There's been a lot of discussion over the years about how Original Dungeons & Dragons handled (or didn't handle) the common situations you'd expect in a tabletop role-playing campaign. Things like jumping a chasm, climbing a wall, or fast-talking a city guard. The critique often boils down to: OD&D wasn't complete, it left too much out.
What people forget is that Gygax wasn't writing OD&D for newcomers to gaming. He was writing for the early '70s wargaming community, people already creating their own scenarios, modifying rules, and running campaigns. His audience wasn't looking for a complete, airtight system with exhaustive coverage. They wanted a framework they could expand on, the kind of framework that would let them run the campaigns they'd heard about, like Blackmoor or Greyhawk.
That mindset shaped the game. Gygax and Arneson distilled what worked in their campaigns into OD&D, trusting referees to fill in the rest. What they didn't anticipate was how quickly the hobby would grow beyond that core group, or how differently newer players would approach rules and systems.
"Rulings, Not Rules" Is a Design Philosophy
When people talk about "rulings, not rules," they sometimes frame it like it's a patch, something you do because the game didn't cover enough. I don't see it that way. I see it as a deliberate design choice.
A campaign that starts with just a dungeon and a village isn't "incomplete." It's a starting point. The assumption was that the referee and players would build outward together. The game wasn't meant to hand you a world fully realized and mechanized; it was meant to give you a structure for making your own.
OD&D Worked Because of the Gaps
By modern standards, OD&D has "gaps." But those gaps weren't always accidental. They existed because Gygax knew his readers already had the habits and mindset to fill them. Wargaming referees knew how to adjudicate oddball situations, because that's what they'd been doing for years on their sand tables.
What looks like an omission today was often just a silent assumption: "Of course the referee will handle that."
That's why OD&D led to so many variant campaigns. There was no ur-text, no canon, it was a culture of iteration. Try something, tweak it, keep what works. That was the DNA of the early hobby.
The Problem When the Hobby Grew
This is where things broke down. OD&D didn't teach the process of making rulings. Once the game spread beyond wargamers, that missing guidance became a real issue.
Take the example of jumping a chasm. A wargaming referee in 1974 might've looked up Olympic jump distances, considered the character's stats, the gear they were carrying, the terrain, and improvised a ruling from that. That was normal.
But for a brand-new player or referee in 1977? That same situation could turn into a frustrating dead end. There wasn't a shared framework for how to think through it, so rulings felt arbitrary, or worse, like pulling numbers out of thin air.
Coaching and Guidance
The early hobby would have been better served by teaching how to make rulings, not just listing rules. Coaching newcomers through the process of handling novel situations and coming up with rulings, both in general, and using the designer's own mechanics, would have gone a long way.
It's not difficult to do, and it doesn't undermine the open-ended style that made early D&D so creative. In my Basic Rules for the Majestic Fantasy RPG, I wrote a chapter, "When to Make a Ruling," to address this very issue using the mechanics of the Majestic Fantasy RPG. I plan to expand on this and more when I finish the full version.
Rulings Are Not a Stopgap, They're the Point
Hobbyists aren't wrong for wanting more structure. Games like GURPS, Fate, Burning Wheel, or Mythras provide extensive out-of-the-box support, and that's valuable.
But here's the truth: even those systems eventually run into edge cases, a weird situation, a new setting, or something the rules don't cover. When that happens, you need the same tool OD&D assumed from day one: the ability to make a ruling.
And that's why "rulings, not rules" isn't just a slogan or an excuse for missing content. It's the foundation of how tabletop roleplaying was intended to work.
What we need going forward is more coaching and less telling from designers. Hand a referee a Difficulty Class, and they have what they need for that one situation. Teach them how to craft rulings along with Difficulty Classes, and they’ll have a skill they can apply to every campaign they run from that day forward.
Because rules give you tools, but rulings give you craft, and that craft is what makes tabletop roleplaying campaigns truly come alive.
