Obviously, playing violent video games does not, by itself, cause people to kill other people, because millions of us do play violent video games and have never even been in a fistfight. But saying so should not allow us to elide the deeper question. Frankly, I am not convinced that playing violent games can be ruled out as one of many contributing factors to violent behavior, especially since so many of these spree killers do seem to have spent a lot of time on the Xbox. What we need to know is what all of the risks are, and to what extent each one contributes to the making of a murderer.
I first became aware of Mitch Krpata after reading his Taxonomy of Gamers a couple of years ago. For a while now, the blog has been quiet, until today.
Over the last few weeks, a number of articles have come to my attention addressing the topic of violent videogames and their effect on those who play them. At first, the usual suspects came with knee-jerk responses claiming just what Krpata does in the quoted section above. I ignored these because, honestly, I’ve read them all before. It seemed like the same old argument that I remember from my early teens and my late teens and my early twenties, and here it was again.
Then—amongst the several critics who I’ve discovered thanks to sites like Critical Distance—I began to see a different opinion. “Maybe violent games do affect those who play them,” they said. But I had an almost palpable reaction to seeing the stories pop up in my RSS feed. How could I possibly agree with something I’d argued against for much of my life?
That’s when Krpata’s article appeared in the feed. It’s clear now to me that the proper response for all parties with a stake in the discussion (about the causes for violent tragedies) is to reflect and reconsider the parts of our culture which emphasize and glorify violence.
Personally, games have not made me any more or less violent, and that covers many (I’d rather avoid counting) hours of play; however, I am only one person. And the rest of my life is non-violent, low stress, and devoid of the many other outside factors that seem to motivate gunman as seen in the Sandy Hook tragedy. Could violent games be a contributor in such cases? Perhaps.
I’d side with Krpata in calling for longterm study of gaming’s effect on players. If we look, we may find information that can help avoid such horrible outcomes. The same discoveries might show us something we’d rather not see. But as I was reminded of arguing this topic as a teenager, I realized that not only have I grown up since then, gaming has supposedly done some growing of its own. If the videogame industry hopes to be taken seriously, to be considered mature, then self-reflection and study would be an excellent first step to take.
From Part 4 of L. Rhodes’ series on the coming-of-age of games criticism:
The contrast between those two points is a polarity that opened up in the heart of game criticism when it moved beyond reviews that treated games primarily as consumer products. Think of them as the Orphean and Archimedean styles of criticism, respectively. Like Orpheus descending into the underworld in hopes of salvaging his departed wife’s shade, the sort of critical essay Frank writes deals primarily with the internal and personal—which is why it can be, at its best, both beautiful and harrowing. Archimedes was the third century inventor who declared that, given the right fulcrum and a lever long enough, he could move the world. When Alexander calls for maturity in “It’s Time Game Journalism Grew Up,” what she’s calling for is a lever long enough to move the world of gaming.
At the crux of Rhodes’ piece are these two types of games criticism: One in which writers are absorbed in their own experiences with games as they exist today, often with very little concern for what needs to change about the titles themselves or the industry that makes them; and the other that seems to exist solely to affect change in the industry.
To me it seems that the one feeds the other. Gaming experiences can be beautiful and unlike those in other media, but there are severe limitations in the way of narrative and content—violence and the objectification of women being just two of many.
If the “Archimedean” approach doesn’t push the boundaries by asking difficult questions of the industry, then the “Orphean” approach will have only space marines and impossibly proportioned women to populate the worlds from which they draw their often powerful commentaries.
Diversity in writing style, and eventually, mainstream industry content, can only improve each other.
Jill Scharr at Unwinnable explains the inner workings of one of my all-time favorite games, Final Fantasy X. Why these characters and their stories have stuck with me for so long, I’ve never been able to fully articulate, but Scharr’s article goes a long way.
Essentially, FFX is a story about stories (which makes perfect sense considering my interests and chosen profession). Also, though, the “this is my story” element which seems obvious and simplistic at first glance, is actually one of the game’s greatest strengths. If you enjoyed FFX, do yourself a favor and read the article. Not only does it help illuminate the structure behind a classic, it will bring back all the memories associated with the game’s fading place-names and pivotal scenes.
suteki da ne
Thank you for that, Jill Scharr.
