Castles & Capitalists Sarah Jones (bio) In 1990, the Christian author James Dobson issued a grave warning about “so-called fantasy roleplaying games.” They masquerade as simple creative exercises for children, but “the fact is, in order to play these games properly, you usually have to use magic and mysticism, things that are clearly not Christian,” he said dolefully. Some former players even said the game had led them into contact with demons, he asserted. Dobson, the founder of the influential organization Focus on the Family, didn’t mention any particular game by name. He didn’t have to: by the time his warning was broadcast, Dungeons & Dragons, a tabletop roleplaying game that starred elves, orcs, and other fantasy beings, had become synonymous with the “Satanic Panic” that had gripped the public imagination for the better part of a decade. If anything, Dobson’s warning arrived a little late. The game had malevolent power, evangelist Jack Chick insisted in a famous 1984 tract: it led to suicides and, even worse, goddess worship. Dobson’s warning, which originally aired on a long-running children’s radio show called Adventures in Odyssey, [End Page 11] circulated for years. Hearing it as a child in the late 1990s, I had a reaction Dobson didn’t intend: I was greatly impressed. Now I play in two Dungeons & Dragons campaigns. For each, I created a character who joins a handful of other players to fend off a variety of imaginative evils. The campaigns take place under a system of rules outlined in the Player’s Handbook and the guidance of a dungeon master who plans the sessions. Within those parameters, the creative and collaborative decisions of the players (and the luck of our many-sided dice) reign. Sessions typically last hours and are played around a table to make space for small props. The goal is immersion, a temporary commitment to a fantasy world. Nevertheless, reality tends to creep in. I named one character, an elf cleric, after a pair of Chick’s devil-haunted players. For me, and likely for thousands of others, the Christian right’s alarmism only increased the game’s mystique. Today, the game is almost ubiquitous. People who have never rolled a character have probably heard of its alignment chart, which divvies personalities up into good, evil, or neutral categories along a chaotic-to-lawful axis based on their objectives or background. COVID-19 seems to have only increased the game’s popularity. CNBC reported last March that sales for the game had jumped by 33 percent during the pandemic, which followed a steady six-year growth streak. Though the game’s been around since 1974, in some respects it seems as though its time has truly arrived. Talk of demons helped disguise the more prosaic reality of the game’s growth. As game historian Jon Peterson recounts at length in a new book, Game Wizards: The Epic Battle for Dungeons & Dragons, the true history of D&D involves no mystical rituals, just familiar corporate skullduggery. While preachers and parents battled for the nation’s impressionable youth, the game’s architects battled over credits and royalties in a “great war” that would grow more fractious as the game became more popular. The stakes weren’t souls, but something else, something more tangible. Mammon rules all, and spares not even the most creative endeavor. In the 1960s, Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson became obsessed with tabletop wargaming. Gygax was a dreamer, ill-equipped for life in the modern world; Arneson had similarly dedicated himself completely to his passion. For both, wargaming was an outlet, if not necessarily a way to make money. At least, not in the beginning. “The honor of working on a set of rules that might become popular in the gaming community was the lion’s share of the compensation,” Peterson observes. “It would take a miracle for a venture like this to end up providing someone with a livelihood—let alone a fortune.” Dungeons & Dragons was that lightning-strike chance. Yet when Gygax and Arneson first wrote the slim rule booklet that would become the most popular tabletop game in the world, their expectations were low: perhaps a...
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