Archaeologists just wanna have fun

The authors emphasize the role of play and fun in the past and the present, and aim to make it a central topic in archaeology based on Huizinga’s (2016) seminal work on the topic. It is of course hard to disagree with this, just as it is for other contributions that urge us to pay more attention to aspects of past lives outside of those studied by the mainstream, including light, sound, childhood, etc. Giving play in the past the attention it deserves will enrich archaeology and make it even more interesting. However, I find myself in disagreement with the discipline immanent in the changes that Politopoulos and colleagues propose, which are rooted in a few blindspots and underexplored concepts. In my comments, I want to address the following points: evidence and context, fun and violence, unreality, games and learning, and the relationship of seriousness and fun.

The authors lament that the study of play has received limited attention in archaeology and that the interpretation of finds as the outcome or part of play is generally seen with scepticism. Rather than ignorance, the simple reason for this may be the availability of evidence and the context of finds that may initially be seen as related to gaming. The importance of evidence becomes obvious from the chosen case studies – e.g. there is solid evidence that the discussed boards were for the Game of Ur (Finkel 2007). Where such evidence is clear, games are studied in their own right and in conjunction with other aspects, for example, the various gaming boards carved into rocks at Gebel el-Silsila, Egypt (Voogt et al. 2020).

This raises the question of how we should deal with finds that lack such evidence. On a bedrock panel in Finntorp, Sweden (Fig. 1), bronze age carvers made hundreds of cupmarks (semi-spherical depressions), which fill a circle separated into quarters through crossing lines (Horn and Potter 2020). This could arguably have been a gaming board. However, if we consider the wider context (i.e. crossed circles on high-prestige metalwork), the use of cupmarks to portray, for example, the heads of boat crews, the strong downward slope of the panel in Finntorp itself and the general context of Scandinavian bronze age rock art, then the interpretation as a gaming board becomes increasingly unlikely. Along similar lines, I submit again that archaeologists may not find the idea that the wheel was invented through play unlikely due to ignorance but rather because they consider the context in which wheels were invented in other parts of the world.

Figure 1. Bedrock panel in Finntorp (Tanum 184:1), Sweden. The large circle with the cross is approximately 50 cm in diameter (interpretation based on a visualization of a photogrammetric model by Rich Potter; https://tvt.dh.gu.se/).

Another aspect of the text that had me baffled by the naivety was the sling pellet example. Their critique of previous interpretations culminated in the question of how they can be fun when associated with violence. There are two aspects to consider. First, violence can itself be entertainment, i.e. play and fun to millions of people that enjoy, for example, martial arts, first-person shooter games, hunting and numerous other activities (for example, Ferguson and Olson 2013). Secondly, what is considered fun and play is contextually, socially and even individually situated. For example, gladiatorial games in ancient Rome were fun and play for one group (spectators), but were presumably less fun for the competitors who faced the prospect of death (Guttmann 1998).

The connection of play and fun to violence is a stark example of two other aspects that are either un- or under-explored by the authors. Engaging and having fun in games is often related to their unreality – i.e. most players have fun in first-person shooters because they are well aware on some level that it is not reality (Guttmann 1998). This unreality is an important source criticism, especially in the archaeological study of video games (Horn 2019). However, unreality is also important for board games such as Monopoly, which the authors discussed, but also, for example, Risk. Not only do we not really try to bankrupt or militarily defeat our friends, but most of us are not actually billionaires or generals. This divorce from reality is what makes play ideal for learning because no serious, real-life outcomes are expected. For example, video games can be used for moral pedagogy because players can experience potential real-life consequences of their actions without risking them actually becoming reality (Staines 2010). An archaeological example could be a wooden sword discovered in Grosetter, Orkney, dating to the local Late Bronze Age (Stevenson 1960) which may have been used in play, teaching children the basics of sword fighting without the risk of real-life serious harm, similar to the well-known Roman example.

This leads me to my final point, and that is that the authors do not consider that there may be a connection between seriousness and fun. As we have seen with the brief discussion of play and learning above, fun and play do not have the expected outcome of real-life consequences, although they may happen occasionally. This brings it outwardly into contradiction with science, which seeks to obtain real-life outcomes usually in improving the human condition. This could be material improvements, such as a new medicine, or immaterial improvements, such as contributing to a more peaceful future by studying the deep past of warfare. To do this it is necessary to be serious, for example, about research ethics. This is also – luckily – what funders and in a wider sense the public is interested in – i.e. they expect real-life outcomes from our fields and are not interested in funding archaeologists just so that they can have fun. In this regard, I find urging people to dispense with seriousness in favor of fun incredibly unhelpful because it not only damages the public image of archaeology but goes directly against its raison d'être as a science, i.e. to have an impact on the real world.

It is of course possible to have fun with archaeology or while working as an archaeologist, and it is good to be reminded that this is so. However, in my opinion, it is important to see seriousness and fun in a dialectic relationship, i.e. both work together. I will give a personal example: After more than eight hours of sitting in meetings, writing endless reimbursement forms, and engaging with reviewer 2’s comments, I seriously look forward to having some fun. Currently, this could be playing the video game Humankind with my son, or Brotato solo, or painting some Warhammer plastic miniatures. This is fun because it happens away from real life and its consequences, but some of this even has some real creative outcomes, i.e. a nicely painted miniature or having taught my son something about the Myceneans. Imagining that I would have to do any of this for more than a couple of hours a week is a nightmare because then it would be just another daily chore. That means engaging in boring or annoying serious archaeological work makes fun and play even better. By the same token, this also raises the fun we can have with our archaeological work; for example, working through annoying comments such as my own is probably not much fun, but when it is done, the authors will have fun presenting a high-quality article to their colleagues and friends. Lastly, there is yet another dimension to seriousness and fun. Incredibly, there are fun serious tasks, and what they are depends on the individual archaeologist. We know that the authors find it hard to have fun writing grant proposals, but I consider creating a new research project and writing it down to be one of the more fun activities. Summarizing the last two sections, I would urge every archaeologist to give serious tasks (boring, fun, annoying or otherwise) the same care, commitment and attention, and to avoid prioritizing solely to maximize fun, as this is what enables us to have fun in the end and heightens the enjoyment we can get out of it.