Video Games & The Desire to Inhabit Virtual Worlds
“Reality is broken. Game designers can fix it.” – Jane McGonigal, game designer
I’m on the fence with the sentiment in this quote, but before I address that, we need a preamble. Character creation, if you will.
I’ve been a gamer nearly my entire life. Even though I didn’t get my own gaming system until I was 10 years old (ah, the Atari 7800; lots of great memories), I’ve been exposed to games for as long as I can remember. They have always been a part of my cultural landscape. Playing the Atari 2600 at a cousin’s house, or pumping quarters into the arcade machines in restaurants and gas stations, were my introductions to these fascinating pixel worlds. Growing up in the 80s and 90s, I’ve seen video games grow from an activity that naysayers claimed was only something for kids, to an entire subculture driven more by adults than children.
I don’t enumerate these things to establish some sort of ‘gaming cred’. I’ve loved this subculture for a long time. But now, video games are more than just entertainment. They have become virtual worlds that many of us enjoy spending time in, long after we have completed their challenges and goals.
There are many reasons for this. With the advent of online gaming (ooo, the original Unreal Tournament, baby), video games became much more social as well as competitive. It wasn’t simply playing Street Fighter against your friend while you both sat in your living room; the arena expanded to the entire world, with opponents in every country. But that also ushered in communities of people who gamed together, passionately. It was about sharing that passion with other like-mined people, not merely the drive to seek new challenges in human foes.
As technology advanced, so did these virtual worlds. I’m not going to illuminate that process here, but now games feature narratives as deep as what you’ll find in sophisticated films, with the production values to match. For cutting edge soundtracks I look more to gaming offerings than I do film soundtracks; game composers seem likelier to take risks with the material, and push the envelop. The voice acting has helped create endearing characters we love to portray or interact with. The storylines in these titles continually improve; now they’re capable of delivering the equivalent of interactive movies or novels in their thematic complexity. (Full disclosure: as an author, I still prefer books, but I’m biased). Not all games provide this, of course; Super Smash Bros. and Fortnite are all about frenetic action rather than storytelling—and that’s fine. Yet titles that deliver a consistent, secondary world—be it the single player experiences of Horizon Zero Dawn, The Last of Us, and Skyrim—or MMOs such as The Elder Scrolls Online, Destiny 2, or EVE Online—or the online-ready, crafting/building vistas of Minecraft, No Man’s Sky, or Conan Exiles—have an extra element that sets them apart.
These titles have persistent, detailed, (and in the case of MMOS), evolving virtual worlds.
“How many are there in you? Whose hopes and dreams do you encompass? Could you but see the eyes in your own, the minds in your mind, you would see how much we share.” – Vortigaunt, Half-Life 2
These virtual worlds compel players with stronger psychological tethers than Pac-Man or Mortal Kombat ever did. Typically, you create a character and choose what they look like. In many cases, you get to name them. You level them up, unlock abilities and achievements, and procure a plethora of items to help your character meet that game’s challenges. You’re more emotionally invested in the game as a result. In some titles, you can even build a home for your character, or a find spacious ships to dwell in. Some games allow your character to acquire—even train—pets and mounts. Other titles let you gain allies or companions; Fallout 4 allows you to romance those NPCs. It’s a level of immersion far beyond the days when I’d play the Golden Axe arcade machine at a local restaurant as a kid.
Another compelling aspect: these worlds become a comfort zone. You feel safer there, and more understood by its environs. You have a sense of achievement you might lack in real life; no matter how many times you fail, you get to try again. If you’re good, it’s because you’re actually skilled at the game, not because of who you know, who your parents are, or how much money you’ve got. You get to be someone else, and you have control over what they do. You keep coming back, not only because of the latest DLC, or the newest zone, or a new event, but because, sometimes, these worlds feel like another home. You login and feel welcomed by the world’s familiarity, as well as the players you’ve befriended there. It’s no different than hanging out with friends at your favorite bar, bookstore, coffeeshop, or any other place people socialize.
Is this healthy? It’s not unhealthy, unless one spends more hours of their day playing games than living in the non-virtual world. But even then, that’s not any different than someone interacting with their friends over social media, vs. talking to someone face-to-face. The methods of communication may change, but human interaction isn’t going anywhere. Unless you play nothing but single-player games. But again, how is that different than someone watching hours of Netflix every day by themselves? Moderation is always important. But suggesting that video games aren’t healthy is to ignore all other forms of modern entertainment and their travails—and it’s usually posited by non-gamers who revile this subculture. You know, like those people who criticize Dungeons & Dragons and TTRPGs, but have never rolled a d20 in their lives.
Is it better to walk through a real forest, and see a real chipmunk, or duck beneath a real spiderweb strewn between branches, than to experience those things in a video game? Of course it is. The virtual world is not intended as a replacement for the real one. Though, as climate change and human indifference to consumption and pollution erodes the viability of our planet, I fear such sights might only exist in films or games a century from now. I hope I’m wrong.
Like all else in life, our creations should augment our enjoyment and understanding of our larger reality. When I workout in Beat Saber, that gives me more energy and cardiovascular health outside of the game. Fighting with a fire team in Destiny 2 to finish a Nightfall Vanguard mission produces a sense of teamwork that can translate into the real world. Surviving in Green Hell might remind someone to check themselves for leeches should they wade a stream in real life. Maintaining a home in Minecraft—harvesting wood, then replanting the seeds so that new trees can grow—might inspire a sense of responsible stewardship in that player. That’s not to say that video games should be the only way people learn these skills, but gaming isn’t the empty activity some assume it is. Even Candy Crush can improve problem-solving skills.
So, going back to Jane McGonigal’s quote: on one hand, I agree with her, since the world in a video game can be made ‘perfect’ (bugs notwithstanding—I’m looking at you, Funcom and Bethesda). In other words, everything functions, justice can be served, the innocent and defenseless can be saved, etc.—but then again, one person’s version of perfection might be different from mine or yours. Some people might glory in the romanticized criminal world of Grand Theft Auto Online. McGonigal’s quote implies that even though things might be bad in real life, they can be ‘fixed’ in a video game—if those problems exist in that world at all.
But I also disagree with the quote, because video games, regardless of how fantastical their setting, are based on our world. They are not only created from human experience; they become vehicles for human experience, or at least for what is possible within that virtual world. Anyone seeking perfection in a video game isn’t going to find it. I’m not only discussing online trolls and griefers here; I’m referring to the mechanics of these games. You can run over people with your vehicle in GTA 5. You can enslave people in Conan Exiles. You can rob and assassinate people in ESO. You can kill animals with impunity in Minecraft and many other titles, whether you need their ‘loot’ (meat, hide, horn, feathers, etc.) to survive or not. So these worlds are still a reflection of our own: rampant consumption pursued with a callous indifference, with most dilemmas resolved violently. I have yet to see anything ‘fixed’ in games, in psychological or socioeconomic terms.
This is not a criticism that video games are responsible for violence in our society; that is absolute nonsense. Critics seek scapegoats to blame for problems they themselves refuse to address, and laying those problems at the feet of entertainment has always been an easy move—socially and politically. But that is another discussion.
Again, though, despite the limitations placed on these worlds by game developers (intentional or not), they remain a viable, virtual place to spend time—not only with friends, but sometimes, alone. I have trekked through the frozen north in Conan Exiles, alone, late at night, simply to enjoy the sound of the wind, and to see the icy peaks dominating the horizon. I have trekked through the Mire in Fallout 76 to appreciate the ambience of sunlight falling through mutated trees. I’ve sent Aloy through the jungles around Meridian in Horizon Zero Dawn, so I could visualize how nature might reclaim a post-apocalyptic landscape. I’ve ridden my motorcycle through Los Santos in GTA Online, listening to iFruit Radio, gazing at the city lights. Call it relaxing, or virtual therapy.
“There were, as you can probably imagine, a lot of difficulties we faced in doing things for the first time in building this hardware, but one of the most difficult was, ‘What shape and layout will the controller have?’” – Masayuki Uemura, lead architect for the Nintendo Entertainment System
Uemura was referring to an actual, physical controller, but I think of the game’s true controller: the player. How have these virtual worlds shaped us players? We undertake quests, save worlds, destroy others, engage in warfare, romance NPCs (and other players?), participate in trade and commerce, and build structures we’d only be able to inhabit in our dreams. We spend real money on in-app purchases to unlock new mounts, outfits, zones, items, emotes, and many other cosmetic embellishments or content.
Why?
Maybe it’s to keep up with other payers. Perhaps it’s a compulsion, like an addiction. Gaming, like any other entertainment medium, can have its downsides. We complete one game, and start playing a different one. Why? For me, it’s like finishing a good book: you want to experience that again. You want another story. And video games are interactive narratives; you’re the star of the story. It happens only with your involvement. In some ways, it’s an existentialist form of entertainment, because events only transpire in that world if you are playing the game. You, the player, make things happen. For some, it might be about such control, especially if they feel they have no control over their lives in the real world. There are as many reasons for players to enjoy games as there are people, so I’ll not try to armchair psychoanalyze that.
I can, however, state the reason I love to play a good video game: I like finding a story, and a world, that I can lose myself in; a game that makes the real world feel larger and more accessible, and less daunting. A game that grants me choices; so that, maybe, I’ll make better choices in the world of atoms, due to the world of pixels.
“You will soon have your God, and you will make it with your own hands.” – Morpheus, Deus Ex
Image credit: screenshot taken by the author from Guerilla Games’ title, ‘Horizon Forbidden West.’