Existentialism in Video Games

Within the discourse of philosophy, often the question of its accessibility arises. In any introductory class, it becomes rather clear that, at its most potent, philosophy has always been active in the public space. To inherit the legacy of Socratic dialogue is to acknowledge that it engenders greater investment when made personable to people’s lived experiences. In a more contemporary setting, the tradition that preoccupies itself with the more intimate questions of being is that of existentialism. The premier example being Jean-Paul Sartre, who conveyed many ideas through his artistic endeavour, be it literary or theatrical.

The visual arts provide the most striking actualizations of existentialist ideas. Edvard Munch’s The Scream (1893) stands out as a mesmerizingly haunting manifestation of the angst that is so central to existentialist discourse. The ‘7th art’ has been a major contributor in popularising existential ideas. A most notable example being that of Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal (1957), meditating on the anguish of human existence wherein God is silent and only death seems a certain companion. Speaking from a personal perspective, Hideaki Anno’s Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995), with its explicit reference to Kierkegardian concepts and a profound sense of angst in one’s existence through the eyes of others, stands out as the most impactful in the domain of ‘pop art’.

In this discussion, I would like to highlight the contributions of an artist known as Yoko Taro. Most known for his directorial and writing work in the Drakengard and NieR franchises, his is an unmistakable artistic voice that distinguishes itself through narratives of intense melancholy, anguish, and existential dread. Through writing, artistic direction, style and musicality, his works are profoundly saddening yet mesmerizingly beautiful. They speak to the ephemerality and brutal ugliness of life, existing hand in hand with intimate vulnerability and being adrift in a senseless world.

NieR: Automata

For the purposes of this text, I would like to focus on Taro’s most recent high-profile game: NieR: Automata. In a science-fiction post-apocalypse setting, there is a perpetual war between the android servants of mankind, created by the military organization YoRHa, and the machine lifeforms of an invading alien force, programmed as near mindless slaves. The story follows a pair of YoRHa operatives, gynoid 2B and her android partner 9S in their battle against the machines. Eventually, they observe that the machine lifeforms start to mimic human behaviour. Organizing themselves in distinct affiliations and ideologies as well as being capable of speech and thought.

All the while, the pair come to grips with their self-doubts over their quest, imposed as it is. Their relationship evolves to darker and darker corners as the never-ending cycle of death, rebirth and reupload unravel their convictions, beliefs, and allegiances. In the end, they are witness to grand revelations on the nature of their war, as well as the birth of a new machine lifeform indistinguishable from the androids and, even perhaps, humanity itself – the latter shatters our protagonist’s sense of being and purpose. All under the inscrutable, despairing machinations of the ‘Watchers’, an otherworldly entity whose interference has led to the ruination of the universe.

Although existentialist ideas are made approachable through art, by way of a blend of deep thought and profound empathy, previous artistic mediums have lacked a component of lived experience. Videogames, as an artistic medium, have the potential to fill that gap given their active and participatory nature. The work doesn’t realize itself without the agency of the player. In NieR: Automata, the intersection between absurdism and game design is made through a signature element of Yoko Taro, the use of multiple playthroughs in order to complete the narrative. Within the context of the narrative, it reflects the Sisyphean existence of the playable characters, locked in a cycle of death and rebirth for nebulous ends.

The Myth of YoRHA

 In this story, the protagonists are told everything is done for the survival of mankind. “Glory to Mankind!” being the rallying cry of YoRHa. However, through the events of the preceding game, humanity has gone extinct in the wake of an apocalyptic event of interdimensional proportions. The ‘mankind’ of YoRHa is but a constructed deity which the androids may rally around since, in the wake of their newfound emancipation, most lapsed into despair for wont of an existential purpose. The androids were originally vessels by which human souls could be transplanted and thus survive the apocalypse.

The myth that YoRHa perpetuates stands in stark contrast to the machine lifeforms they battle. Although an alien invasion did happen centuries past, the aliens have also gone extinct, leaving their servants locked in a pre-programmed struggle. The story of the machine lifeforms is one of self-realization, as painful as it is, and a violent evolution to a future of self-determinism; in essence, of overcoming their programming towards sentience. It’s made evident through their imitation of human behavior, the adoption of philosopher’s names, and their ultimate project of birthing an Adam and Eve in a similar image to the humans that they sought to replicate.

The Myth of Sisyphus

In the midst of this discussion, a particular author comes to mind. The Myth of Sisyphus, perhaps Albert Camus’ most famous work, seeks to use the titular tale as an avenue for existentialism philosophy, namely, in how it reframes the story in order to convey a grander understanding of one’s struggles and their meaning. It’s most notable contribution to philosophy is that of the absurd. As a concept, it seeks to relate to the reader a fundamental contradiction of existence. Of searching for meaning in a meaningless world. The angst that follows is, in itself, an affirmation of life but also its greatest obstacle. The lesson that such a concept seeks to impress upon the receiver is one of existential enlightenment. That meaning, insofar as it can be formulated, can only derive from the cognisant mind. Such a realization liberates the self, alleviates the burden of pushing a boulder up a hill, that will only ever roll back down. This stoic release unbinds the mind towards other pursuits.

NieR: Automata is that story of existential liberation, of breaking the Sisyphean cycle. The protagonists (2B, 9S and A2) are only able to do it through the destruction of YoRHA, the rejection of the Watchers influence, and the acceptance of the meaninglessness of the universe. The machine lifeforms are, likewise, only able to achieve the same goal through a rejection of their programming, pooling all their efforts in the creation of Adam and Eve (an image for their future), and an Ark by which they may escape Earth to greener pastures. Both are only able to break their cycles when they derive meaning from themselves rather than a teleological concept or a deity.

Concurrently, the pathos of relief of the breaking of the cycle is reflected in gameplay. The game ends in a definitive manner rather than prompting another go around. It goes so far as to petition the destruction of the save file as a gesture of closure, a uniquely bold act of finality that no other game demonstrates. Even in something so simple as deleting a file the game is able to impress upon the player the finite nature of life, the primordial realization from which existential angst derives. Through the journey, however, the act has a different weight, not only due to the experience of existential acceptance, but also that is made for a worthwhile end. A contribution to the journey of another player that also stands at the precipice of that same pathos.

It is a resolution of angst by the proximity of another and empathy towards their own realization, not dissimilar from your own, that you recognize as valuable. The game speaks to a universality of the absurdist experience. Positing that, even after the extinction of man, the record of their intimate angst serves a path by which other beings may self-actualize. That the struggle for meaning in a meaningless world is an obstacle to be overcome not just by humans, but by any cognisant mind. The Myth of Sisyphus is worth admiring for how it tells so much in such a meaningful way, yet, perhaps, what the videogame offers is that to witness Sisyphus is made impactful because we ourselves had such a boulder to push. It’s a logical next step in philosophical praxis and a glimpse into what awaits if videogames choose to go further and higher.