Cultural Capital is a slippery term. Probably because it was coined by Pierre Bourdieu, who is himself a slippery sort of fellow. For the purposes of this post, I’m thinking of Cultural Capital in terms of ‘Objectified Cultural Capital’ – things and objects which have cultural significance like a painting or a fossil. Objectified Cultural Capital can be traded, bought, sold, borrowed and pinched – it moves about between people and places. In the “real world” Objectified Cultural Capital is also tied to Economic Capital a.k.a mad cash. When an object has a symbolic cultural value, there’s something in our nature which can’t help but try to match this with a financial value – and here lies a sea of woe and troubles.

There are many critics more knowledgeable than me who have written on the subject of the complex relationship between Cultural and Economic Capital. I’m not here to add to the already vast wealth of commentary on this issue. I’m here to talk about how these ideas might make us question the way that we, as players, function and behave in games. I got thinking about Cultural Capital in games whilst re-visiting a favourite series of mine. It’s a game which feels more like a warm hug from an old friend than a lecture in cultural and political theory: Animal Crossing. I recently booted up a copy of Animal Crossing: Let’s Go to the City and spent a good few days letting it’s tuneful melodies and friendly NPC’s heal all that was broken within me. However, I am at heart a cynical over-thinker. It wasn’t long before I was looking for all the ways in which the world of Animal Crossing is just as messy and difficult to navigate as our own. One of the first things which occurred to me as being oddly pessimistic within the game, was its attitude to objects and collectibles which are both culturally and economically valuable. Upon discovering a fossil, for example, players are faced with two options: you can be a good person, or you can be a rich person.

In Animal Crossing, players find there are two main repositories for all the neat stuff they dig up, catch in nets, or trap on a hook – the Town Museum, or Tom Nook’s shop. Kind hearted players can donate their finds to the museum where it’ll be put on display. Otherwise, you can sell to Nook for a pretty good price and … use the profits to pay off your debt to Nook. Either way, Nook’s the only real winner here. I suppose the confession I need to make is that, for someone who talks a lot of smack about how private collectors are killing the Arts … I’ve got a pretty empty Museum in Animal Crossing. In light of this, I’ve been reflecting quite a bit on how I behave as a player in other games, and how I believe a lot of us behave. In this post, I’m thinking about how objects with cultural value function in games and what we, as players, do with those objects.

First up, I’d like to talk about the ‘Hearts of Stone’ expansion for The Witcher 3. I’m not going to spoil any of the central plotlines, but feel free to skip the next two paragraphs if you’d rather not have even the smallest of details revealed from the ‘Open Sesame’ quest.

In this quest, the player ventures into the Borsodi Auction House – a fictional auction house dealing primarily in Fine Art. Auction Houses are interesting spaces in and of themselves for thinking about ideas of Cultural Capital – they’re sort of halfway between gallery and shopfront. Auction Houses rely on the intersection between “Cultural” and “Economic” value and they are most successful when they find the sweet spot between the two. Once inside the Borsodi Auction House they player meets the resident Art Dealer who is … pretty insufferable. He’s clearly invested in the economic value of his objects, yet he laments the fact that so many of his buyers know nothing about Art and are only interested in making sound investments. He even makes the player pass a test – measuring their own ability to spot a “masterpiece” among his collection. If the player passes this trial of their cultural aptitude the Art Dealer offers them some advice on buying from his collection, along with his wholehearted approval to bid in the auction. This stood out to me as interesting for two reasons: firstly this scene attempts to reconcile the tensions between economic and cultural capital. Geralt (the player-character) is able to invest soundly in Fine Art only because he proves that he can appreciate it. The Art Dealer recognises Geralt as a figure of expertise, and is therefore happy to sell to him – the exchange is one of Cultural Capital as well as Economic Capital.

The second interesting aspect of the ‘Open Sesame’ quest is that it’s the first time Geralt’s ability to collect valuable objects is positioned in direct relation to his worthiness of them. Like many RPG’s, The Witcher 3 often rewards players with valuable “loot” – items, objects and books of varying rarity and quality. Players venture through the world, acquiring wondrous artefacts and historical diagrams detailing ways of crafting exquisite armor as they go. Rarely do we stop to consider our right to these objects, or whether they might be better placed elsewhere in the world – such as at a University or Museum where they could be studied by many, as opposed to hoarded by the few. The Witcher 3 gives us a glimpse into what the Art Market might look like if it was dominated by those with big enough muscles and tough enough gear to eradicate anyone standing between them and the next big, shiny chunk of Cultural Capital.

Of course, this is not an issue unique to The Witcher 3 – many games include “collectibles” which also double as objects of Cultural Capital. In The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, the player can barely walk 3 yards without uncovering an ancient relic, a unique piece of armor or a mysterious and magical leather-bound tome. Though it’s rare to stop and think about the cultural value of these objects. Players often encounter weapons and other belongings associated with the heroes of ancient sagas, they acquire artefacts forged by literal Gods and always the decision as to what should be done with these items remains essentially unchanged: I could keep it for personal use, or I could find a trader who’ll give me a decent price. The untold historical and cultural value of these objects is rarely alluded to – Economic Capital reigns supreme. There are quests associated with various academic institutions in this game – perhaps staff at the Bard’s College in Solitude, or the Mage’s College at Winterhold, will have you bring them something of value to their institution. However, even these quests usually involve an element of personal gain as the player’s primary motivation. You’re doing this to learn more deadly spells, receive even cooler and more valuable gear or to straight up make some bank, not because the act of improving access to objects of cultural heritage is viewed as valuable in and of itself.

Interestingly, the player can visit various museum’s in the virtual world of Skyrim. There’s the Dwemer Museum at Markarth and the tantalizingly invitation-only Museum of Mythic Dawn in Dawnstar. Both of these museums are important questing locations. Besides their narrative importance in the game, these two museums also act as spaces where the less morally upstanding player can surreptitiously fill their boots with fancy trinkets. Again, the economic value of these objects is seen as more important than their cultural worth. However, for my money (forgive the pun) Calixto’s House of Curiosities is the most interesting museum in the game. Highlights of Calixto’s collection include Ysgramor’s Soup Spoon – which is actually a fork – a utensil said to belong to a legendary figure from the game’s mythology. There is also the Dancer’s Flute, an instrument which Calixto claims “has won wars, toppled empires and changed the very course of history”. The interesting thing about these items is their value – they have none. Upon close examination, the player will find that both the legendary soup “spoon” and the Dancer’s flute are worth a mere 3 gold. This is the same price the player would get for any other fork in the game. The only “value” added to these items is added through the rich stories and history associated with them. This is the closest the game comes to untethering Cultural Capital from Economic Capital, and it’s a really unique and interesting moment in gaming.

It would be interesting to see more games include objects whose value lies outside of gold or a boost to your character’s stats and abilities. As someone who uses most of their in-game inventory space to stash away books which, while economically next to worthless, make me feel rich in lore and knowledge – I know that players can appreciate value in a range of different forms. I’m far more impressed by a game-world which can make me buy into the illusion of its own Culture, than I am by games that lean too heavily on my urge to increase the numbers assigned to my wealth, strength or magic abilities. Game spaces like Calixto’s House of Curiosities remind players that value can be measured in more than just numbers.