Unraveling Humanity: The Insights Gaming Offers into Our Collective Soul

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I recognize that this recommendation may be rather late in the year to be beneficial, but here’s a present idea for the upcoming Christmas: gift the board game aficionado in your life the Royal Game of Ur, the most ancient playable board game globally. 

This historic Mesopotamian game of strategy and movement is the earliest one whose regulations have persisted into contemporary times, credited to a tablet inscribed by a Babylonian astronomer in 177BC, and a meticulous reconstruction effort by the British Museum’s Irving Finkel. (You may view the original game components on display at the museum.) 

While the Royal Game of Ur is unlikely to replace Twilight Struggle in our home (the latter is an exhilarating game of cold war intrigue for two players wherein I prefer to play as the USSR, while my partner typically chooses the Great Satan), witnessing the original pieces on display always exhilarates me. They evoke an unexpected sense of connection with those long gone, a shared understanding of our common humanity in something as straightforward and trivial as playing a game. 

Why do we engage in gaming? Why will I dedicate a significant portion of this holiday season losing at Twilight Struggle to my partner, engaging in countless rounds of Monopoly Deal (the compelling, fast-paced card game that adds essential speed and liveliness to its more stately board counterpart), enjoying classic games on the Nintendo Switch or contemporary ones on the PlayStation? Why do ancient excavation sites abound with backgammon sets and mancala pieces? Why do age-old urns portray Achilles and Ajax deep in thought over some dice game? 

I believe there are two explanations. The first is that gaming is incredibly enjoyable: whether it involves poker, Dungeons & Dragons, or Fifa, an evening spent with friends playing either collaboratively — or competitively — over food and drinks is a night well spent. Whether in the now or as a distraction from that ancient Trojan conflict, we all possess a desire for joyful escapism.

But the second explanation is that gaming entertains and enlightens. The affable aunt who, it turns out, turns into a ruthless, win-at-all-costs individual whenever playing Scrabble or poker. The hardened cynic who suggests a potential triple word score to a younger relative. The friend who revels in boasting after winning a round of Chameleon. Yes, games amuse us, but they also unveil truths about our personalities that are often kept concealed.

Of course, one notable shift between us and the ancient Mesopotamians is that now there exists a far greater variety of games that can be, and frequently are, played solo, owing to the proliferation of home video games. Single-player games are not novel either — jigsaw puzzles have been a pastime since at least the 18th century, while a form of “choose-your-own-adventure” narratives (“if you want to inspect the door, turn to page 24. To disregard the cries and retire for the night, turn to page 122”) traces back to at least 1930.

Numerous contemporary games consciously draw inspiration from both these genres. Titles ranging from Tetris to Wordle are part of that age-old puzzle legacy. Distinct games such as the captivating political thriller Suzerain or the brilliantly gory love story Slay the Princess can in many respects be regarded as more intricate choose-your-own-adventure novels. 

However, the critical distinction is that never before have we been able to accurately track precisely how long we spend engaging with puzzles or browsing through these books. We entertained ourselves, perhaps learned something about our preferences, but we didn’t glean much about one another. Today, owing to the vast data amassed by various gaming consoles, and digital distribution platforms like Steam, we now understand a tremendous amount regarding the choices we make in games.

Some of these insights are not particularly riveting: I don’t believe the decisions individuals make concerning their team setup in Football Manager reveal much about the essence of humanity.

However, others do. I contend that games reveal aspects about ourselves when the choices we make within them involve good and evil. Consider video games such as I Was A Teenage Exocolonist or Baldur’s Gate 3, where one can opt between villainy and heroism. 

The two games and their origins are markedly different: I Was A Teenage Exocolonist was developed by a small studio led by a husband and wife, while Baldur’s Gate 3 is produced by a company operating across multiple nations. They share two commonalities: the first is that both are exceptional ways to spend an afternoon. The second, and more significant, is that in both games, a larger number of players seem to opt for good over evil. Approximately twice as many, I believe, based on the achievements recorded for the “good” endings compared to the “bad” ones on Steam. Indeed, the ranks of those opting for evil are often bolstered by individuals (myself included) who have already completed the game once and wish to discover what unfolds when they make poor choices. 

In the actual world, of course, history demonstrates that, in addition to our enduring affection for games, we are equally able to choose malice over compassion. Yet it still conveys something uplifting, I believe, that our idealized selves more frequently opt for goodness.

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