Sol is Latin for “sun,” and so the Spore community has translated this final message from the game as a playful imperative to remake our own Earth—which is, of course, the third rock from our sun.
In the end, a win in Spore is a push back to the real world. Players are told, “Your gameplay has prepared you to become a real creator and protector of life on Earth.” Not by making them an expert in geoengineering, atmospheric science, or ecological planning, certainly, but rather by creating the seed of planetary creativity and activism. As Wright said at the Seed salon:All of the really tough problems we’re facing now are planetary problems. There’s real value in being pushed toward global awareness and looking long-term. That’s one of the things that I find very useful about games.... I think these are the timelines we need to be looking at—the one-hundred- or two-hundred-year horizons. Because most of the really bad stuff that’s happening right now is the result of very short-term thinking.
We can break free of the cognitive chains of short-term isolated thinking, with games that direct our collective attention to the future and challenge us to take a global perspective.
GOD GAMES LIKE Spore have gotten us successfully started on this journey. Now a different genre of games can get us where we need to go: massively multiplayer forecasting games, or forecasting games for short.
Forecasting games combine collective intelligence with planetary-scale simulation. They ask players to reimagine and reinvent the way we feed ourselves, the way we transport ourselves, the way we get water, the way we design cities, the way we manufacture everything, the way we power our lives. They’re designed to create diverse communities capable of investigating the long-term challenges we face, propose imaginative solutions, and coordinate our efforts to start putting our best ideas into action at the planetary scale.
It’s a process I call massively multiplayer foresight. And future-forecasting games are the perfect tool for helping as many people participate in the process as possible.9
Which brings us to our final fix for reality:FIX # 14 : MASSIVELY MULTIPLAYER FORESIGHT
Reality is stuck in the present. Games help us imagine and invent the future together.
How exactly does massively multiplayer foresight work? The best way to understand the process is to start with the project that inspired the forecasting game genre.
World Without Oil: Play It Before You Live It
You know it’s bad for you.
You’ll cut back someday.
On April 30, join a World Without Oil—and play it before you live it.
—Announcement for the game
In April 2007, the world ran out of oil.
It didn’t run completely out of oil—it simply ran out of enough oil. The daily demand for oil worldwide began to outpace our daily production capacity. Shortages broke out, reserves were tapped, and yet the gap between global supply and demand grew wider.
The United States was among the hardest countries hit. During the darkest days of the crisis, as many as 22 percent of Americans were unable to get access to gas, while one in ten U.S. companies buckled under the strain of higher fuel costs and diminished operating capacity.
Two main strategies emerged to deal with the oil crisis.
We could collectively reduce our daily demand for petroleum in order to create equilibrium with the available supply.
Or we could compete even more aggressively for the available oil—with our own individual neighbors, with other companies, with other states, and with other countries.
Of course, this didn’t really happen—at least not for most of us.
But for two thousand online gamers, this peak-oil scenario was the basis for a life-changing six-week experiment: a collaborative simulation designed to find out what would happen if demand for oil did eventually outstrip our supply, and what we could collectively do about it.
The project was called World Without Oil (WWO), and it was the first massively scaled effort to engage ordinary individuals in creating an immersive forecast of the future.
HOW TO PLAY WORLD WITHOUT OIL
At heart World Without Oil is very simple. It’s a “What if?” game.
What if an oil crisis started today—what would happen? How would the lives of ordinary people change?
What would you do to survive the crisis? How would you help others?
Let’s play “What if?” and find out.
Create your own story of life during the oil crisis—and share it with us by e-mail or by phone call, by photos or by blog post, by videos or podcasts.
Then join our citizen “nerve center” at worldwithoutoil.org to track events and share solutions. Every day, we’ll update you with news about the crisis, and highlight our favorite stories from across the country and around the world.
No expert knows better than you do how an oil shock could impact your family, your job, your town, your life. So tell us what you know.
Because the best way to change the future is to play with it first.
Funded by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and presented by the Independent Television Service (ITVS), World Without Oil was first conceived by Ken Eklund, an independent writer and interactive developer based in San Jose, California. He pitched the idea in response to an ITVS announcement of funds up to $100,000 being made available for innovative educational online games. I was invited by ITVS to serve on the evaluating committee for online game proposals.
“No one today has a clear picture of oil availability or what will happen when demand inevitably outstrips supply,” Eklund wrote in his proposal. “That will largely depend on how well ordinary people respond to the crisis. Until now, no one has ever thought to ask them what they might do. WWO will evoke the wisdom of crowds in advance, as players work together to gain grassroots insights into the forces that will rule at street level in a crisis—and figure out the best ways to prepare, cooperate, and collectively create solutions if and when a real peak-oil shortage happens.”
It was designed as a massively multiplayer thought experiment: players would spend six weeks imagining how such a crisis might play out in their local communities, their industries, and their own lives. They would make highly personal forecasts using online social media. And they would rely on an “alternate reality dashboard” to get daily updates on the scenario, in the form of fictional news stories, video reports, and economic indicators from the peak-oil crisis in order to flesh out their personal forecasts in more detail.
Players would also be strongly encouraged to take the simulation a step further, and spend some time each day living their real lives as if the simulated oil shortage were true. How hard would it be to get to work, or to prepare dinner, or to see friends and family if the fictional simulation were real? Players were challenged to test their own ability to adapt, rapidly and dramatically, to a potential oil crisis. Instead of just imagining a peak-oil scenario, they could start making changes and testing adaptive solutions for real.
Each day in real time would represent a week in the simulation. This would enable players to consider longer-term impacts and strategies. The game itself would last for thirty-two days, so the scenario could play out over thirty-two weeks.
WWO would give players firsthand insight into a plausible future, helping them prepare for, or even prevent, its worst outcomes. The game would also create a collective record of how a real peak-oil scenario might play out—a kind of survival guide for the future, a record of tremendous value for educators, policy makers, and organizations of all kinds.
I happily accepted Eklund’s invitation to join the project team as the game’s “participation architect”—a fancy way of saying my job was to help make sure every single player found a way to contribute meaningfully to the collaborative effort.
Of course, to start, we had to attract a community of players. I set our target at one thousand players, a number based on my experience with online communities and collective intelligence. One thousand participants seems to me t
o be a critical threshold to allow for an online game to get interesting—to ensure enough diversity among players, to have enough participants to tackle missions on an epic scale, and to produce enough chaotic interaction to generate complex and surprising results.
For six weeks before we launched, we spread the word online and at public events. We asked our friends and colleagues to blog about it. I announced the game in my keynote for the Serious Games Summit, an annual two-day meeting in San Francisco for people working on games designed to teach, train, and solve real problems. ITVS reached out to educators and media creators across the country. There wasn’t any other marketing plan or promotional budget for the game. It was simply an open, public invitation to simulate the future, and the game was free to play.
So who showed up to play? They numbered just over nineteen hundred (nearly doubling our initial goal), evenly divided between men and women, and representing all fifty United States and a dozen countries abroad. Most players were in their twenties or thirties, but there were notable clusters of every age group, from teenagers to seniors. And our most active players brought together an astonishingly diverse range of personal concerns and real-life expertise to the game. For example:• Peakprophet, a self-described “hobby farmer” in Tennessee, who forecast the collapse of the fresh-food supply chain—and then took it upon himself to train other players how to grow their own food and increase their food self-sufficiency.
• Lead_tag, a soldier stationed in Iraq, who blogged every single day of the game, creating a series of thirty-two reflections on the challenges of fighting a war during an oil crisis.
• Anda, a college student pursuing a bachelor of fine arts in graphic design at the San Francisco Art Institute, who created a series of eleven Japanese manga-style Web comics about how she and her friends would help each other during the oil crisis, and how it might affect their ability to find work after graduation.
• OrganizedChaos, a dispatcher at a General Motors plant in Detroit, who contributed fifty-five blog posts, videos, and podcasts, and found herself forecasting that pretty soon—peak oil or not—she would no longer have a job. As a result, at the end of the game she decided to go back to school in real life to prepare for a new career in a postoil economy.
Once we’d assembled our forecasting community, it was crucial for us that a significant portion of our players stay engaged with the game for its entire six-week duration. That’s because when it comes to future forecasting, our first ideas are often the most obvious and generalized, and therefore the least useful. It takes a while, even for an experienced forecaster, to drill down to the most interesting specifics and spin off unexpected possibilities. So we adopted several strategies to keep players engaged and actively investigating different aspects of the scenario.
First, each game day we added a new piece of information to the mix: rolling brownouts from oil-dependent power companies; airlines canceling flights and dramatically raising the cost of tickets; empty shelves and food shortages due to inability of deliveries to be made to local stores. In return, players told us about difficulties dealing with unreliable power at home; business travelers getting stranded in other countries when airports unexpectedly shut down; public transportation overcrowding in towns and cities with previously underutilized systems; a disruptive uptick in work-from-home days; the rise of bicycle thefts and a new bicycle black market; impromptu homeschooling as a result of gas shortages in suburban and rural areas; and neighborhood pot-luck meals to deal with the food shortage.
Another important tool for continuing participation was our alternate reality dashboard, which included a map depicting thirty-eight different regions, such as the Boston metro area, the Cincinnati-Columbus metro area, the Great Lakes, the High Plains, and the Atlantic South, each with its own set of “power meters” reflecting the local rise and fall in quality of life, economic strength, and social stability. The power meters fluctuated in direct response to player activity. The more positive forecasts they made, the more cooperative strategies they developed, and the more actively they reduced their own collective daily oil consumption, the more favorable the regional metrics. However, if players chose to imagine a darker turn of events, or if they chose to focus on how increased competition might play out, or if they reported significant difficulties or hardships in adapting to a lower-consumption lifestyle, the metrics would reflect increased chaos, rising misery, or even economic collapse. The meters created a clear feedback loop between players’ stories and the scenario updates.
Of course, the sizable online audience that assembled for World Without Oil was also a huge incentive for players to tell the best stories possible. For every active forecaster, we had an additional twenty-five people watching the game and writing about it. This amplification of their ideas helped make the players’ efforts feel more meaningful.
In the end, the game produced more than a hundred thousand online media artifacts—including a core set of more than two thousand future-forecasting documents from the players and tens of thousands more blog posts and articles reflecting on the game and its findings. One reviewer called it a “huge growing, twisting network of news, strategy, activism, and personal expression.”10
At first, the majority of players focused their efforts on imagining how local, regional, and international competition for oil resources would play out in this new environment of increased scarcity. They exercised a dark imagination, anticipating the worst possible outcomes and the most serious threats. They documented gas theft, riots, food shortages, widespread looting, job loss, school closures, and even military actions worldwide. At a more personal level, they told stories of personal stress, anxiety, and families in crisis.
But over the course of thirty-two weeks, the balance shifted. About halfway through the game, having exhausted their dark imagination, players began focusing on potential solutions. They started imagining best-case-scenario outcomes: new ways of cooperating to consume less, a focus on local community and neighborhood infrastructure, less time spent commuting, the geographic reassembly of extended family, and more time spent in pursuit of a new American dream—happiness built around notions of sustainability, simplicity, and stronger social connectivity.
The game started with near-apocalyptic undertones; it ended with explicit, if cautious, optimism. The best-case-scenario outcomes were posed not as probabilities—and certainly not as inevitabilities—but rather as plausible possibilities worth working toward.
There was no explicit prompt to start with dark imagination and only later veer toward optimism. But it is, in fact, a very sound forecasting strategy. Researchers have pointed to a particularly American failure to believe that the worst can really happen, because we’re systematically trained by our culture to focus on the positive. It’s a failure that makes us more susceptible to catastrophic events, like Hurricane Katrina or the 2008 housing market collapse, for example. In Never Saw It Coming, sociologist Karen Cerulo argues that our collective inability to focus on negative futures is our culture’s biggest blind spot.11 As one reviewer of Cerulo’s book summed it up: “We are individually, institutionally, and societally hell-bent on wishful thinking.”12 We are very good at positive thinking, but we tend to avoid articulating worst-case scenarios, which unfortunately makes us more vulnerable to them and less resilient if they occur.
World Without Oil gave players a space for nonwishful thinking; that’s what created a sense of urgency to find solutions. That mind-set also lent a sense of gravitas and realism to even the most hopeful stories players told later in the game—stories we later compiled into a guide, “A to Z: A World Beyond Oil.”13 It contains some of the most interesting community solutions players devised and can give you a taste of how massively multifaceted the final collaborative forecast was. Here are a few of my favorite topics from the document:• Architecture Without Oil—notes from attendees of a national architecture convention on how to design and build homes for a world without oil
• Fellow
ship Without Oil—a collection of sermons and prayers from pastors, ministers, and other spiritual leaders offering guidance for how to act compassionately during the oil crisis
• Neighborhood Without Oil—guidelines for how to build stronger personal relationships with our geographically closest neighbors, the people most likely to be of assistance to us during an oil crisis
• Your Mama Without Oil—reflections from mothers of young children on how to parent in a world without oil
• Zoom Zoom Without Oil—conversations among automotive racing fans about the future of NASCAR and potential partnerships with alternative vehicle races, including electric vehicle races and human-powered vehicle races
“The forecasts are of astonishing quality,” one reviewer said of WWO afterward. “The players got to the heart of a complex subject.”14 I think “heart” is a key word here, because players were telling stories about the futures they cared about most—the future of their industry, their religion, or their own town and their children.
After the game, creative director Ken Eklund reflected on what it had accomplished. “WWO didn’t only raise awareness about oil dependence. It roused our democratic imagination. It made the issues real, and this in turn led to real engagement and real change in people’s lives. Via the game, players made themselves better citizens.” This is clearly evident in what players reported afterward. One player reported:I really mean it when I say WWO changed my life. I really have been using my cloth bags at the stores, walking more/driving less, turning off lights, and, yes, recycling. My friends, family and coworkers have all noticed the difference. In all seriousness, this entire thing has made me a different person. 15
Reality Is Broken: Why Games Make Us Better and How They Can Change the World Page 33