I honestly believe Pemerton that "it is possible for the players to be wrong" is one of the few baseline elements of an RPG that is actually REQUIRED for it to qualify as a game.
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And if moral philosophy is an element of your game, and not simply a topic discussed while playing, then it must be possible for a player's action to provably fail to live up to a moral standard imposed by the game.
That argument is not sound. The play of the game, in D&D, is at a minimum engaging the gameworld via your PC, telling everyone at the table (especially the GM) what your PC is doing, where s/he is going, etc. Action resolution rules are triggered by some of this; other times it's resolved via free roleplaying.
All it takes to make moral concerns part of the game is that (i) the GM sets up the gameworld, or elements within the gameworld, having regard to the moral concerns that they invoke (eg the PCs learn that one of their friends makes his money as a slave trader), and (ii) the players respond to certain situations (via their PCs) having regard to the moral concerns that are invoked, and to which their concerns will give rise.
I mentioned upthread the paladin who turned on heaven. Here is a fuller account of that campaign:
* The PCs encountered an aspect of a dead warrior god, corrupted and mad, and also discovered his giant, petrified body (an island in an item port) which cultists were trying to use as the heart of a ritual;
* The dead god entered into a "merge" or "communion" with the paladin PC (I can't remember now if this was initiated by the player playing his PC, or by me playing the dead god);
* The paladin PC learned the background of the dead god - that he was trapped eternally in the void fighting a battle with an otherworldly abomination, to save the world from it;
* The player of the paladin PC, after destroying the cultists that were desecrating his body, decided that his chief ambition was to free the dead god from his torment;
* The PCs learned that certain children were being born without souls, due to some sort of interruption of the karmic cycle;
* The PCs learned that the gods weren't prepared to do anything about this, because of ancient pacts with the lords of karma and the rulers of the hells;
* The PCs learned that the one god who might help (i) had been banished for prior interference with the workings of karma, and (ii) had been the best friend of the dead god, before the dead god became eternally trapped in the void;
* The PCs resolved to make contact with the banished god to get his help;
* The PCs discovered that the banished god was trapped in a prison plane, the gate to which was an angel, and one of the PCs (not the paladin) persuaded the angel, via moral argument, that her duty required her to let him kill her to open the gate, rather than to obey her original instructions from the god;
* The PCs went through the gate and befriended the banished god, and acquired from him a lesser copy of his Soul Totem, which would let them bend certain karmic laws;
* The PCs then concocted a final showdown, where they entered the void, temporarily defeated the otherworldy evil there, rescued the dead god and brought him back to the world; originally the paladin intended to take the dead god's place in the eternal struggle, but then the PCs tricked the lord of hell into using the Soul Totem to create a karmic duplicate of the paladin, who went into the void instead, so that the paladin could found a monastery on the island that was the dead god's petrified body and establish an order dedicated to the dead god (in the process of sending the paladin to the void the PCs managed to banish the ruler of hell, and a minor godling they had been confronting for many levels, to the void also).
That account leaves out some of the other PCs and their endgames: the one who persuaded the angel to let herself be killed ended up reconciling with the parents of his dragon lover; the party leader took control of the port town in which the paladin's monastery was located; the leader's quieter cousin disobeyed the leader's wishes that he enter into a political marriage, and instead married the NPC sorcerer the group had rescued from an outcast demon, and with her founded a dynasty dedicated to keeping the gates between the world and the void closed on the worldly side. I believe that the fox spirit, exiled from heaven before play began (as part of the PC's backstory), managed to regain some sort of heavenly role. (Before the PCs turned against the wishes of the heavens, they turned against the lords of karma, protecting their fox spirit friend from constables of hell who had come to earth to enforce the terms of his exile.)
From the account I've given, I hope it is fairly clear how the campaign put moral concerns into play: questions of loyalty, love, obligation, freedom, compassion and nobility were front and centre in the campaign. There was the paladin's relationship to the dead god; the whole party's relationship to the banished god; the relationship between the PC cousins; the relationship between the PC and the dragon, in the context of her own obligations to her parents; etc. All these relationships, and the moral questions around them, unfolded in play. None of the outcomes were predetermined, although - after the final showdown - the PC endgames were worked out through free roleplaying and narration, based on the various events and choices that led up to and followed from the showdown.
For all that to come out in the game, and be at the centre of it, there is no need to judge the players (or their PCs) right or wrong. There is only the need, as a GM, to continue to push the unfolding campaign in a way that raises these concerns, and to follow the leads of the players in responding to them.
Here are
some passages from Ron Edwards that describe this approach to play, and contrast it with the approach you are advocating (I hadn't read Ron Edwards when the campaign I am describing started, but reading him did help me GM it successfully to its conclusion):
In Simulationist play, morality cannot be imposed by the player or, except as the representative of the imagined world, by the GM. Theme is already part of the cosmos; it's not produced by metagame decisions. Morality, when it's involved, is "how it is" in the game-world, and even its shifts occur along defined, engine-driven parameters. The GM and players buy into this framework in order to play at all.
The point is that one can care about and enjoy complex issues, changing protagonists, and themes in both sorts of play, Narrativism and Simulationism. The difference lies in the point and contributions of literal instances of play; its operation and social feedback. . .
Therefore, when you-as-player get proactive about an emotional thematic issue, poof, you're out of Sim. Whereas enjoying the in-game system activity of a thematic issue is perfectly do-able in Sim, without that proactivity being necessary. . .
Story Now [ie Narrativism] requires that at least one engaging issue or problematic feature of human existence be
addressed in the process of role-playing. "Address" means:
* Establishing the issue's Explorative expressions in the game-world, "fixing" them into imaginary place.
* Developing the issue as a source of continued conflict, perhaps changing any number of things about it, such as which side is being taken by a given character, or providing more depth to why the antagonistic side of the issue exists at all.
* Resolving the issue through the decisions of the players of the protagonists, as well as various features and constraints of the circumstances. . .
The
Now refers to the people, during actual play, focusing their imagination to create those emotional moments of decision-making and action, and paying attention to one another as they do it. To do that, they relate to "the story" very much as authors do for novels, as playwrights do for plays, and screenwriters do for film at the creative moment or moments. Think of the Now as meaning, "in the moment," or "engaged in doing it," in terms of input and emotional feedback among one another. . .
"Vanilla Narrativism" is very easy and straightforward. The key to finding it is to stop reinforcing Simulationist approaches to play.
In advocating a morality "inherent to the gameworld", which the GM communicates through thoughtful, consistent and subtle framing and adjudication, and with the players do their best to discern and have their PCs adhere to, you are advocating a simulationist approach to the incorporation of moral concerns into play. This is the sort of approach that I would expect the standard Star Wars or LotR game to take: anger leads to hate leads to the dark side, and the aim of the game is to show that this is true, and part of the GM's responsibility is to make sure that this is the case.
But that is not the only way to go. What happens when you disobey the gods and break the laws of karma? Is creating a karmic substitute to take the place of the dead god an act of cowardice, of cunning, the proper way to honour the dead god and recognise the horrors to which he has been subjected by the gods? In the campaign I described, the answers to those questions are not pregiven. Part of the point of play is to address them, and to find out the answers.
In my current game, one of the PCs is a drow chaos sorcerer who is a member of a Corellon-worshipping cult dedicated to overthrowing Lolth and undoing the sundering of the elves. He is also a demonskin adept who wears robes sewn from the skins of dead demons and emblazoned with a dire rune (the same rune is emblazoned on the inside of his eyelids, and would blind him from time to time except for the Robe of Eyes that he wears), and who is in communion with the Queen of Chaos. Is drawing on the powers of chaos and the abyss compatible with this character's loftier goals? Or will the whole thing come unstuck? There is no pre-determined answer. We'll find out in play.
And if I were to run a Star Wars game I'd run it the same way. Does anger really lead to hate? And the dark side? Let's find out by playing!