It’s Easter weekend, a time when Catholics like myself dedicate hours to church services, listening to an extended version of a story whose conclusion is well-known. While attending yet another rendition of the Passion narrative, I pondered the scarcity of religious figures in video games despite the profound influence of religious beliefs on many individuals’ lives. It’s intriguing how religion is underrepresented in games, considering its pervasive role in society. One could argue that all games subtly reference Jesus with concepts like respawning and extra lives, although this interpretation may be a stretch.
In various games, religious elements are often portrayed negatively. For instance, the Peggies in Far Cry 5 form a violent cult that manipulates minds, the Founders in BioShock Infinite exploit religion to fuel xenophobia, and the inhabitants of Fallout worship atomic bombs. Religion in these contexts primarily serves as a tool for leaders to manipulate followers into committing atrocities. This portrayal aligns with the common trope of religion being utilized as a convenient antagonist in games where players assume the role of a lone hero battling formidable adversaries.
One of the most unsettling religious depictions in video games, in my opinion, occurs in Altered Beast. The game features a Roman centurion who, after a life filled with brutality and suffering, is resurrected by Zeus, compelling him to engage in further violence against supernatural creatures. Trapped in a cycle of combat, he is denied the peace of eternal rest, perpetually fighting his way through hordes of enemies in a side-scrolling format.
Regarding religion in games like Zelda, my daughter, an avid fan, views religious themes as troublesome except when they revolve around nature worship. She holds this perspective while being a vegan working in an animal hospital. Online discussions speculate about the religious affiliations of characters like Catholic John Marsten in Red Dead Redemption and Doomguy from Doom, linking their actions to their supposed beliefs.
Personally, my relationship with religion is complex. As the world grapples with numerous challenges, I find it increasingly difficult to reconcile the existence of a benevolent and all-powerful God. The notion that human suffering is a byproduct of the free will granted by God feels like a convenient excuse, akin to an infinite lives cheat in a video game. Given the burden of decision-making in life, I sometimes yearn for a simpler existence devoid of constant choices.
Contemplating the simulation hypothesis, which posits that our reality is a computer-generated construct, I find myself intrigued by its plausibility. The idea that our world could be a simulation controlled by an inept player resonates with me, offering a quirky yet somewhat logical explanation for the chaotic nature of existence. Perhaps the chaotic state of the world is akin to the missteps made by players in video games, where flawed decisions lead to unintended consequences.
Embracing the simulation theory provides a unique perspective on criticism, alleviating the fear of negative feedback. In this framework, any critique can be attributed to the overarching control of a higher being, akin to playing a predetermined game where outcomes are beyond individual influence. This notion offers a sense of detachment from personal responsibility, akin to navigating a scripted adventure controlled by external forces.
In essence, the simulation theory offers a liberating outlook on creative expression, allowing for uninhibited exploration of ideas without the fear of rejection. It transforms the act of writing into a simulated experience, guided by an unseen hand akin to a divine game master orchestrating a virtual narrative.