Role-playing and roll-playing - incentives, peaceful coexistence, and pedagogy

Seems like many people have been reading Jon Peterson's The Elusive Shift. And that's great - the more people realize how many arguments and design considerations relating to role-playing games are just as old school as "old school", the faster we can all discuss these matters more productively now, fifty years later.

One recent blog post took a main question from discussions in fanzines, APAs, and magazines of the '70s, on the distinction between role-playing and roll-playing: that is, whether to play your character to best emulate how it would act in any given situation, or whether to play it to win - the battle, the war, the contest, treasure, whatever is achievable. The rest of that post tries to apply game theory to the question of whether to role-play or to roll-play. And I do like the idea of looking at role-playing games from the perspective of probability and decision-making, which make up game theory: one of my first posts was about the Monty Hall problem, and I've written a series of posts about the character sheet game framework, which is my attempt to condense the most mechanical and strategy-based portions of a role-playing game into a form amenable to analysis by tools from strategy game design and theory. However, I must take exception to the very framing of this problem, because as it stands, I think it's a false dichotomy.

Let me explain with an example from your favorite edition of Dungeons & Dragons. It's a class-based system, which originally supported three classes: the fighting man, the magic user, and the cleric. This did not capture every type of character anyone would want to play, so people homebrewed their own classes or variants - that's where the thief class came from.

Now you, having access to either the homebrew version of the thief, or a more official form of thief or rogue from later supplements or editions, decide to create or manage to generate such a character. The character, per the rules, is very good at sneaking around, picking locks, disarming traps, climbing sheer walls, and other such dubious activities. It is not very good at fighting directly, or at taking a lot of physical punishment. So if you decide to play this character as someone sneaky and devious, who likes to pick locks, disarm traps, and stab enemies in the back from hiding, it works. The rules encourage you, the dungeon master has an easy time setting up challenges for you, and you contribute appropriately to a team of adventurers who are also playing to their niches.

On the other hand, if you decide, with this class, that you want to play a brave warrior who charges into battle, sword drawn, you will have a harder time succeeding at the mechanical challenges. You will not hit as much as a fighter would, you will not cause as much damage, you might not even be able to use the best weapons for the job, and so you may easily find yourself killed and forced to create a new character, or you may hope to be saved by the other players` characters, or by DM fiat. Why is that? It's because you chose the wrong mechanical archetype to go with your character concept.

You may counter that you're trying to challenge yourself, that real role-playing is playing against mechanical advantage, that focusing on mechanical advantage is roll-playing, and that a good DM or GM should be able to accommodate that. Well, to that I would say that you have made a role-playing decision by choosing both this class, and this behavior that is at odds with it. So the holistic concept is what we should interrogate. Why is it important for you that your character mechanically be a sneaky thief, but have the behavior of someone who insists on charging into the fray? Is this character trying to fight its natural or trained affinity to sneaking around? That's an internal struggle it has with itself. And there are role-playing game systems where that kind of struggle can be rewarded mechanically.

Let's say that instead of using D&D, you decided to play a fantasy FATE game. You want to create this holistic concept of a sneaky conniver, who is nevertheless driven to be a strong hero, a Gray Mouser who dreams of being a Fafhrd. You could choose what is called an aspect to capture this: "a scoundrel too combative for their own good". Aspects in FATE are used in two ways: the player can invoke them to gain some kind of advantage, spending a Fate point; and another player or the gamemaster can "compel" them from the character, forcing a disadvantageous decision that is in line with them. In the latter case, either the player resists this by spending a Fate point, or they can accept it, and gain a Fate point for use later. This is why the rulebook recommends choosing aspects that are two-sided - that combine the positive with the negative - and "a scoundrel too combative for their own good" is a perfect example of that. Let's try it out!

You and your party want to steal a big diamond from the Duke's mansion. You're a scoundrel, which allows you to spend a Fate point to give you a bonus for rolling to come up with a sneaky plan to get in there, and the roll comes out very well. The plan is set in motion, and it's proceeding like clockwork - a big distraction draws most of the guards to the front gate, and you're sneaking 'round the back. There are only two guards there, and the plan calls for you to throw a rock to their left, then use a well-positioned tree to drop in behind the wall to their right. But before you can do that, the GM compels you: "now that you see the guards up close, they don't look so tough. You feel like you could just take them there and then." If you accept the compel, you gain a Fate point. If you don't, then you need to spend a Fate point, which will allow you to proceed with your plan. By penalizing you for sticking to the optimal fictional choice, while rewarding you for accepting a less promising one, the mechanics incentivize you to play into this dual aspect of your character: a competent scoundrel who nevertheless can't stop themselves from getting into fights. To get to the position where you have the Fate point needed to avoid this hiccup, you would have had to surrender to this or another compel earlier, or not to have expended the ones you start a scene with; meanwhile, this extra Fate point you get from leaning into the negative side of this aspect of your character now can be used to improve the situation later, either by making it easier for you to do something, by sacrificing this point so that you can avoid being compelled by your weakness at a more critical juncture, or otherwise to improve the prospects of the whole plan, and the overall success of the party's mission.

If you had instead been playing a thief in D&D, mechanically this would have been a problem. You would have probably failed in the combat against the two stronger, more able guards, and if nothing else, at least one of them would have been able to raise the alarm, and none of that would have intrinsically involved any advantage to you or your party, equivalent to a Fate point.

Now we come to what I think is a better question than role- vs. roll-playing, which is an issue of taste, and possibly of human psychology: does the fact that there's an extrinsic, mechanical incentive help you or hinder you from role-playing your character? Do you get what you get out of role-playing by roll-playing to this mechanic, or not? Does it instead make role-playing less compelling for you, because it overrides an intrinsic motivation you previously had for role-playing?

And how does this affect the rest of the participants in the game? If you get the same joy out of role-playing along with the mechanical incentives, this means that you can peacefully co-exist with players who are more interested in making the best of the mechanics of the system. And the GM also has an easier time, because they don't have to negotiate some kind of fudging, or fiat, or other ad-hoc methods to make sure that everything keeps merrily moving along. Instead of having to work both on preparing and running the system, as well as on intervening extra-mechanically, to avoid letting your role-playing against the mechanics interfere with the enjoyment of the roll-players, everyone can play the same game, even though they might not be playing it for the same reasons.

Finally, in addition to the question of whether this will satisfy people who are looking for role-playing, we can ask what type of system encourages people who start out thinking as roll-players to move towards role-playing, and whether that's a worthwhile goal. When introducing role-playing games to new players, this pedagogical consideration can be crucial. I have personally found that the game that most encouraged me to play in character is by some accounts (including its current marketing copy) not really a role-playing game at all, but a story-telling game: Fiasco. Despite the fact that the mechanics barely have anything to do with playing roles in themselves, as they do not correspond to adjudicating actions that would make sense to the character itself in the world, the very framing encourages you to lean into the character you play as it interacts with the characters played by others.

It is important to remember that systems are designed by people to serve functions. They are not necessarily modeling a situation that people will encounter, which is where a game-theoretic analysis would be most appropriate, to tease out how to look at a given situation as a rational actor. They can instead model genre conventions, or they can be built to encourage and reward certain behaviors, reducing and even eliminating the tension between playing to win and playing to a role.

Role-playing Monty Hall

The Monty Hall problem

The Monty Hall problem is a well-known mathematical brain-teaser: The player has survived to the end of some gameshow. The host now points to three doors. One of these is hiding a brand new car, the other two are hiding goats. Let's pretend that goats aren't a better long-term investment than a car, and that the player does want the latter. The player chooses a door. The host then opens one of the other doors, which reveals a goat. They then give you a choice: you can stick with the door you've already chosen, or you can switch. Which should you do?

The answer may depend on a lot of factors. In the framing of the problem that leads to the standard solution, more information is given: you are guaranteed that the host will open one of the doors that you have not chosen, one with a goat in it, regardless of whether you chose the one with the car or not. If you did choose the car, the host will choose the other door to open at random. You will always then be given a chance to switch.

Under these conditions, the solution is pretty clear: to start out with, you have no reason to favor any of the doors, so you can just roll a six-sided die (a d6), and take the first door on 1 or 2, the second on 3 or 4, and the third on 5 or 6. The probability of your first choice being the right one is one third. Then, the host opens one of the other doors to show a goat. Now you have more information: you know that the host had to have not opened the door with the car. So if you chose the one with the car, which was with probability one third, then he randomly opened one, and the other also has a goat - and you shouldn't switch. If you chose one of the ones with a goat behind it, which was with probability two thirds, then he already showed you the other one with the goat, so the other one must have the car. Not knowing which case you are in, you can nevertheless determine that you are two thirds likely to be in a situation where switching is the right move. So you should switch.

There's a lot to dig into as to why this is counter-intuitive to most people, and many variations that can be made on the conditions, but I want to focus on something else: how does the player know that this is how the game is played? Let's look at a more genre-ish scenario to illustrate what I mean.

Dracula's Hall

Your intrepid player character has made their way past many of Dracula's insidious traps and into his inner sanctum. The gamemaster describes the Count himself sitting smugly on his throne at the other end of an elongated hall, black curtains covering the high windows, sipping a red, viscous fluid from a chalice. "You have done well for yourself, brave one; but surely you cannot defeat me. Let us play a game." He points to three doors to your left. "Behind two of these doors there are my thralls, who will enjoy toying with you until your untimely demise. Behind another are the villagers you seek. If you choose the right one, you and they may leave unscathed. Choose poorly..." he tapers the sentence off melodramatically.

You mull it over, pray for guidance from whatever gods could allow for this creature to terrorize a poor village, and choose the middle door.

"Ah, an interesting choice", Dracula responds. "But are you quite sure? Here, let me make it easier for you." With a wave of his hand he opens the door closest to you. The maddened thrall inside starts stepping out, but Dracula stills them with another gesture. "Are you still certain about that door?" What should you do?

The answer depends on many factors. What was the framing of Dracula as a character? Has the gamemaster provided you with rumors about his fairness? Is he instead known for being a lying cheat? Have the various traps so far been set up as logic puzzles, or on the contrary, as deadly bundles of misdirection? In the first case, maybe you can assume that the situation corresponds to the honest gameshow above. In the second case, maybe he only chose to show you one of the other doors because he knows you chose well the first time. Or maybe all three doors contain thralls, and it's less of a gameshow than a shell game.

Since this is a role-playing game, with lateral thinking allowed or even encouraged, you didn't even need to get to this point. You could have had your character yell out "enough of your games" and come at Dracula, hoping to surprise him. Depending on how his capability was framed, maybe you have a chance of defeating him that way. You could also have your character literally pray to the gods, or cast a spell that will guide you to the right decision. Or you could have them try and look at Dracula closely to see whether he's lying, or is nervous about your choice.

And then the gamemaster may react in many ways to these attempts at working around the problem. They may choose to go with your choices and see where they lead through the known mechanics of the game. But maybe they telegraph Dracula's power through rumors or having him dispatch a known strong monster as you enter. Or maybe your gamemaster just plain tells you "if you fight Dracula you will die." Maybe the gods aren't listening right now, or your character is in an anti-magic field. Maybe Dracula is preternaturally unreadable.

This might erode your trust in the gamemaster. If they won't let you engage with or fight Dracula on your own terms, how else will they, or have they already, interfered with your agency? Is your choice of room significant at all, or does the gamemaster have some narrative beat to get you to, so whatever you choose, the pre-ordained encounter is what's going to happen?

So far I've assumed a somewhat traditional role-playing game, with in-character mechanics. But let's say this was a game with narrative mechanics, where the player can make choices that relate to engaging with and advancing the narrative. Your character could have some kind of skill or ability that allows them a good chance at succeeding at negotiating with creatures of the night. Then you can say "I want to make the right choice." You roll for that. And then the probability distribution is entirely different, and the results are defined differently.

Say you had a range of success, partial failure, and total failure. The system makes it so that you have a success with probability 80%, partial failure with 15%, and total failure with 5%. That's removed entirely from the problem as posed, but could hone in on creating a more interesting story. On a total success, you could realize that Dracula is trying to fool you, stick to what you chose, and then see that the villagers are there. A defeated Dracula then allows you to leave. On a partial success, you could choose to switch, then have Dracula laugh at you, open the door you had chosen before the switch to show you the villagers, chained and terrorized, then close it and let the already exposed thrall leap to the attack. Yes, you have failed, but the villagers are still there, so it's just a matter of going through a battle to release them. On a total failure you switch, then Dracula opens the door you've switched to in order to reveal the villagers - which he had turned into vampires the night before. Not only did you fail to free the villagers, the story will now be about how you survive this failure and live to tell their families.

In the case of a game with narrative-focused mechanics, you could ask another question: why bother with a Monty Hall-type situation in the first place? Maybe just as a reference to this well-known problem, as some kind of indicator of Dracula's sense of humor, rather than any specific probabilistic features of the problem, or a test of the player's reasoning or skill.

Back to Monty Hall

You are back at the gameshow. The host has shown you the doors, you made your initial choice, the host has opened one of the doors and shows a goat in it. What do you do?

The same thing you would have done before reading the alternate situation with Dracula. Because you have made the decision to play this gameshow, which is why you accept the premise - it's also frowned upon to fight gameshow hosts for the prizes. Because you know for a fact how the host makes decisions, why they went through revealing the door with the goat and giving you the choice - this gameshow is regulated, and has been running for several years, so you know that there is always a reveal and the ability to switch, so you may have done some game theory analysis about strategies and came down to always switching. Because the game doesn't care about narrative considerations, so you can't reframe it as about plotting out the story of you as a person and what the car means to you.