitale kultur.

Det kan derfor næppe undre at det har været vanskeligt at tilnærme sig en analytisk anvendelig definition på interaktivitet: begrebet er indsmurt i såvel ideologi som store økonomiske interesser.

For medievidenskaben har det ikke hjulpet på problemet at man næppe har ord tilbage til at beskrive det nye. Birgitte Holm Sørensen, lektor ved Danmarks Lærehøjskole, skrev i 1993 følgende om børns tv-brug:

“På baggrund af den forskning – primært receptionsforskningen – der ligger i dag, må man antage, at børn generelt betragtet forholder sig aktivt, udvælgende og betydningsdannende i deres anvendelse af tv.”

I 2000 skriver hun om børns brug af computerspil:

“Sammenlignes computerspil med tv, film og video er den iøjnefaldende forskel, at spillene er interaktive. Spillerne har mulighed for at foretage valg og handle, og handlinger får konsekvenser for det videre forløb.”

Udsagnene er ikke identiske, men illustrerer at skellet mellem tv-modtagerens tolkningskompetence og computerspillerens fysiske interaktion med spillet er endog særdeles hårfin.

Hertil kommer at interaktivitet langt hen ad vejen er et spørgsmål om gradbøjning. Du har, som læser, nu mulighed for at bladre tre sider baglæns og læse en anden artikel. Men hvis du stadigvæk er med her vil du nok give mig ret i at det er lidet meningsfuldt at kalde Inquirer for interaktivt. Bladet er random access – det består af en række enheder som modtageren i princippet kan navigere rundt i efter forgodtbefindende.

Da vi nu befinder os på det helt principielle plan kan vi tage et skridt videre: en videofilm er også random access; modtageren kan spole frem og tilbage og således strukturere scenerne som vedkommende lyster. Ja, modtageren har endog indflydelse på filmens fremtræden eftersom vedkommende har kontrol med lydstyrke, kontrast og lysstyrke. Alligevel opfattes hverken tidsskrifter eller videofilm almindeligvis som interaktive.

Det gør CD-ROM-leksika til gengæld. Men hvad er det vi har med at gøre her? Forbundne informationsstumper uden lineær struktur. Bevares, CDROM-leksikonnet er nemmere at bære rundt på end papirversionen og tilbyder overlegne søgeredskaber, men Lademanns Multimedieleksikon er hverken mere eller mindre interaktivt end sin analoge forgænger.

Vi befinder os nu i en ubehagelig position. Hvis vi vil fastholde at noget er interaktivt og andet ikke må vi forlade det helt formelle niveau og beskæftige os med noget så gnidret som indhold. I narrativ sammenhæng melder et ubehageligt adjektiv sig: meningsfuld. Medieforsker Jens F. Jensen har foretaget en grundig analyse af interaktivitetsbegrebet og ender med det kriterium at brugeren skal have mulighed for at påvirke tekstens udtryksside og at denne påvirkning skal være “betydningsbærende for medietekstens indholdsside”. Det modtager-brugeren gør ved teksten skal altså, hvis vi nu snakker om fortællinger, give mening for historien. Men som enhver, der har beskæftiget sig med montage ved skal der særdeles meget til for at modtageren ikke kan danne mening i en nok så usammenhængende fortælling. Definitionen er uholdbar fordi den ikke er en rigtig definition – den giver bare sorteper videre og udmunder i spørgsmålet: “Hvad er betydningsbærende?”. Og dette spørgsmål kan ikke besvares formelt.

For at opsummere. Det nytter ikke at kalde muligheden for at strukturere scener, tekststumper eller andre informationsenheder i en vilkårlig rækkefølge for interaktivitet. Og ej heller nytter det at indføre tågede kriterier om at interaktionen skal være ’meningsfuld’.

Forholdet mellem de gamle og de nye medier kan for de fleste typers vedkommende beskrives med en simpel metafor. En lineær medietekst svarer til en prækomponeret flerrettersmenu, mens en ikke-lineær ditto svarer til en stående buffet. Pointen er naturligvis at buffetens ingredienser er valgt ’ovenfra’. Det at kunne vælge mellem de elementer andre har fremlagt er netop ikke frihed, men svarer til klippeøvelser i AV-formidling hvor man sammensætter andres materiale som man nu har lyst.

Litteraturforskeren Espen Aarseth foreslår at man helt bandlyser begrebet ’interaktiv fiktion’ fra den videnskabelige ordbog. Der er næppe brug for så radikale tiltag, men der er bestemt brug for mådehold i forhold til diskussionen om de nye medier. Indtil videre har den været præget af mere hype end skarpsindighed.

Måske er det fortællingen, der er noget galt med. Måske er der, som nogle hævder, en afgrundsdyb kløft mellem interaktivitet og narrativ. Er slutningen givet (som det er tilfældet i det meste ’interaktive fiktion’) er interaktiviteten ikke stort andet end et spil for galleriet, et par kryds-og-tværser kastet ind i et lineært narrativ. Men hvis dette er tilfældet er der måske så alligevel håb. For computermediets interaktive fortællinger er ved at opløses og rekonstitueres i retning af mindre linearitet. Når forfatteren endelig tør give dramaet løs og for alvor overdrage modtageren magten til at handle kan det være at det virkelig vil give mening at tale om interaktivitet som noget kvalitativt nyt. Det kan være at on-line-rollespil som Ultima Online og Asheron’s Call i virkeligheden bør betragtes som en revolution – såvel medieteoretisk som narrativt.

Litteratur

Løngreen, Hanne & Sørensen, Birgitte Holm (1994). Deltagerobservation – TV: det elektroniske familiemedlem. I: Mediekultur, 21:58-69.

Sørensen, Birgitte Holm & Jessen, Carsten (2000). “Det er bare noget, der er lavet…” – Børn, computerspil, vold og virkelighed. København: Statens Information.

Jensen, Jens F. (1999). Interaktivitet & Interaktive Medier. I: Jensen, Jens F. (ed.). Multimedier, Hypermedier, Interaktive Medier. Aalborg: Aalborg Universitetsforlag

Mediernes lette tilstand

Oprindeligt bragt i SAMSON, 4. december 1999.

Dansk politologi og medievidenskab har i skøn forening valgt næsten entydigt at kigge i hver sin retning. Mediernes stigende indflydelse på det politiske liv er en overset plet i dansk forskning. Det er demokratiet dårligt tjent med. Artiklen sætter fokus på behovet for forskning i politisk kommunikation og tegner et billede af nogle af de mange mulige forskningsområder.

“Politik og politiske konflikter præsenteres i krimi-drama-dokumentariske programmer, hvor politiske fakta rekonstrueres, som om der er tale om forbrydelser og hvor der anvendes fortælletekniske fif, for at fremme den dramatiske pointe, den underholdende vinkel.”

Ordene stammer fra professor i statskundskab, Ove Kaj Pedersens debatbog Demokratiets lette tilstand.

I dansk politologi lever medierne en noget beskyttet tilværelse. Hvis de endelig kommenteres er det ofte med en kulturkonservativ sprogbrug, der er en Neil Postman eller aldrende PierreBourdieu værdig. Med Habermas i den teoretiske bagage kritiseres medierne for at have afsporet den rationelle debat som efter sigende prægede såvel arbejdspladser som familiens middagsbor i de gode gamle dage.Typisk går man dog ikke så vidt, men nøjes med at konstatere – med Grundloven in mente – at medierne ingen magt har.

Det er vi selvfølgelig nogle der ikke er helt enige i. Men hvordan er en sådan uenighed overhovedet mulig? Det er dog ikke sådan at danske politologer lever i et mediefrit storkollektiv hvor al kommunikation sker ved personlig, umedieret henvendelse.

Men de vil dog ofte heller ikke benægte at medierne, især de elektroniske, har haft stor betydning for formen på den førte politik. Men at nyhedsmedierne kan betragtes som en politisk institution som ikke kun mere eller mindre præcist formidler kontakt mellem andre institutioner, men ganske enkelt opererer med omfattende politisk bias, er en idé, som falder mange for brystet.

Men man kan argumentere for at nyhedsmediernes arbejds- og produktionsmetoder netop gør at de kan og bør anskues som en væsentlig med- og modspiller i dansk politik.

Et hurtigt overblik

Forskningen i mediernes betydning for demokratiets procedurer og funktion har især i USA været genstand for stor interesse under overskriften “politisk kommunikation”. Det står dog nærmest enhver frit fald at vælge et mere dækkende dansk begreb, for forskningsområdet er påfaldende uopdyrket herhjemme. Hverken samfundsfaglige eller humanistiske – ja ikke engangde specifikt medievidenskabelige – institutter har fundet emnet værdigt til at pryde lektionskataloget.

For at skabe sig et overblik behøver man omtrent blot at tage Karen Siunes afhandling Valgkampe i tv og radio (1982) i den ene hånd, mens man skimmer Stig Hjarvards medieudvalgsrapport Nyhedsmediernes rolle i det politiske demokrati (1995). Den ihærdige læser kan supplere med en serie debatb0ger af skiftende kvalitet, heriblandt Peter Bros Journalisten som aktivist (1998), Kresten Schultz Jørgensens Det sidste menneske (1997) og senest Ove Kaj Pedersen og Erik Meier Carlsens Magt og fortælling (1999).

Udvalget er, med andre ord, noget begrænset. Det er der en række gode, og en del dårlige, grunde til. En historisk optik kan fokusere på den danske presses, i forhold til den amerikanske, sene distancering fra partiorganisationernes eksplicitte redaktion.

I et mediebillede domineret af en landsdækkendepartipresse er det langt nemmere at opretholde forestillingen om medierne som (støjløs) kanal. I en sådan situation er det åbenlyst at medierne ikke filtrerer noget fra som ellers ville have være kommunikeret – at vinklen på det kommunikerede er interessebefængt er ligesom ikke til at overse og derfor ikke så interessant.

Partipressens sene død er ikke nogen ringe delforklaring på miseren, men er næppe heller nok til at redegøre for den nærmest rungende tavshed. En anden grund er at journalistik ikke i nævneværdig grad har været gjort til genstand for akademisk analyse i Danmark overhovedet. Journalistik har, indtil for nylig, været formidlet som et håndværk i ikke-universitært regi og er derfor fra akademisk hold blevet opfattet som letgennemskuelig og blot og bart en kommunikationsform karakteriseret ved lave krav tildokumentation.

Men måske har man alligevel ladet sig narre.

Stilrene studieværter

Da partipressen afgik ved døden, blev den aflyst af en mindre refererende og langt mere kritisk undersøgende tilgang. Den nye politiske journalistik var funderet i filosofien om objektiv, repræsentativ og kritisk formidling.

Hvis disse kriterier ikke overholdes kan det være ligemeget.Vi gider ikke at høre allehånde reporteres personlige opfattelser af dette og hint. Tingene skal dokumenteres, de skal være objektive.

Morten Løkkegård kan ikke under tv-avisen bryde ud i enpersonlig, improviseret monolog om sine personlige politikerpræferencer – “TV-avisen, godaften, Det radikale Venstre præsenterede til formiddag et, efter min mening ret urealistisk, partiprogram.”. For objektivitet er et formmæssigt jernbur.

Beskæring, klipning, sendeforhold og citatteknik er en del af en omfattende kontrakt med seeren: Dette her, kære venner, er den rene vare.

Og er det så det? Noget kunne tyde på at politologien i hvert fald har følt sig beroliget.Og medieforskningen har ikke været til megen hjælp.

Jo-da, man er i sagens natur med på at medierne er noget meget meget spændende. Men i denne afdeling er eksplicit politiske emner ogmetoder til afdækning af rent formelle forhold langsomt blevet dæmoniseret. Alternativerne har nok vist deres forklaringskraft og generelt kulturdemokratiserende værdi, men leveres også indhyllet i en metodesvag fænomenologisk sprogdragt, der mildest talt ikke er gearet til endiskussion af strukturelle eller historiske forhold.

Hermed overser man vigtigeforskningsområder.

Forholdet til magten

Om noget er en institution eller ej er naturligvis et definitionsspørgsmål. Men lad os angribe sagen fra en anden vinkel end den semantiske, lad os sammenligne nyhedsmedier og politiskepartier.

Konstitutionelt set, er deres situation ens. Grundloven nævner hverken eller, ja antyderendog en vis modvilje mod politisk partidannelse. Der er ingen formelle (men en del strukturelle) forhold der forhindrer en politiker i at lade helt og aldeles hånt om partilinien.

Ligeledes tillader ytringsfriheden medierne et stort spillerum, der dog mindskes af markedsmæssige og medielovgivningsmæsssige forhold. En ganske væsentlig forskel er dog de to instansers forholdtil magten. Hvor det enkelte parti må jage magten og for alt i verden give indtryk af at man da så sandelig spiller en central rolle er nyhedsmediernes mantra snarere det modsatte: Vi er umådeligt grundige, men det er jo ikke os der bestemmer.

Partiers succes måles ved folketingsvalg i antallet af stemmer. Det medierne søger er opmærksomhed i form af oplag, seer- og lyttertal. Hvis vi et øjeblik ser bort fra detaljer som ideologi og andre markedsfejl, søger man altså begge steder at opnå tilslutning fra den størst mulige andel af en begrænset mængde.

Tv til de rige

Anthony Downs fomulerede i 1957 sit berømte medianvælger-teorem (se figur 1). Partier vil i jagten på stemmer nærme sig den såkaldte medianvælgerposition – dvs. søge mod centrum på en højre-venstre-skala.

I den illustrerede situation med to partier vil Parti A have støtte fra alle vælgere, der er mere venstreorienterede end medianvælgeren (dvs. halvdelen). Parti A har en mulighed for at maksimere sin andel af stemmerne, nemlig at nærme sig midten.

For at tilbagevinde tabt terræn kan Parti B kun g0re det samme. Til sidst vil de to partier være meget ens. I amerikansk politik vil man derfor kunne observere to partier, der ikke er nær så forskellige som de danske.

I et flerpartisystem (se figur 2) vil ethvert parti placere sig i den mest givende position, hvilket for nogles vedkommende naturligvis vil være fjernt fra midten. Skift partier ud med (kommercielle) medier, samt højre-venstre-skalaen ud med en rig-fattig-skala og man vil få et lignende billede.

Det er bestemt ikke oplagt at et frit mediemarked vil resultere i en omsiggribende leflen for den meget omtalte laveste fællesnævner. Men – og dette er det springende punkt – de to instansers situation er alligevel forskellig.

Hvor danske partiers mandattal og partistøtte afhænger direkte af vælgernes rent kvantitative dom, er det for mediernes vedkommende publikum, der skal videresælges og her er der som bekendt forskel på folk.

På valgdagen har hver borger én stemme, men for annoncører og medier vejer de købedygtige segmenter langt tungere end lavindkomstgrupperne. Flere medier vil samles om de rige end om de fattige. Det bør derfor ikke vække opsigt at arbejderpressen for længst har udåndet.

Annoncører af f.eks forbrugsgoder er helt fjollede med læsere, der er solidt placeret i det blå RISK-segment. Og eftersom de fleste medier er afhængige af glade annoncører er der en tilskyndelse til at spille på blå. Man bider ikke hånden, der fodrer én og gør det derfor ikke til et korstog at løbe stormløb mod erhverslivet, kapitalen eller andre mæcener.

Hermed naturligvis ikke sagt at konkrete nyhedsmedier ikke kan kritisere den kapitalistiske produktionsforms konsekvenser, eller at man ikke kunne afsætte en temalørdag til Loven om den faldende Profitrate.

Påstanden er blot at kredsløbet over tid favoriserer medier, der tænker to gange f0r de bruger hammer og segl som logo.Konkrete journalister kan udmærket opfatte sig selv som venstreorienterede, men socialistiskindstillede medier vil tendentielt have det vanskeligt i en liberal situation.

Måske kræver alsidighed per definition statsstøtte.

Nyhedskriteriernes politik

Kun et redaktionslokale præget af relativ enighed om de anlagte nyhedskriterier kan frembringe en nyhedsudsendelse eller avis.

Disse kriterier styrer journalistens blik og motiverer journalisten til at lede efter nyheder, der hvor den slags nu engang per definition eller tradition foregår.

De arbejdsrutiner, der overhovedet muliggør journalistens materialeindsamling er også med til at definere hvad der bliver dagens nyheder – i praksis ofte nye vinkler på gammelkendt stof, eller novelty without change.

Det er et journalistisk ideal at alle begivenheder underlægges nyhedskriterierne, hvorved det uvæsentlige på et objektivt (eller i hvert fald åbenlyst) grundlag filtreres fra.

Men i praksis foregår en betydelig del af udvælgelsen jo f0r begivenhederne overhovedet sker. Hvor skal man udstationere sine medarbejdere? Skal man insistere på at nyheden skal kunne vises i billeder og på at de implicerede skal kunne formulere sig på det givne medies præmisser?

En sag om enkonkret (ung, kvindelig) srilankansk flygtning, der af et ufølsomt bureaukrati nægtes fortsatophold i landet er som skabt til klare vinkler. Mere abstrakte sager med uklare konsekvenser, NATOs udvidelse mod øst for eksempel, egner sig markant dårligere til tv-formidling.

Den gensidige afhængighed

Politologen Timothy Cook beskriver forholdet mellem journalister og politiske kilder som en ‘negotiation of newsworthiness’.

Journalisten er afhængig af udtalelser fra personer med formel autoritet i ryggen, mens samme personers legitimitet netop delvist beror på at de bliver anerkendt som værende i besiddelse af en sådan autoritet.

Menneskenes forestillinger er reelle i deres konsekvenser, men for politikere gælder dette jo mangefold.

Det er bare mere interessant hvad finansministeren gør sig af tanker om landets økonomiske fremtid end hvad postbudet mener om udenlandsgælden. Også selvom de i princippet måtte bruge de samme ord.

Kilden har derimod en interesse i at være den, der definerer en situation samt i overhovedet at blive bemærket og husket af vælgerne.

Den ene part har noget den anden har brug for.

Forholdet mellem journalist og politiker er langt mindre entydigt konfliktpræget end idéen om ‘demokratiets vagthund’ lader ane. Cooks påstand om at nyhedsmedierne kan opfattes som en samlet institution med en omfattende ensartethed i arbejdsmetoder og et deraf følgende bias er værd at viderebearbejde og bør i hvertfald tages seriøst.

Den afgørende forskel på partier og nyhedsmedier er naturligvis de implicerede personers legitimitet. Politikerne er folkevalgte, men journalister er kun indirekte underlagt et marked, der givetvis opererer med en væsentlig social slagside.

Den uregerlige vagthund

Idéen om magtens tredeling bygger på et ideal om magtekvilibrium. Den lovgivende, den udøvende og den dømmende magt holder hinanden i skak. Men der er kun ringe kontrol med denselverklærede ‘fjerde statsmagt’. Journalister forstår nemlig at dække sig ind. Enhver stillingtagen er iklædt citationstegn. Men igennem objektivitetsritualet fornægtes hele selektionsprocessen – man kunne jo i de fleste tilfælde have fået et modsat synspunkt ved at kontakte en alternativ ekspert.

Selv den ‘seriøse’ presse viger udenom tanken om ekstern kontrol. Politikerne kan godt nok ikke administrere deres magt, men ‘vi’ kan sagtens, synes holdningen at være.

Der skæves med nogen foragt til Pressenævnet og snart talt ethvert initiativ til medielovgivning mødes med en instinktiv henvisning til ytringsfriheden.

Påpeges en problematisk disposition, eller en faktuel fejl sågar, vil man i bedste fald kommentere denne i en minimal rubrik, nederst på side 2 – også selvom rettelsen måske rokker ved præmissen i gårsdagens tosides-afsløring.

Sådan agerer kun en aktør,der ikke nemt kan stilles til ansvar.Ligesom ingen vestlige demokratier er uden politiske partier kan man næppe heller tænke sig det politiske system fungere uden medier.

Men hvor valgforskningen med ildhu har kortlagt partiernes virke og funktion har man ganske overset væsentligheden af at kunne analysere nyhedsmediernes indflydelse på systematisk manér.

Man kan håbe at de nye journalistuddannelser vil indtage det forskningsfelt hvor både politologi og medievidenskab har frygtet at træde. Undertegnede 0nsker dem god vind. Opgaven er vigtig.

Litteratur

▪ Cook, Timothy (1998). Governing With the News. Chigaco: The University of ChicagoPress.

▪ Dunleavy, Patrick & O,Leary, Brendan (1987). Theories of the State. London: MacMillan.

▪ Hjarvard, Stig (1995). Nyhedsmediernes rolle i det politiske demokrati. Statsministeriet:Medieudvalget.

▪ Pedersen, Ove Kaj et. al. (1994). Demokratiets lette tilstand. K0benhavn: Spektrum.

▪ Siune, Karen (1982). Valgkampe i tv og radio. Arhus: Forlaget Politica

The Forgotten Medium

The original Danish-language version of this article appeared in the magazine Samson, April 1999.

The research done on computer games up till now is quickly perused. This in spite of the popularity of the interactive medium and an economic success that surpasses that of the film industry. This article seeks to explain this disproportion and to lay a few modest building blocks to the foundation of a new field of research.

“Let there be no doubt about it: these games are not harmless fun, as some think, but rather digital poison.” exclaimed Senator Joe Liebermann in the American Senate last year. The target for his verbal weaponry was the apparently increasingly more violent computer games of the time – certainly a popular target when the army of worried parents and pedagogues take aim with the loaded bazooka of guilt transference. But if the discussion were to be characterized by one keyword it ought to be exactly that: Doubt. Researchers deliver relativistic statements, but there they are, the boys, hour after hour glued to the screen without showing the least bit of interest in the parental arsenal of character building activities ranging from brisk strolls to books filled with learning. Had it only been the television set that attracted them but no, it is something far more mysterious; an activity where the boys themselves are the active ones and where red slime monsters occur with the regularity of real world train delays.

Surely, this must be dangerous?

In the discussion concerning children and young people’s relation to computer games this question has been the most commonly articulated. It is, however, notoriously difficult to answer and scientific research has all but ignored the subject. The computer games industry may have surpassed the film industry in revenues but still, it isn’t really something one has wished to get involved in. First of all this restraint calls for an explanation. Afterwards this article will present a sketch of the history of the computer game – a necessary foundation for the possible introduction of theory and methods of analysis.

The blind eye of media research

New fields of research are difficult to deal with. Research is the building upon a foundation of experience, the abandonment of earlier hypothesis and the revision of old theories. When such a foundation does not exist there is no discussion, no experts to refer to, let alone place oneself in opposition to. Consequently there is a certain inertia in the broadening of research fields. It is just plain hard to start something new.To this we must add that the computer game exists in an academic no-man’s-land.

On one side the character of the phenomenon as an audiovisual experience places it within the field of film or communication science. But if the interactive texts are studied in their context of use the theorizing seems to belong to pedagogy/psychology or perhaps to broader cultural research such as sociology. Even if a modest theoretical perspective is chosen one encounters problems. In a text analysis it can be hard to capture a phenomenon that leans towards issues of mass communication but at the same time doesn’t seem to make sense without a focus on the interpersonal aspects and questions raised by the interactive multimedia experience.

Finally, the history of the phenomenon plays an important role. Computer games come with strong fast food connotations. The birth of the games into a masculine pubertarian environment has placed them solidly among the lowest low of popular culture – an area that has not traditionally enjoyed great academic interest. With the convergence of media studies and cultural studies and the more general rehabilitation of phenomena of popular culture, however, this is about to change. Hopefully this article may speed up the process however slightly.

The dangerous pictures

The mass cultural connotations of the visual media still bring them into conflict with a more traditional concept of quality and artistic as well as general value. At the same time playing is not traditionally seen as a very productive activity (or at least as an activity pertaining specifically to childhood). In a childhood environment of professional caretakers the children sense an opposition towards the idea of the machine as toy. The reason for this, according to child culture researcher Carsten Jessen, is that the pedagogues “do not perceive the computer as an appropriate activity for small children. The computer is viewed, as is television, as a sort of ‘passive entertainment’, which may make the children antisocial, reduce the scope of their imagination and have destructive effects on playing.”

The hostile attitude may in part be traced to Herbert Krugman who, in the sixties, performed a series of EEG experiments on children to measure their brain activity while they were watching television. The quite controversial experiment showed that the alpha waves of the brain of a television viewer corresponded to those of a sleeping person and were quite different from those of a (book) reader.

These results where popularized by Jerry Mander in an all-out-attack on the television medium (Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television, 1978) and were highly compatible with Neil Postman’s description of the dangers of using television for educational purposes other than showing the harmful nature of the medium. These television pessimists picked up on the thoughts of Marshall MacLuhan’s description of how the visual medium brought along a regression to a pre-textual form of thought and therefore was a threat to the dominance of rationality.

MacLuhan saw the visual media as involving the user in a much more unreflexive manner than the distance demanding and rationality-motivating book. But in contrast to MacLuhan who had made serious reservations and primarily had sought to start a debate on the new media his heirs were overwhelmingly critical and unconditionally worried about the harmful effects of television. Their popular scientific work may be considered to bear much of the blame for the educational distrust of visual media.

One may, however, also have to look for the explanation in the classical misgivings about commercial popular culture. Furthermore it is possible that this new unknown sphere of youth culture is perceived negatively by the older generation because it symbolizes something uncontrollable and unknown. In the words of psychologist Eugene Provenzo: “Concern on the part of parents and other members of the adult community may in fact reflect their fear of losing control over youth populations.”

The history of computer games

Carsten Jessen and Lis Fauerholdt probably represent the most serious research done on the subject in Denmark. With a media ethnographic focus on concrete situations – for example the Introduction of Doom II (ID soft, 1994) in a youth club – it has been possible to attack (if not downright falsify) some of the commonly accepted premises of the debate. No, computer games are not used to replace human interaction and no, there is no obvious link between the apparent themes of the games and subsequent behavior patterns of players. The qualitative approach has hereby proven its relevance. What one may specifically miss at this point is the quantitative basis for generalizing the conclusions.

There is also a need for the understanding of the history of the phenomenon. Even Jessen and Fauerholdt display a fumbling insecurity when seeking to describe the experience of playing. The game Doom is describes as having a three dimensional interface and it is claimed that the playing experience may be “compared to walking with a video camera held to the eye and seeing the world through it”.

Now computer games have something in common with film – both are two-dimensional representations of a three-dimensional world. There is therefore nothing particularly three-dimensional about the interface and there is nothing new about the ability to move into the picture. What powers of explanation the video camera hold isn’t obvious either. But the confusion illustrates the need for a common frame of reference.

The very first computer game was Spacewar from 1961. It was an explosive feat of invention but the popularity of the game was limited by the fact that it could only run on mainframes the size of two-room apartments. Spacewar went through innumerable changes but it was basically a dogfight between two spaceships in a sharply defined space. This space, the locked screen, was to limit the activity of the player for many years to come.

Ten years after the birth of Spacewar arcade games started to become common. Most often, however, you had to go to specially established arcades that were built in connection with other leisure activities such as movie theaters and malls. Unique among those compelling game boxes was Space Invaders (Taito, Bally Midway, 1978). The popularity of thiis game broke the confinement of the arcades and brought the machines out of the subcultural semi-darkness and into restaurants and caf´s.

Meanwhile creative programmers started to surpass the traditional limits. It was obvious that the single screen picture was unnecessarily restraining and in an attempt to break the rigid boundaries of game depth the late seventies saw the arrival of the adventure game with the prototype Adventure as founder. The game was available to North American Universities with access to ARPAnet (a precursor of the Internet). Adventure (AKA Advent or Colossal Cave) worked by a completely textual interface describing the action and environment of the protagonist (in response to commands such as ‘go north’ or ‘look at tree’).

This textual interface (parser) was important as it allowed the player to interact with the game in a far more complex fashion than previous multiple-choice-interfaces (where one might for example be asked to choose between three options). Adventure was, however, obviously poorly designed to part the arcade guests from their quarters so the development split into two tracks.

With the development of more exploration oriented games it became obvious that a more mature audience was ready to spend days and nights completing these purely textual and generally inflexible constructs. Apparently these players hungered for interactivity – for the possibility of active participation. Companies such as Atari started to tentatively probe the potential market for home based game machines. And the demand was hard to miss. So the arcades and the home consoles developed in a parallel manner over the years – in commercial competition but especially as mutually supplementing phenomena. Technological innovations have almost always been initiated in the arcades but the personal computer games have bet on the development and complexity of form. Companies such as Atari have wisely sought to spread over both markets.

The 1980′s saw an almost violent development of the adventure genre, which was supplied with graphics and a more accessible interface. The action genre pushed the capacity of machines ahead and reached a peak with Gauntlet (Atari, 1985) which permitted four players to play simultaneously. It’s interesting to note how the possibility of ‘constructive’ teamwork made Gauntlet at least as popular as the traditional kill-or-be-killed multiplayer type.

The strategy genre developed in the late eighties as a more flexible and variable variant of the adventure game. Early triumphs such as Pirates (Microprose, 1987) and SimCity (Maxim, 1989) established the genre as a significant alternative to the adventure genre which now (with certain significant exceptions) has slipped into the background.

The chief reason for the (relative) decline of the adventure game is probably the development in the last five years towards still more open and user-autonomizing game structures. Wolfenstein 3D (ID Soft, 1993) was not only a technically superior action game but also marked the arrival of a completely new concept of the structure of the computer game.

This digital change of paradigms may be described as an expansion of interactivity. Not only is the player the force behind the plot. He, and I do of course mean he, is now also empowered to negotiate the frame of this plot. Modern action and strategy games may of course be played as they are but the creative player can now construct his own levels, his own sound effects, down- and upload add-ons and changes from the Internet.

Not only has this development placed some of the artistic responsibility with the player but the player has also moved himself in search of networks. Modern computers are of course connected and this gives the games a whole new potential. Several thinking beings may now act in the same fictive world at the same time. Omnipresent Internet caf´s testify to the importance of this new quality. Complex worlds may now be explored together, fearful battles may be fought without danger to life or limb.

Chasing the effect

The last sentence is worth noticing because many are not satisfied with life and limb. The debate concerning computer violence circles to no small degree around the children’s souls and the effect of violent images upon said soul

A particularly revealing comment comes from former member of the [Danish] Children’s Council Frode Muldkj´r: “Image violence floods our children through film, video, computer games, Internet, and commercials. Isn’t it a strange society that just says that those things have ‘little or no effect?’”. I, however, would personally like to ask if it isn’t a society at least as strange that just says that we should, on principle, be afraid of that of which we really know nothing.

The question of violence is, as sociologist Henrik Dahl has put it, the Loch Ness Monster of media research. We have searched and searched and only found what corresponds to unfocused photographs of dubious contours. But as I hope to have hinted at the violence question is but one of many possible scientific perspectives. The exceptionally gender-specific appeal is well worth examining just as the skill evolving aspects and social function of games have to this date have only been touched upon sporadically.

The road ahead

All the dangers of text analysis lurk around the corner for the person who tries to analyze the themes of the games. The existing efforts to construct complex structuralist analysis or psychoanalytically inspired readings have resulted in nonsense and largely irrelevant abstractions.

When J. Staalby in a Danish thesis (Computerspil, tekst og tegn. RUC, 1995) hunts the connection between the graphical appearance of Doom and Jaques Lacan’s theories about the perceptions of young children the result is somewhat strained. When media researcher Jens F. Jensen tries to lay bare the structure of Space Invaders using the narrative schemas of Propps developed to understand the structure of Russian fairy tales the explanatory value is rather limited. The players often use the computer as a toy whereupon the theme of their play is projected – rather than the reverse.

It is to a high degree still the child who defines the frames and direction of the playing or in the words of Carsten Jessen: “It is, however, worth noticing that the program does not control the content of the play activity. It is the children themselves who define the space and content that the playing develops and this often happens in contrast to that which the programs explicitly calls for.”

As an equivalent of the ’subversive’ reading of reception analysis it can be noted how the players often find great satisfaction in using the games in ways that are totally unpredictable to the outsider. The intertextual element of games also plays a significant role – a role which is of course completely overlooked when bloody images such as the above one from Doom flood the debate on a tidal wave of moral panic.

The fact that computer games refer ironically to each other is almost as a matter of definition hard to spot for the outsider. And ‘outsider’ is an apt description of the main characters of the debate and the, often educationally oriented, experts appointed to protect children and young people from inappropriate influence.

As I have implied the media ethnographic perspective seems to hold the greatest power of explanation. This method has shown how games are often used socially and it has been suggested that the games must be seen in connection with a focus on the general nature of play. Further along this path is materializing the promising perspective that the reason why human beings play in the first place is the possibility to acquire skills in simulated situations.

It is probable that one when applying this perspective will come to the conclusion that certain computer games may in fact contribute with more contemporarily relevant skills than both brisk strolls and books filled with learning.

Further reading

  • Carsten Jessen: http://www.hum.ou.dk/center/kultur/CJ.html
  • The arcade game museum Videotopia: http://www.videotopia.com/control.htm
  • Thesis on interactive fiction:
  • http://nickm.www.media.mit.edu/people/nickm/srthesis/index.html
  • Survey of Danish computer game player habits: http://computerspil.cjb.net

With thanks to Rachel Dalton

Det glemte medie

Oprindeligt bragt i SAMSON, 1. februar 1999.

Den hidtidige forskning i computerspil er hurtigt overskuet. Dette til trods for det interaktive medies popularitet og en økonomisk succes, der efterhånden overgår filmmediets. Denne artikel forsøger at forklare dette paradoks, samt at lægge et par beskedne byggesten til fundamentet for et nyt forskningsområde.

“Lad der ikke være nogen tvivl: Disse spil er ikke harmløs sjov, som nogen mener, men digital gift”., sagde Senator Joe Liebermann i det amerikanske senat sidste år. Målet for hans verbale skyts var tidens øjensynligt stadigt mere voldelige computerspil ­ så sandelig et populært mål, når hæren af bekymrede forældre og pædagoger skal sigte med skyldoverførslens skarpladte bazooka.

Men hvis diskussionen skulle karakteriseres med et enkelt nøgleord, burde det netop være dette: tvivl. Forskere kommer med relativistiske udtalelser, men der sidder de jo, drengene, time efter time klistret til skærmen uden at vise den mindste interesse for arsenalet af opbyggelige aktiviteter fra friske gåture til lærerige bøger. Havde det dog i det mindste været fjernsynet, der tiltrak, men nej det er noget andet og mere mystisk; en aktivitet, hvor drengene selv er de aktive, og hvor rødlige slimmonstre er omtrent lige så hyppigt forekommende, som forsinkede S-toge er det her i virkelighedens verden. Det må da være skadeligt?

I debatten om børn og unges forhold til computerspil er dette spørgsmål det hyppigst formulerede, men det er også notorisk vanskeligt at besvare. Nemmere bliver det ikke af, at den videnskabelige forskning i høj grad har vendt det blinde øje til fænomenet. Nok har computerspilindustrien overgået filmindustrien i omsætning, men alligevel, det er ikke rigtigt noget, man har ønsket at beskæftige sig med. Denne fortrængning kræver allerførst en forklaring. Dernæst vil denne artikel præsentere et skitse til computerspillets historie – et nødvendigt fundament for eventuel senere etablering af teori og analysemetode.

Forskningens blinde øje

Nye forskningsområder er vanskelige at have med at gøre. Forskning er viderebygning på et fundament af erfaring, forkastning af tidligere hypoteser og en revurdering af gamle teorier. Når et sådant fundament ikke eksisterer, er der ingen vejledning at hente og ingen eksperter at henvise til, endsige placere sig i opposition overfor. Der er altså en vis træghed i udvidelsen af forskningens genstandsfelt. Det er simpelthen vanskeligt at komme i gang med noget nyt. Dertil kommer, at computerspillet eksisterer i et akademisk ingenmandsland.

På den ene side synes fænomenets karakter af audiovisuel oplevelse at placere det inden for det film- eller kommunikationsvidenskabelige genstandsfelt. Men ses de interaktive tekster i deres brugskontekst synes teoretiseringen på den anden side at høre under pædagogik og psykologi eller måske under en bredere kulturforskning som sociologi. Selv hvis man vælger et beskedent teoretisk delperspektiv støder man ind i vanskeligheder. I en tekstanalyse kan det være svært at indfange et fænomen, der læner sig op ad massekommunikationens problemstillinger, men som samtidig ikke synes at give mening uden fokus på de interpersonelle aspekter, som den interaktive multimedieoplevelse fordrer.

Endelig spiller fænomenets historie en vigtig rolle. Computerspil er vedhæftet stærke grillbarskonnotationer. Spillenes fødsel i et maskulint pubertetsmiljø har placeret dem solidt i den lavest vurderede populærkultur, og det er et område, der ikke traditionelt har nydt stor akademisk bevågenhed. Med sammensmeltningen af medie- og kulturforskningen ­ og den mere generelle opvurdering af populærkulturelle fænomener – er dette dog ved at ændre sig.

De farlige billeder

Billedmediernes massekulturelle konnotationer bringer dem stadigvæk i konflikt med en mere traditionel opfattelse af kvalitet og kunstnerisk, samt almen værdi. I børnenes omgang med institutionernes pædagoger opleves en modvilje mod maskinen som legetøj. Dette skyldes, ifølge kultur- og børneforsker Carsten Jessen, at pædagogerne:

“…ikke anser computeren for en passende aktivitet for mindre børn. Computeren betragtes på linie med tv som en form for passiv underholdning, der kan gøre børnene asociale, begrænse deres fantasi og virke destruerende på legen.”

Denne afvisende holdning kan delvist spores tilbage til Herbert Krugman, der i 1960´erne udførte en række eksperimenter på børn for at måle deres hjerneaktivitet, mens de så fjernsyn. Det sidenhen meget omdiskuterede forsøg viste, at hjernens alfabølgeaktivitet hos en tv-seer svarede til en sovendes og var ganske anderledes end hos en (bog)læser. Disse resultater blev populariseret af Jerry Mander i et kontroversielt stormangreb på tv-mediet (´Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television´ 1978). De faldt godt i tråd med Neil Postmans beskrivelse af faren ved at bruge tv i undervisningssammenhæng til andet end at vise mediets skadelige karakter.

Disse tv-pessimister tog tråden op efter Marshall MacLuhans beskrivelse af, hvorledes billedmediet medførte en regression til en før-skriftlig tankeform og således var en trussel mod rationalitetens dominans. MacLuhan opfattede billedmedierne som anderledes urefleksivt involverende end den distancerede og rationalitetsmotiverende bog. Men modsat MacLuhan, der dog havde taget væsentlige forbehold og primært søgt at starte en debat om de nye medier var hans arvtagere overvejende kritiske og entydigt bekymrede over fjernsynets skadelige virkning. Deres populærvidenskabelige arbejde kan tænkes at bære meget af skylden for den pædagogiske skepsis over for billedmedierne. I lige så høj grad skal man dog muligvis finde forklaringen i den klassiske nedvurdering af den kommercielle lavkultur. Desuden kan man tænke sig, at ungdommens nye utilgængelige rum bliver opfattet negativt af den ældre generation, fordi det symboliserer noget ukontrollabelt og ukendt. Med psykologen Eugene Provenzos ord:

“Concern on the part of parents and other members of the adult community may in fact reflect their fear of losing control over youth populations.”

Spillets referenceramme

Carsten Jessen og Lis Fauerholdt repræsenterer nok landets mest seriøse forskning i emnet. Med et medieetnografisk fokus på helt konkrete spilsituationer, f.eks. introduktionen af Doom II i en fritidsklub, har det været muligt at angribe (om ikke ligefrem falsificere) store dele af debattens underforståede hypoteser. Nej, computerspil bruges ikke som erstatning for personlig samvær, og nej, der er ingen entydig sammenhæng mellem spillenes temaer og spillernes efterfølgende reaktionsmønster. Hermed har den kvalitative tilgang vist sin relevans. Hvad man især nu kan savne, er det kvantitative grundlag for at kunne generalisere konklusionerne til også at omfatte andre end de konkret beskrevne spillere.

Ligeledes mangler den nødvendige indsigt i fænomenets historie.

Spillet Doom (ID Soft, 1994. Se Ill. 1) beskrives som en tredimensional brugerflade, og det hævdes, at spiloplevelsen kan “sammenlignes med at gå med et videokamera for øjet og se verden herigennem”. Nu har computerspillet jo det tilfælles med filmen, at det er en todimensional repræsentation af en tredimensional verden. Der er derfor ikke noget særligt tredimensionalt over brugerfladen, og der er intet nyt i, at man kan bevæge sig ind i billedet. Hvilken forklaringskraft, det inddragne videokamera har, er heller ikke oplagt. Men forvirringen illustrerer behovet for en fælles referenceramme.

Computerspillets spæde start

Det allerførste computerspil var ´Spacewar´ fra 1961. Der var tale om en voldsom nyskabelse, men spillets popularitet var begrænset ved, at det kun kunne køre på mainframes på størrelse med 2-værelseslejligheder.

´Spacewar´ gennemgik utallige revisioner, men var grundlæggende en kamp mellem to rumskibe i et skarpt defineret rum. Dette rum, det fastlåste skærmbillede, skulle sætte grænser for spillerens udfoldelser i mange år fremefter. Ti år efter ´Spacewars’´ fødsel begyndte arkademaskinerne at blive tilgængelige, typisk dog kun i særligt indrettede arkader oftest i forbindelse med andre forlystelser; f.eks. biografer og storcentre.

Enestående blandt disse dragende spillekasser var ´Space Invaders ´(Taito, Bally, Midway, 1978), hvis popularitet brød arkadernes udgrænsning og bragte maskinerne ud af det subkulturelle halvmørke og ind på restauranter og caféer. Samtidig begyndte kreative programmører at overstige de traditionelle rammer. Det var tydeligt at enkeltskærmbilledet var unødigt begrænsende og i et forsøg på at bryde de rigide grænser for spillets dybde, opstod i de sene 70´ere adventurespillet med prototypen ´Adventure ´ som forbillede.

Spillet var tilgængeligt for amerikanske universiteter tilknyttet ARPAnet (en forgænger til Internettet). ´Adventure´ (også kendt som ´Advent´ og ´Colossal Cave´)´ fungerede ved et komplet tekstbaseret interface, der i forhold til indtastede kommandoer (som f.eks. ‘go north´ eller ‘look at tree´) beskrev handlingen, samt hovedpersonens omgivelser. Væsentlig var dette tidlige sproglige interface (parser), der lod spilleren interagere med spillet på en langt mere kompleks måde, end tidligere multiple-choice-interfaces havde tilladt. ´Adventure´var dog tydeligvis dårligt egnet til at fravriste arkadespillerne deres ´quarters´, så udviklingen begyndte at dele sig i to spor.

Den gryende interaktivitet

Med udviklingen af mere eksplorationsorienterede spil blev det tydeligt, at et mere modent publikum var parat til at bruge dage og nætter på at gennemføre disse rent tekstbaserede og overordentligt ufleksible konstruktioner. Øjensynligt hungrede disse spillere efter interaktivitet, efter muligheden for handlende deltagelse. Blandt andet som følge heraf begyndte firmaer som Atari tentativt at føle sig frem på det potentielle marked for hjemme-baserede spillemaskiner. Og efterspørgslen var ikke til at tage fejl af. Således udviklede arkademaskiner og hjemmespillemaskiner sig sideløbende gennem årene ­ i kommerciel konkurrence, men især som gensidigt supplerende fænomener.

De teknologiske nyskabelser har næsten altid været indledt på arkademaskinerne, mens hjemmecomputerspillene har satset på formmæssig udvikling og kompleksitet. Firmaer som Atari har fornuftigvis forstået at brede sig over begge markeder.

1980´erne oplevede en voldsom udvikling i adventuregenren, der blev tilført grafik og en mere tilgængelig brugerflade. Actiongenren skubbede maskinernes kapacitet fremad og nåede et højdepunkt med ´Gauntlet´ (Atari, 1985), der tilbød at fire spillere samtidig kunne deltage. Det er interessant at bemærke, hvordan muligheden for ´konstruktivt´ sammenspil gjorde ´Gauntlet ´mindst lige så populært som den traditionelle dræb-eller-bliv-dræbt-multiplayer-type.

Strategispillet sprænger rammerne

Strategispillene udviklede sig i slutningen af 80´erne som en mere fleksibel og udfaldsåben variant af adventurespillet. Tidlige succeser som ´Pirates´ (Microprose, 1987) og ´Simcity ´(Maxim, 1989) cementerede genren som et væsentlig alternativ til adventurespillet, der siden, med enkelte markante undtagelser, er gledet i baggrunden.

Den helt centrale årsag til adventurespillets (relative) tilbagegang er nok de sidste fem års udvikling mod stadig mere åbne og brugerautonomiserende spilstrukturer. Med ´Wolfenstein 3D´ (ID, 1993) ankom ikke kun et teknisk overlegent actionspil, men også en helt ny opfattelse af computerspillets struktur. Dette digitale paradigmeskift kan beskrives som en udvidet interaktivitet. Ikke blot er spilleren handlingens primus motor, han er nu også med til at bestemme denne handlings rammer.

Moderne action- og strategispil kan naturligvis spilles som de er, men den kreative spiller kan nu lave sine egne baner, sine egne lyde, down- og uploade udvidelser og ændringer fra Internettet. Men ikke nok med at disse muligheder har flyttet dele af det kunstneriske ansvar og potentiale over på spilleren. Spilleren har også flyttet sig selv i jagten på netværk, og dette giver spillene et helt nyt potentiale. Flere tænkende væsner kan agere i den samme fiktive verden samtidig. At dette vitterlig er en kvalitet, vidner de allestedsnærværende net-caféer om. Komplekse verdener kan nu udforskes i fællesskab, og drabelige slag kan udkæmpes uden fare for liv og lemmer.

På jagt efter traumer

Det sidste er værd at bide mærke i, for mange er ikke tilfredse med liv og lemmer. Debatten om computervold kredser i højeste grad om børnenes sjæl og om de voldelige billeders effekt herpå. En særligt afslørende kommentar leveres af tidligere formand for Børnerådet, Frode Muldkjær:

“Billedvold vælter ind over børn via film, video, computerspil, Internet og reklamer. Det er da et underligt samfund som bare siger, at den slags har ringe eller ingen effekt.”

Jeg vil dog personligt tillade mig at spørge, om det dog ikke er et mindst lige så underligt samfund, der bare siger, at vi per princip skal være bange for noget vi ikke rigtigt ved noget om. Voldsspørgsmålet er, som sociologen Henrik Dahl har formuleret det, medieforskningens Loch-Ness-uhyre. Man har ledt og ledt efter effekten og kun fundet det, der svarer til uskarpe fotografier med tvivlsomme konturer. Men som jeg håber at have antydet, er voldsspørgsmålet kun en af mange mulige videnskabelige indfaldsvinkler. Den exceptionelt kønsspecifikke appel er nok værd at beskæftige sig med, lige som spillenes kompetenceudviklende aspekter og sociale funktion til dato kun er blevet berørt sporadisk.

Et russisk computereventyr

Alle tekstanalysens farer lurer om hjørnet for den, der prøver at analysere spillenes temaer. De eksisterende forsøg på at udføre sindrige strukturalistiske analyser eller psykoanalytisk inspirerede læsninger er endt i nonsens og stort set uanvendelige abstraktioner.

Når J. Staalby i et danskspeciale (Computerspil, tekst og tegn. RUC, 1995) f.eks. jager sammenhængen mellem ´Dooms ´grafiske fremtræden og Jacques Lacans teorier om barnets oplevelsesverden, bliver resultatet noget anstrengt. Når medieforsker Jens F. Jensen forsøger at blotlægge underliggende strukturer i ´Space Invaders´ ved hjælp af Propps fortællingsskabeloner, udviklet til forståelse af strukturen i russiske folkeeventyr, kan forklaringsværdien ligeledes ligge på et lille sted.

Spillerne benytter ofte computerspillene som et stykke legetøj, hvorpå legens tema projiceres. Det er i høj grad stadigvæk barnet som definerer legens rammer og retning, eller med Carsten Jessens ord:

“Det er imidlertid værd at lægge mærke til, at programmet ikke bestemmer legeaktivitetens indhold. Det er børnene selv, der definerer det rum og det indhold, legen får, og det sker ofte på tværs af det, programmerne eksplicit lægger op til.”

Simulation for indviede

Som en pendant til receptionsanalysens ‘subversive’ læsning kan det nævnes, hvorledes spillerne ofte finder stor fornøjelse i at benytte spillene på måder, der er helt uforudsigelige for den udenforstående.

Ligeledes spiller det intertekstuelle element en ikke ubetydelig rolle – en rolle, som naturligvis helt overses når blodige billeder, som det ovenstående fra ´Doom´ skylles ind i debatten på en flodbølge af moralsk panik. At computerspillene refererer ironisk til hinanden er i sagens natur vanskeligt at opdage for den udenforstående. Og ‘udenforstående’ er netop en relevant betegnelse, når man skal karakterisere debattens hovedpersoner og de, ofte pædagogisk orienterede, fagfolk, der er udset til at beskytte børn og unge mod upassende påvirkning.

Som antydet synes det medieetnografiske perspektiv at indeholde den største forklaringsværdi. Med denne metode er det blevet vist, hvordan spillene ofte benyttes i sociale sammenhænge, og det er blevet foreslået, at spillene bør ses i forbindelse med et særligt fokus på legens generelle natur. Videre fremme af denne sti synes det lovende perspektiv at vise sig, at årsagen til, at mennesket overhovedet leger, er muligheden for at optræne kompetencer i simulerede situationer. Det er næppe usandsynligt, at man af denne indfaldsvinkel vil nå frem til bevidstheden om, at visse computerspil i virkeligheden kan bidrage med mere nutidsrelevante evner end både gåture og bøger.

Relevante referencer

  • Carsten Jessen: http://www.hum.ou.dk/center/kultur/CJ.html
  • Arkadespilsmuseet Videotopia: http://www.videotopia.com/control.htm
  • Medierådet for Børn og Unge med links til forskningsprojekter om computerspil: www.medieraadet.dk
  • Projekt om interaktiv fiktion: http://nickm.www.media.mit.edu/people/nickm/srthesis/index.html
  • Undersøgelse om computerspillere: http://www.computerspil.cjb.net
  • Boe, Susanne (ed.) (1995). Medievold – Børn og Unge. København: Kulturministeriet

Det teknologiske B-hold

Oprindeligt trykt i SAMSON, 3. oktober 1998

I diskussionen om mediernes rolle i demokratiet gør en ny problematik sig gældende: Der er ved at opstå en skillelinie mellem dem, der frejdigt surfer afsted på informationssamfundets høje bølger og dem, der står og sopper ubehjælpsomt i strandkanten. Kort sagt: Demokratiet i Intemettets tidsalder risikerer at få en alvorlig social slagside. Hvem er det teknologiske B-hold og hvad skal der blive af dem?

“Der vil være en tendens til at, befolkningen opdeles i et informationsteknologisk A- og B-hold. A-holdet vil være dem, der via deres arbejde eller fritidsinteresse bliver fortrolige med informationsteknologien, og som er i stand til at udnytte dens mange muligheder. B-holdet vil være dem, der ikke får greb om teknologien, og som viger uden om den. Deres jobmuligheder vil indsnævres mere og mere.”

Sådan lyder det i den nu fire år gamle Dybkjær-Christensen-rapport udgivet af Forskningsministeriet.

Disse manende ord satte for alvor gang i debatten om informationssamfimdets velsignelser og trusler, og siden har det teknologiske B-hold været noget man fra ministerielt hold har bekymret sig en hel del om. Man må tænke sig, at de sidder derude, disse analoge B-mennesker, i deres almennyttige byggeri med deres nussede formiddagsaviser og lader hånt om det store fælles projekt: Info-samfundet.

Og det får konsekvenser: Hvis man skal tro Forskningsministeriet kommer samfundet i stadig højere grad til at hvile på computerteknologi, og de der ikke bemægtiger sig kontrollen over tastaturet vil ganske hurtigt blive sejlet agterud. De vil blive marginaliseret på arbejdsmarkedet og fra starten være udelukket fra at deltage i de nye sociale fællesskaber som bl.a. Intemettet skaber.

Visionen om et samfundsnet

Når debatten om informationssamfundet ofte falder på Intemettet, er det nok ikke uden grund.Internettet er på ganske få år blevet stedet hvor ikke blot små dele af den danske offentlighed udspiller sig, Det er samtidig stedet hvor selve det offentlige – statslige og kommunale kontorer og institutioner – rykker ind. Ambitionerne kan udlæses af regeringens IT-politiske handlingsplan:

“Der sigtes mod, at et elektronisk Lovtidende vil kunne afløse det traditionelle, papirbaserede Lovtidende som bindende fra begyndelsen af l999…” ligesom “Alle statslige myndigheder skal have etableret en hjemmeside på Internettet inden I. januar 1998″.

Alle ministerielle rapporter udgives også på Intemettet ligesom de endnu sideløbende udgives i papirform, hvor de dog er både dyrere og sværere tilgængelige. For dem der er på nettet altså. Først og fremmest har ca. 16 % af alle danske familier privat adgang til Intemettet, mens omtrent halvdelen har en personlig computer. 42 % har ingen planer om at forlade den gode gamle analoge verden og angiver, at de ikke påtænker at anskaffe PC.

Med Drude Dahlerupsk retorik kunne man hævde, at befolkningen er kløvet i to, men det kan næppe gøre det. B-holdet er ikke de 42 %, uden PC i hjemmet – der er sågar kendte danskere, skal vi kalde dem kulturbærere, der jævnligt gør sig vittige over den fagre nye digitale verden og erklærer sig som bevidste og stolte teknofober.

Problemet som antydes i det indledende citat ligger hos de arbejdsløse, hos arbejderne, hos de ældre og hos kvinderne.

Sandsynligheden for at du figurerer i de statslige statistikker som arbejdsløs og samtidig læser dette nummer af Samson er lille. Men hvis du gør, er der kun ca. 10 % chance for at du mener, at du har en vis grad af kendskab til Intemettet. Er du studerende, og sandsynligheden herfor er større, stiger chancen for at du mener at være i besiddelse af et sådant kendskab til 40 %, og det er 60 % sikkert at du har prøvet at benytte Internettet. Er du arbejder, er du ikke stort bedre rustet til info-samfundet end de arbejdsløse og er du pensionist ved du næppe overhovedet hvad denne artikel handler om. Tilhører du, for nu at sige det på den måde, det kvindelige køn, gør du højst sandsynligt ikke din stemme gældende i Cyberspace. Du synes måske det er noget pjat, eller at alt der har med computere at gøre er nært knyttet til coca-cola og frituremad. Faktum er i hvert fald, at kvinderne i dette øjeblik udgør kun 1/4 af de danske on-liners.

Et kig i krystalkuglen

Det er svært at spå, især om fiemtiden som man siger. Dog er det værd at lægge sig for øje, at Internettet samtidig med at være en magtfaktor i moderne demokratier også er en udvidelse af markedet. Og det er måske her tilgængelighedsproblematikken vil fmde sin løsning.

Den såkaldte Metcalfes Lov fortæller, at værdien af et netværk vokser med kvadratet på dets brugere og dette behøves ikke nødvendigvis forstås i abstrakte demokratiske termer. For det er jo i allerhøjeste grad et spørgsmål om kroner og øre for både annoncører og teleselskaber om 1/2 eller 1 million danskere jævnligt surfer rundt og falder over deres reklamer. Rækkefølgen er den naturlige, at de mest købedygtige er de mest attraktive surfere og derfor, set fra annoncørernes synspunkt, gerne allerførst skulle kobles på, men omkostningen ved at få sin digitale annonce set af 10 eller 1000 er næsten identisk. Og eftersom Intemettets indhold er andet og mere en børneporno, ja faktisk er helt uoverskueligt varieret, vil man ikke have tv-sendefladens alsidighedsproblem: døgnets kun 24 timer. Med økonombrilleme på er det også urentabelt ikke at få kvinderne med, ligesom det i sociale fora kan være temmeligt ensporet eller blot kedeligt. Intemetudbyderen Get2net fortæller da også henført, at – “1998 er året, hvor de danske kvinder for alvor har opdaget mulighederne i Internet. På mindre end et år er antallet af kvinder, der går online, femdoblet. F ra fem pct. i foråret 1997 til 25 pct. i maj i år.”

Det er i øvrigt en ofte udtalt antagelse, at computerens transformation fra regnemaskine til medie medfører et holdningsskift. Om dette har kvindeforsker Jane Kofod udtalt at – “…når teknologi ikke længere kræver store svulmende muskler og giver beskidte negle, holder vores konstruktioner af mænd og maskiner som noget, der hører sammen, ikke længere.”

Danskerne skal altså nok komme på nettet i stor stil. Men det er desværre ikke lige meget hvordan det sker, for hvis man blot trykker på en knap og får en masse information i hovedet i hjemmesideform (ved såkaldt push-teknologi) kan det være det samme som at se tv.

Internettets demokratiske potentiale ligger netop i dets mulige synkronitet ~ man kan være både modtager og afsender. Det er en balancekimst; for hvis nettet er for uoverskueligt, vil mange ikke turde tage skridtet. Men er det for pædagogisk, vil man aldrig kunne risikere at falde over en indbydelse til et lokalpolitisk debatarrangement, mens man leder efter Se og Hørs hjemmeside.

Skillelinien bliver dermed trukket mellem passive og aktive mediebrugere. Spørgsmålet er, hvordan vi som samfund bør forholde os til demokratiets svage grupper i det hele taget. Skal vi, eller måske Socialdemokratiet eller Microsoft presse folk til at tage aktivt del i info-samfundets velsignelser, eller skal man sætte sig en mindre idealistisk målsætning og blot sørge for at alle får lige adgang til det forjættede land? Den allestedsnærværende ‘konvergens’ vil sandsynligvis sørge for det sidste, idet det vil være muligt at få lnternet gennem fjernsynet, men vil det man får i så fald være andet og mere end tv’s programflade valgt af nogen, til nogen andre?

Kilder:

  • Blauenfeldt, Anders & Stegmann, Mikkel (1998). Danskernes internetvaner – brugersurvey, maj 1998. Lyngby: Center for Teleinformation, DTU. http://www.znaiLdk/realindex.htm.
  • Forskningsministeriet (1997). Handling gi’r forvandling – IT-politisk handlingsplan 97/98. København: Forskningsministeriet.
  • Forskningsministeriet (1997a). IT i tal 1997 – 19 billeder af info-samfundet. København: Forskningsministeriet.
  • Kofoed, Jane (1998). Chancen for ligestilling ligger i cyberspace. I: Lige: nu – debatmagasin om ligestilling, nr. 6, april 1998.