While the concepts in this post have been explored before (in a discussion of politics in RPGs, applying diegesis and mimesis to deities and magic items, and establishing an axiom for RPGs), I think I’ve had another breakthrough that necessitates carefully establishing groundwork. The reader might consider this to be a part of my guiding philosophy for how role-playing games function. Personally, I consider these to be truths about the nature of human beings and our relationship with games as an art form. Pot-ay-to, pot-ah-to.
To begin, we need to clearly establish our terms. I know. I understand. The diligent reader understands these concepts, having read the previous posts, and so we’re retreading old ground. I apologize; but please, this is more for my own thoughts than the reader’s. As is usually the case, I need to make certain ideas very clear in my own head before I can explore the next steps.
(plus, this post will serve as a core reference in future writing.)
On the diegesis of role-playing games
In an RPG, diegesis is the in-world explanation for how and why things work as they do. It stems from the Greek literary concept of the same name, which is a style of storytelling that emphasizes the act of showing the world to the reader, rather than telling about it. It is, effectively, the source of the adage “show, don’t tell.”
In a traditional text ~ where a text is a piece of art that can be read or interpreted according to a variety of techniques ~ the diegesis of the text encompasses all of its “in-world” explanations. For example, we might argue over the meaning of the One Ring in Tolkien’s seminal work, but its diegetic explanation is clearly given to us: the One Ring was Sauron’s attempt to trick the Lords of elves, dwarves and men, luring them into a magically binding relationship where he could exert his will over their minds and souls.
In a role-playing game, the diegetic elements are basically the same thing: in-world explanations for why a thing exists. Dark elves are “evil” because of their relationship to a malevolent entity, which shaped their evolution into their current form. Dwarves exhibit more pronounced differences between the sexes because that’s the trajectory their evolution took. There are halflings in the world, though they go by a different name, and they’re basically an off-shoot of the genus Homo; genetically similar to Homo sapiens but far enough removed in their ancestry that they’re incapable of producing offspring with the other hominid species. Goblins are a supernatural parasite that infects a creature’s body and produces a specific goblinoid species, depending on the host’s type.
On the mimesis of role-playing games
Where diegesis is the narrative construct surrounding game design choices, mimesis is the mechanical elements of the game. Like diegesis, we’re borrowing the term from the Greek origin, meaning “to imitate.” It is the “tell” component of our axiom, where the author spends more effort on telling the audience about some aspect of the story, rather than showing it.
Anything that we can express in game mechanics language, can be rightly called a “mimetic element.” Effectively, all of our game’s rules are mimetic by definition. They tell us about the game in purely mechanical terms. A character earns experience after fighting a creature or completing a quest. The structure of the class and level system is a mimetic element. Hit dice, attack bonuses, saving throws, skill points, and on and on and on . . . all of these things are the mimetic, the mechanical, the game component of a role-playing game.
On synthesis
This page contains a stripped down explanation of the relationship between players and the rules of a role-playing game. Baker is arguing that there are in-world rules and mechanical rules, and that they interact with each other through interpretation applied by the game’s players. I do not disagree with that particular point ~ after all, he’s basically describing how people process language and the communication of ideas ~ but I have issues with the specific examples he cites to demonstrate the process.
Baker’s example of a forest under Vincent’s control (whoever this “Vincent” is, he must be important if he can command control over an entire forest) is, technically speaking, a rule within the game’s world. But so is the example of a bonus to attack rolls for striking from behind the target. Furthermore, the distinction that Baker is trying for, but fails to demonstrate, is that the consequences for ignoring the rules of a game are different when we’re talking about in-world vs. mechanical rules.
Of course, the reader will notice by now that Baker is essentially discussing the same concepts as we’ve established above: in-world rules are diegetic in nature; while mechanical rules are the mimetic aspects of the game.
(we’ll also leave off on further dissecting Baker’s thoughts, since they’re part of a larger examination of his website that I intend to address at a later date.)
Where we come to the synthesis of the diegetic/mimetic dialectic is in the specific application of the terms. We have a few examples from above but I’m curious about the limits of this dichotomy. You see, dear reader, my examples so far have focused very clearly on the end result: demonstrating how I favor diegesis over mimesis, though only slightly, by explaining the relationship with examples ~ like how certain racial abilities come about, or how the player character acquires their skills and abilities ~ but what I haven’t done, is look closely at examples of purely diegetic or purely mimetic game elements.
(which makes me ask the question: is this even possible? guess we’re about to find out . . .)
The diegetic game
Let’s look again to Baker’s first example: “Don’t mess with the dark forest to the North, it’s Vincent’s.”
Why? Why should we not “mess with” the dark forest? What does “messing with” the forest even mean? Are we allowed to walk through it or is it off-limits entirely? Or do we mean that we can’t cut firewood or hunt within its boundaries? What if we pay a fee, first? Can we make an arrangement with Vincent? Would he accept a cut of any profit we make from the forest’s resources? What if his forest has recently been infested with goblins? Does he need help removing them? What is he willing to pay for that help?
And who is this Vincent guy, anyway? I assume he’s important, if he can command control of a forest, but what if I’m wrong? Is he a squatter, himself? Is he acting in opposition to the land’s rightful warden? Is he a druid, bent on reclaiming the forest from the incursion of civilization? Ooh! What if he’s a goblin druid and his investment in this “dark forest” is part of a larger agenda to twist the natural world into a shadowy version for his own people?
All of these questions are ultimately meant to accomplish one thing: inform the player of in-world relationships and standards, and the consequences of violating expected norms.
However, there is an important distinction: these rules and standards do not require a mimetic component.
What happens if we violate the rule about the dark forest? We piss off Vincent. It doesn’t matter what, specifically, counts as breaking the rule. It doesn’t matter who Vincent is. What matters is that we have broken the rule and now Vincent is upset with us . . . but there is no mimetic aspect. There is no game mechanic that applies. We are not automatically teleported away. Vincent doesn’t gain a bonus to his rolls against us. There is no inherent relationship between the diegetic rule ~ don’t fuck with Vincent’s forest ~ and the mimetics of the game ~ or else [this mechanic] applies.
Hold that thought, just a moment. We’ll come back to it, after we look at . . .
The mimetic game
Much as I dislike picking on 4th Edition ~ it is the redheaded stepchild of D&D, after all ~ this version is a great example of how a mimetic approach to RPG design can stick out. (we might also call it dissociated mechanics; there’s a lot of overlap.)
A purely mimetic aspect might be a mechanic like healing surges. Once per encounter, a player may take an action to spend a healing surge. This lets the character recover their healing surge value in hit points (typically, this value is equal to one-fourth the character’s maximum HP). What makes this more of a mimetic aspect is the disconnection to the game’s in-world explanations. Why can a character only use it once per encounter? How long must the character wait between encounters before they can use it again? And why is that time ~ according to 4e rules, I believe it’s five minutes ~ why does that value make sense? Why not ten minutes or an hour?
However . . . I’m not quite satisfied making that argument. You see, there is a diegetic element involved. The healing surge action restores lost hit points. Hit points are a measure of the character’s endurance and ability to withstand physical (and mental) harm. A healing surge can be thought of as a hero rallying themselves. Anyone who has been in a physical confrontation ~ whether a real fight or an activity with similar elements, like a sporting match ~ can relate to this concept: you’re exhausted but, in that one moment, you dig deep within yourself and manifest the strength to push forward. Of course, as the rules are written, 4e is lacking elements that would strengthen this connection, but the diegetic explanation still exists.
Less so for one of the edition’s other key aspects: the distillation of skills and powers into the framework of at-will, encounter and daily abilities. The abilities themselves may have a diegetic component ~ though that applies inconsistently ~ but there is very little (if any at all) diegetic reason for why a given power should be limited to a single encounter.
We might also look at rules like advantage/disadvantage (from 5e) or prestige classes (from 3e) as being more mimetic than diegetic, but I think the best example we can find is the Plot Point. This is, essentially, a game mechanic that allows the player to insert an idea into the game’s world without necessarily demanding a strict diegetic explanation. Dogs in the Vineyard immediately comes to mind, in that the trait rules are written to encourage detailed attributes and a process for applying them to a given scene, but the game’s language does not prevent a GM from applying the concept haphazardly. (effectively ~ and almost counterintuitively ~ the mimetic aspect of DitV allows a shift away from the diegetic, toward a purely metagame approach, while ostensibly trying for the exact opposite result.)
Conclusion
As demonstrated, I believe there’s a limit to how close to a purely mimetic aspect we can get. It’s possible to have a purely diegetic element in an RPG ~ and indeed, if we were to evaluate every detail of our games, we’d probably find a lot of them ~ while the mimetic elements must, perforce, have some relationship with the diegetic. A mimetic element that lacks a diegetic connection would be so far removed from the internal logic of the game’s world, that it would have to be rejected by the players for being illogical, inconsistent, contradictory, or otherwise.
And while I did not find a place for it above, I figure the reader can still yet benefit from having a visual representation of the relationship between diegesis and mimesis in role-playing games.
With that foundation in place, I feel I can move forward with my examination of the storytelling theory of role-playing games.
Crossing the 'Verse 
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