Philosophriday: Too Human

Philosophriday is a bi-weekly column which takes a critical eye toward philosophical themes in games.

Do humans need gods, as many a psychoanalyst has argued, or do the gods need us? While clumsy is one of the nicer words you can use to describe the story of Dennis Dyack's Too Human, there's no denying that it tries to expand upon the question just mentioned and for an unabashed loot-whore like myself, it makes for good brain food while I drunkenly slog through wave after wave of mindless robots.

The title "Too Human," comes from Frederick Nietzsche's book "Human, All Too Human," which collects essays of all lengths designed to break down common misconceptions which his vast, German intellect is impervious to. Nietzsche's Deicidal Postivism is in full swing in this work, and if the declaration that "God is Dead" tugs at the heartstrings of your little, atheist drummer boy, than just about anything he says here should be up your alley. Nietzsche proselytized Atheism as feverently as a militant Muslim in an explosive overcoat. He didn't like God. He wrote a book called "Der Antichrist," in the throws of syphilis-induced madness which explains the hierarchy of his hatred: Christians then the Pope then Martin Luther with big J.C. himself at the top.

What the hell does he have to do with a game about the cyberpunk re-envisioning of Norse Mythology?

Well, the rest of his famous "God is dead," quote is the explanation "and we have killed him." Nietzsche believed that the inert godlessness of the universe was not just a revelation of science, but the active project of every Man (women and children need not apply). He found it ridiculous the way we cling to values that are proclaimed by a church for its benefit and our subjugation. God may have set himself up as our provider and protector, but even if he was real, he'd be a parasite: leeching off the faith, free will, and hard earned cash of humanity to sustain his own half-mythical existence. By this recognition, and by casting off the values of our forefathers, we could attain a level of super-humanity.

So when does this relate to me socketing runes into a Girdle of Vicious Thrusting?

While the analogy between humanity's ascension to godhood and inexorable growth of your e-peen is a tenuous connection, the idea of gods dying isn't. Norse Mythology occupies a unique space for this reason: even the gods themselves must die. They are ultimately just as mortal and bound to fate as any of us, and come Ragnarok, they will know it. Therein lies the rub, the gods of Too Human are damned to their fate for the same reason the Christian God is damned to His death. Like God, the Aesir set themselves up as the shepherds of humanity, when under their rule the natural beauty of the world has been consumed by ice. Like God, the Aesir are great deceivers, living high in a heaven that is a holographic lie and tragically represents what the world was like without them. Like Humanity, Baldur's quest for truth will inevitably bring about the end of the gods by revealing the horrible ways in which they have shaped the world to their benefit and our subjugation.

This does not mean the story of Too Human is particularly deep.

In actual Norse Mythology, Baldur is killed by a Mistletoe. Invigorating the story by borrowing from Nietzsche's greatest works is a fine way of making the old Eddas hip to a generation of atheists, but it doesn't spill over into gameplay the way Randian philosophy does in Bioshock. Philosophical window trimming is far greater, methinks, than no philosophy at all, and with a three game stretch planned, there's still ample opportunity to make the player's choices matter. Gameplay that relates immediately to the degree of Baldur's cybernetic godliness or vestigial humanity, as chosen by skill allocation, could broaden the experience, but alas! I feel the pull of Wyrd too strongly! Three times shall this game be released! Three times shall it suck me under its leveling treadmill! Three times shall the story obscure its deeper messages under fat bags of loot! The runes have spoken thus!

Aurok

Don't Hate the Player, Hate the Game: Journalism

Don't Hate the Player, Hate the Game is a bi-weekly article which delves into the market conditions of evilry in the games industry.

Videogame Public Relations have perfected the art of strong-arming high scores out of intrepid reviewers with generous freebees, controlled reviewing conditions, and cracking the mighty whip of ad revenue. Between the scathing accounts of Pre-Shoe EGM at SoreThumbs.com, the fallout of Gerstmann-gate, and continuing death-rattle of print media, it's hard to know who to trust for honest reviews, previews, and (especially) exclusives.

From an economic perspective, this is inevitable. The science of decisions starts from the presumption of Homo Economicus, the generic, decision-making human who has no scruples and no allegience, everything he does in life can be assigned a dollar value. Under these assumptions, corruption in games journalism is not a surprise, fidelity to the reader is.

Let's assume that a reviewer's credibility has the finite value, X. A publisher who wants a high metacritic for their game has a number of ways to get that score, including the most obvious:

• Bribe the reviewer with an amount of money equal to X.

Since we assume everyone can be bought, this is the easiest solution. However, it presents too problems:

1. X might be more money than the publisher can afford
   
2. Straight-up bribery might increase the credability lost (and thus the expense to the publisher) as compared to other methods of getting a good review.

As a result of the second point, most publishers don't hand over briefcases full of cash on a regular basis, but they do:

• Bribe the reviewer with luxorious accomodations and freebies with a net value equal to X.
  

This is what SoreThumbs has been discussing over the course of several scintillating articles. Cuban Cigars, free drinks, flirtatious women, and the pernicious rumors of prostitutes whored out for review scores crawl along the walls and are whispered in the winds of game offices worldwide. While these are among the most eggregious attempts to sway a review, most freebies can be laughed off as tchochkies and hospitality, and can be claimed to not affect the jounalist in question.

Since the cost of the bribe being found out is relatively low (unlike the suitcase full of cash), X does not get inflated by attempts to buy the review. Suppose, however, another tact is taken:

• Impose costs to the reviewer equal to X
  

Rather than bribe the reviewer for more than their credibility is worth, a publisher can threaten to punish the reviewer so badly that sticking to their principles just isn't worth it. The most common way is to deny advertising, and the money that comes from it. Since most sites and mags cannot run without advertising money, the reviewer's superiors will likely put the screws on, or outright fire the rebelious reveiws editor with a devil may care attitude for giving the game a big, stinky 6.0

This has almost certainly been tried with every big website and publication out there. The only real evidence that a publication is completely on the up-and-up is that they have payed dearly for their credibility. The debacle by which 1up has been denied advanced access to all Ubisoft games is a clear sign that videogame publishers are getting more aggressive when it comes to using the above tactics.

When you think about it, it really is amazing that games journalism has as much cred as it does. The deck is stacked so far in the favor of the publisher and public relations that honest reviews of big titles should be treated as diamonds in the rough. In order to be honest, a reviewer either has to value their credibility more than their job, or their bosses need to value the trust of their readership more than ad money. Both are very rare conditions, but as we have shown, absolutely necessary to ensure a fair review. So the next time you call foul on a world-exclusive review with the vaunted nine-point-five, don't hate the playa, hate the game.

Aurok