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‘Is it really healthy to have games filled with monsters, violence, and gore?’ Family, friends, acquaintances, and members of the general media have asked that question on numerous occasions during gaming life. The question is often, ‘Why do there have to be so many negative images in games?’ The simple answer, for those with no patience for my psychological ideas, is that there must be evil in order to allow for the heroic. Positives demand negatives and vice versa.
The deeper answer is that we need fear in our lives. Greek civilisation used the word phobeo (‘I flee’) to express the basic reaction to fear or terror – I run. I run because of a perceived threat to my continued existence. I run because of biological reactions (adrenaline flow, rapid pulse rate, tensed muscles) that propel me towards action. The Greeks believed that we must learn from fear. And that by overcoming it, we are masters of our circumstances.
Why is fear important? Why are we likely to jump (nearly) out of our chair in surprise when an alien leaps out at us in Half-Life, scattering our onscreen characters in every direction? Why do we relish the feeling that something is not right in Silent Hill 2 as we explore the Hospital? Why do we savour decapitating the zombies in Resident Evil or leaving entrails on the ground in a host of mediocre first-person shooters?
It is because fear and ferocity are the flip sides of each other. Both are necessary impulses for survival. We both fear, and wish to kill, anything that may kill us. The first impulse represents self-preservation through fleeing while the second represents self-preservation through action. The truth is that while both are necessary for individual survival, opportunities for the latter are fewer and farther between. The progress from brute to man is characterised by nothing so much as by the decrease in frequency of proper occasions for fear.
So why do we like to experience fear or perpetrate ferocity in our gaming? It is largely because we have to practice in vicarious experience – through virtual combat and problem solving – the skills that are instinctive to humanity but rarely, these days, given opportunity for expression. Gaming becomes a release for the ferocity within and satisfies the internal longing to practice self-preservation through both retreat and action.
But it’s more than that. Fear is also the flip side of curiosity. Some recognise that when fear drives the individual, curiosity and exploration are reduced. If fear is reduced, curiosity can dominate. Humans experience the fear of solitude, the fear of the unknown, and the fear of extinction. Such fears can both protect us from danger and shelter us from growth opportunities. Games with macabre themes; diabolical evil, eerie sounds and dark, lonely environs give us an opportunity to move past the immobilising fear that reduces curiosity and move into symbolic areas of growth and discovery.
To be sure, the conquests and the victory over fear are ceremonial since they take place in fictional universes and only exist digitally in some silicon memory, but they form a pattern for problem solving, pattern recognition, and resource management that can become a creative lifestyle.
Finally, computer games that include elements of the diabolical, monstrous, and horrific tend to affirm basic virtues. Stephen King, master teller of hair-raising tales, claims in Danse Macabre that horror stories reaffirm virtues by showing us what happens to people who venture into taboo lands. The idea of chaotic doings swinging back into balance is enhanced in computer games because the gamer’s character is usually the instrument that the game’s designer uses to redress the balance. It is learning by doing.
As with all philosophical discussions, this one probably proves little. Yet, if it helps to address some of the anxiety that parents, spouses, and friends have about negative characters, images, and deeds within computer games, it will have increased our understanding. Why do we need the ‘delightful fear’ of a dark computer game? It keeps us alive – in more ways than one.
The deeper answer is that we need fear in our lives. Greek civilisation used the word phobeo (‘I flee’) to express the basic reaction to fear or terror – I run. I run because of a perceived threat to my continued existence. I run because of biological reactions (adrenaline flow, rapid pulse rate, tensed muscles) that propel me towards action. The Greeks believed that we must learn from fear. And that by overcoming it, we are masters of our circumstances.
Why is fear important? Why are we likely to jump (nearly) out of our chair in surprise when an alien leaps out at us in Half-Life, scattering our onscreen characters in every direction? Why do we relish the feeling that something is not right in Silent Hill 2 as we explore the Hospital? Why do we savour decapitating the zombies in Resident Evil or leaving entrails on the ground in a host of mediocre first-person shooters?
It is because fear and ferocity are the flip sides of each other. Both are necessary impulses for survival. We both fear, and wish to kill, anything that may kill us. The first impulse represents self-preservation through fleeing while the second represents self-preservation through action. The truth is that while both are necessary for individual survival, opportunities for the latter are fewer and farther between. The progress from brute to man is characterised by nothing so much as by the decrease in frequency of proper occasions for fear.
So why do we like to experience fear or perpetrate ferocity in our gaming? It is largely because we have to practice in vicarious experience – through virtual combat and problem solving – the skills that are instinctive to humanity but rarely, these days, given opportunity for expression. Gaming becomes a release for the ferocity within and satisfies the internal longing to practice self-preservation through both retreat and action.
But it’s more than that. Fear is also the flip side of curiosity. Some recognise that when fear drives the individual, curiosity and exploration are reduced. If fear is reduced, curiosity can dominate. Humans experience the fear of solitude, the fear of the unknown, and the fear of extinction. Such fears can both protect us from danger and shelter us from growth opportunities. Games with macabre themes; diabolical evil, eerie sounds and dark, lonely environs give us an opportunity to move past the immobilising fear that reduces curiosity and move into symbolic areas of growth and discovery.
To be sure, the conquests and the victory over fear are ceremonial since they take place in fictional universes and only exist digitally in some silicon memory, but they form a pattern for problem solving, pattern recognition, and resource management that can become a creative lifestyle.
Finally, computer games that include elements of the diabolical, monstrous, and horrific tend to affirm basic virtues. Stephen King, master teller of hair-raising tales, claims in Danse Macabre that horror stories reaffirm virtues by showing us what happens to people who venture into taboo lands. The idea of chaotic doings swinging back into balance is enhanced in computer games because the gamer’s character is usually the instrument that the game’s designer uses to redress the balance. It is learning by doing.
As with all philosophical discussions, this one probably proves little. Yet, if it helps to address some of the anxiety that parents, spouses, and friends have about negative characters, images, and deeds within computer games, it will have increased our understanding. Why do we need the ‘delightful fear’ of a dark computer game? It keeps us alive – in more ways than one.
‘Is it really healthy to have games filled with monsters, violence, and gore?’ Family, friends, acquaintances, and members of the general media have asked that question on numerous occasions during gaming life. The question is often, ‘Why do there have to be so many negative images in games?’ The simple answer, for those with no patience for my psychological ideas, is that there must be evil in order to allow for the heroic. Positives demand negatives and vice versa.
The deeper answer is that we need fear in our lives. Greek civilisation used the word phobeo (‘I flee’) to express the basic reaction to fear or terror – I run. I run because of a perceived threat to my continued existence. I run because of biological reactions (adrenaline flow, rapid pulse rate, tensed muscles) that propel me towards action. The Greeks believed that we must learn from fear. And that by overcoming it, we are masters of our circumstances.
Why is fear important? Why are we likely to jump (nearly) out of our chair in surprise when an alien leaps out at us in Half-Life, scattering our onscreen characters in every direction? Why do we relish the feeling that something is not right in Silent Hill 2 as we explore the Hospital? Why do we savour decapitating the zombies in Resident Evil or leaving entrails on the ground in a host of mediocre first-person shooters?
It is because fear and ferocity are the flip sides of each other. Both are necessary impulses for survival. We both fear, and wish to kill, anything that may kill us. The first impulse represents self-preservation through fleeing while the second represents self-preservation through action. The truth is that while both are necessary for individual survival, opportunities for the latter are fewer and farther between. The progress from brute to man is characterised by nothing so much as by the decrease in frequency of proper occasions for fear.
So why do we like to experience fear or perpetrate ferocity in our gaming? It is largely because we have to practice in vicarious experience – through virtual combat and problem solving – the skills that are instinctive to humanity but rarely, these days, given opportunity for expression. Gaming becomes a release for the ferocity within and satisfies the internal longing to practice self-preservation through both retreat and action.
But it’s more than that. Fear is also the flip side of curiosity. Some recognise that when fear drives the individual, curiosity and exploration are reduced. If fear is reduced, curiosity can dominate. Humans experience the fear of solitude, the fear of the unknown, and the fear of extinction. Such fears can both protect us from danger and shelter us from growth opportunities. Games with macabre themes; diabolical evil, eerie sounds and dark, lonely environs give us an opportunity to move past the immobilising fear that reduces curiosity and move into symbolic areas of growth and discovery.
To be sure, the conquests and the victory over fear are ceremonial since they take place in fictional universes and only exist digitally in some silicon memory, but they form a pattern for problem solving, pattern recognition, and resource management that can become a creative lifestyle.
Finally, computer games that include elements of the diabolical, monstrous, and horrific tend to affirm basic virtues. Stephen King, master teller of hair-raising tales, claims in Danse Macabre that horror stories reaffirm virtues by showing us what happens to people who venture into taboo lands. The idea of chaotic doings swinging back into balance is enhanced in computer games because the gamer’s character is usually the instrument that the game’s designer uses to redress the balance. It is learning by doing.
As with all philosophical discussions, this one probably proves little. Yet, if it helps to address some of the anxiety that parents, spouses, and friends have about negative characters, images, and deeds within computer games, it will have increased our understanding. Why do we need the ‘delightful fear’ of a dark computer game? It keeps us alive – in more ways than one.
The deeper answer is that we need fear in our lives. Greek civilisation used the word phobeo (‘I flee’) to express the basic reaction to fear or terror – I run. I run because of a perceived threat to my continued existence. I run because of biological reactions (adrenaline flow, rapid pulse rate, tensed muscles) that propel me towards action. The Greeks believed that we must learn from fear. And that by overcoming it, we are masters of our circumstances.
Why is fear important? Why are we likely to jump (nearly) out of our chair in surprise when an alien leaps out at us in Half-Life, scattering our onscreen characters in every direction? Why do we relish the feeling that something is not right in Silent Hill 2 as we explore the Hospital? Why do we savour decapitating the zombies in Resident Evil or leaving entrails on the ground in a host of mediocre first-person shooters?
It is because fear and ferocity are the flip sides of each other. Both are necessary impulses for survival. We both fear, and wish to kill, anything that may kill us. The first impulse represents self-preservation through fleeing while the second represents self-preservation through action. The truth is that while both are necessary for individual survival, opportunities for the latter are fewer and farther between. The progress from brute to man is characterised by nothing so much as by the decrease in frequency of proper occasions for fear.
So why do we like to experience fear or perpetrate ferocity in our gaming? It is largely because we have to practice in vicarious experience – through virtual combat and problem solving – the skills that are instinctive to humanity but rarely, these days, given opportunity for expression. Gaming becomes a release for the ferocity within and satisfies the internal longing to practice self-preservation through both retreat and action.
But it’s more than that. Fear is also the flip side of curiosity. Some recognise that when fear drives the individual, curiosity and exploration are reduced. If fear is reduced, curiosity can dominate. Humans experience the fear of solitude, the fear of the unknown, and the fear of extinction. Such fears can both protect us from danger and shelter us from growth opportunities. Games with macabre themes; diabolical evil, eerie sounds and dark, lonely environs give us an opportunity to move past the immobilising fear that reduces curiosity and move into symbolic areas of growth and discovery.
To be sure, the conquests and the victory over fear are ceremonial since they take place in fictional universes and only exist digitally in some silicon memory, but they form a pattern for problem solving, pattern recognition, and resource management that can become a creative lifestyle.
Finally, computer games that include elements of the diabolical, monstrous, and horrific tend to affirm basic virtues. Stephen King, master teller of hair-raising tales, claims in Danse Macabre that horror stories reaffirm virtues by showing us what happens to people who venture into taboo lands. The idea of chaotic doings swinging back into balance is enhanced in computer games because the gamer’s character is usually the instrument that the game’s designer uses to redress the balance. It is learning by doing.
As with all philosophical discussions, this one probably proves little. Yet, if it helps to address some of the anxiety that parents, spouses, and friends have about negative characters, images, and deeds within computer games, it will have increased our understanding. Why do we need the ‘delightful fear’ of a dark computer game? It keeps us alive – in more ways than one.
Good post Axel, would you mind reading mine? :) Thanks
Thanks for reading
cheers $alvatore