Wednesday, January 14, 2015

[DC002] What is Database Consumption (and Where Did It Come From)?

            Azuma uses the term “Database Consumption” to refer to his model of how consumers relate to the narratives found in media. He describes it as the third phase in a three-phase transition from Modern Rationalism to Post-Modern Animalism. So before we start talking about Database Consumption, let’s look at how Azuma got there.
            The Database Consumption Model is based in large part on Hegel's three-stage model of historical development. While Hegel's model describes the Pre-Enlightenment, Modern, and Post-Modern stages, Azuma looks only at the decline of Modernity and the gradual rise of Postmodernity, with the 1970s as the focal point of a hybrid modern/postmodern consumption (Azuma 72). 
            Although Azuma’s puts the “beginning of the end” of Modernity at around 1914, he pays particular attention to three periods or “Eras” which most clearly illustrate the demise of the Modern Grand Narrative and the rise of Postmodern consumption. The three Eras have a considerable amount of overlap and the year divisions should be considered as embodying a general trend, not complete breaks.
            The first era is the Era of Reason, lasting from 1945-1970.  Technically, this era can be considered as extending back to the start of the twentieth century, but Azuma’s focus is on this era's decline, not its beginning.  Azuma places its decline at the end of World War II and its end with the 1970 Red Army airplane high jacking incident.  In this periodization, the Red Army incident is seen as symbolic of the discrediting of historical Grand Narratives such as Communism in general.
            In the Era of Reason, Modern Grand Narrative consumption is an interaction between the consumer and “smaller narratives” (individual books, television shows, and so on) which reflect the worldviews of a Grand Narrative.  In this model, consumers find meaning in the interaction of these smaller narratives with the grand narratives of society.
Meaning-Making in the Era of Reason (Azuma)
            Examples of these Grand Narratives would include Communism, traditional religions, or pre-war Japanese society. The common feature is that they attempt to explain all phenomena according to a single perspective, a sort of “grand unified theory of everything.” Individual works are reflections of this Grand Narrative, its characters resembling real humans living under these social conditions. Consumers find meaning in these narratives in the interplay between the individual work and the larger pictures of reality they reflect.

            Azuma positions the decline of the Grand Narrative at the end of World War II because of the destructive effect the war had on Japanese society. The war undermined the foundations of Japanese social normativity and opened the door to pluralistic interpretations of humanity’s place in the world. There was no longer a single Grand Narrative, but rather many competing Grand Narratives such as Communism and Capitalism.

            Because these pluralistic Grand Narratives no longer had the same normative force as a single common Grand Narrative, society began to fracture. Moreover, the Tokyo Red Army airplane high jacking incident in 1970 showed that the pluralistic Grand Narratives were losing normative force even for those that held them. The center could no longer hold and “real” Grand Narratives became a thing of the past.
            The second era is the Era of Fiction, lasting from 1970 to 1989.  This era is marked by the emergence of what Azuma calls “Fictional Grand Narratives.” While “real” Grand Narratives had been largely discredited in Japan, consumers who had grown up in a world defined by Grand Narratives still felt a need for them. While Grand Narratives could no longer be considered “real,” fictional Grand Narratives could fill their absence.  Azuma gives two years for the end of this era; worldwide, he points to the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, but for Japan the year 1995 is given due to the Aum Shinrikyo terrorist attacks.

           
In this intermediary stage, the social Grand Narrative is lost, but consumers have a lingering desire for the comfortable familiarity of these lost Grand Narratives. They were accustomed to narratives that fit a certain mold, where the pieces added up to a larger picture, where there was a driving ideological force behind the action. Fictional Grand Narratives were necessary for consumers to find meaning and enjoyment in smaller narratives, even though the fictional Grand Narrative is tacitly understood to be confined to the realm of fiction and not as applicable to society as a whole.
Substitute Meaning in the Era of Fiction (My own butchered version)

            Azuma's examples of this hybrid Grand Narrative include Mobile Suit Gundam (1979), which has a fictional historical timeline detonated by the initials “U.C.” (Universal Century).   All of the episodes of Gundam, including those of its derivative works and sequels (at least, until the 1990s), take place in this shared universe.  It roughly corresponds with our own historical timeline, with the year UC 001 taking place around AD 2053.
            These fictional Grand Narratives are pluralistic in the sense that consumers do not perceive conflict between the fictional timeline of Mobile Suit Gundam and Super Dimensional Fortress Macross. They are viewed as two discreet Grand Narratives describing two different “worlds” which can exist comfortably side by side. Unlike Communism and Capitalism, there is no inherent conflict between Gundamism and Macrossianity.

            But the need for a fictional Grand Narrative goes well beyond a consistent timeline.  While the Gundam universe makes use of fanciful Science Fiction technology such as the “Minovsky Particle,” a selling point of the series is its technological consistency.  While the Minovsky Particle may not exist in the real world, it always functions according to fictional “rules” - a fictional law of physics.  The Mobile Suits (giant robots) of Gundam were also subjected to technical scrutiny.  Magazines and manuals of each Mobile Suit's blueprints and exact technical specifications became immensely popular, and added another layer of “realism” to the show.

            Other authors have commented on this aspect of 1970s-1980s otaku culture.  In Otakugaku Nyūmon[i] (1996), Okada Toshio gives the example of the extreme measures taken by legendary animator Itano Ichiro to ensure the ultra-realism of spaceship battles.  Wanting to animate the firing of missiles as realistically as possible, Itano strapped fireworks to his moped and fired them while driving at high speed (35).  Wanting to get a better sense of how humanoid robots would fire missiles at each other, he rounded up a group of friends, strapped fireworks to their arms, and then ran around a field with them, firing these “missiles” at each other (36).  The concern for realism was an all-encompassing goal, which drove animators to develop new and innovative techniques.

            The third and current era is the Era of Animalization, beginning in 1989, or 1995 in Japan.  This third and supposedly final era is characterized by the breakdown of fictional Grand Narratives (in addition to the previous social/historical Grand Narratives) and the rise of Database Consumption.  This era is given the term “animalization” in accordance with the terminology of Kojève (a prominent Hegelian philosopher). 

            For Kojève, the post-modern period is the end of history. With the end of the historic struggle between slaves and masters, humanity reverts back to an “animal-like” state.  In this world, there is no longer any need for what Azuma would term social/historical Grand Narratives.
            Though there will still be history in the sense that years will pass, new buildings will be built, and new music created, with the end of the historical process there will be no essential difference between this human activity and birds building nests and cicadas singing in concert.  The reason 1995 is put forth as the most significant year for Japan is the terrorist attacks by Aum Shinrikyo and the end of television anime Neon Genesis Evangelion.

            This comparison between a major terrorist attack and the end of a television show may seem like a strange contrast at first, but it is important to remember that Azuma is specifically developing a periodization of the otaku subculture. Naturally, events that are of minor importance to society as a whole can be of great importance to a subculture.  Far from trivializing tragic events such as the Aum Shinrikyo terrorist attacks, this should be understood as an example of the interactions between a culture and a subculture, just as Azuma is examining otaku subculture in order to understand Japanese culture as a whole.
A young man undergoing "Eva Shock" (I Care Because You Do, Nishijima Daisuke)
            But while Azuma points to the Aum Shinrikyo attacks and the end of Evangelion as his main guideposts to the beginning of the Era of Animalization, it is worth remembering that there was another important event in 1990s Japan that marks the end of a Grand Narrative: the end of the Bubble Economy. The loss of the mass middle class and the guarantee of lifetime employment also exercised an important role in breaking down Grand Narratives in Japan. Japanese society no longer provided a clear path for humans “from cradle to grave.” The ideal of a homogenized middle class society was lost and no clear ideology arose to replace it.
            In the final stage of Azuma's periodization, Grand Narratives (including the fictional Grand Narratives) are no longer necessary or desirable to consumers.  Smaller narratives no longer must be based on a Grand Narrative in order to create meaning; instead, they draw from a “Database” of affective moe elements.  Enjoyment for consumers comes from the creation of emotional attachments to these familiar affective elements, not from the now-discarded sense of realism, authorship, authenticity, or originality.
Database Consumption in the Era of Animalization (Azuma)

            Smaller narratives are no longer considered original, stand-alone works which reflect a Grand Narrative, but a simulacra composed of elements pulled from the Database - the grand non-narrative.  Consumption still takes place on the level of the smaller narrative, but also from direct enjoyment of the moe elements themselves, divorced from any narrative at all.

            What constitutes a moe element?  On the most visible level, moe elements are elements of character design - physical attributes such as eye color, clothing, height, age, and so on.  Azuma gives the example of Dejiko, a character designed as a mascot by secondary-goods company Broccoli to appeal to as many moe elements as possible (43).  Dejiko’s physical moe elements include such things as cat ears, green hair, “hair like antenna” and big feet.  These elements have all been pulled from the database of character designs popular in the late 1990s among otaku.
Dejiko as a simulacra of Database Elements (Azuma)
            Moe elements, however, are not limited to physical characteristics.  They can be personality traits, such as the “cool, reserved, robot-like” personality type made popular by Evangelion's Rei Ayanami.  They can also be narrative clichés, such as the “destined lover,” or the “young girl with a terminal illness” popular in visual novels.  As with the physical traits, enjoyment of these non-visual moe elements is not based on realism or originality but rather on their emotional resonance with consumers.  In fact the most frequently cited source of enjoyment for consumers of visual novels is not artistic merit or creativity, but rather the ability to make the consumer cry.  What consumers seek “is not the narrative dynamism of old,” or the illusion of Grand Narratives and realism, “but a formula, without a worldview or a message, that effectively manipulates emotion” (Azuma 79).

            In the old fictional Grand Narrative consumption pattern a single media property such as Gundam was assumed to take place in a single fictional universe. With the advent of Database Consumption, this was no longer the case. It no longer mattered if the fictional details of a character’s life were consistent from the manga to the anime to the video game adaption. Because the moe elements were the only thing that mattered, the same character (or rather, aggregate of elements) could be put into any number of fictional universes without evoking a feeling of dissonance.
            This new consumption pattern fed back into established series such as Gundam. Whereas before the 1990s all Gundam media took place in a single universe, the 1990s saw the development of “Alternate Universes” which no longer followed the Universal Century timeline. Gundam retained the same basic conceits (giant robots, pilots, the nature of war), the constituent elements could now be rearranged freely. Some characters from the original Gundam have counterparts in almost every Alternate Universe (Char comes to mind) that have similar moe elements (the color red, the mask, the status of rival to the protagonist), but completely conflicting personal histories.
        



[i] “Introduction to Otakuology”

Thursday, January 8, 2015

[DC001] Who is Azuma Hiroki (and Why Should I Care)?

First in an ongoing series about Database Consumption.

            Let’s talk about otaku.
       
            In 2004, the anime and video game industries surpassed the size of the steel industry in Japan for the first time, both in terms of the domestic market and exports (Leonard 3).  In 2007, the size of the domestic marketplace for all otaku products (including video games, anime, manga and so on) was estimated at around $2 billion (Azuma xv). Moreover, this figure only includes the domestic market - the market for these products is growing most rapidly in markets of vital importance for other Japanese products, such as China, East Asia, and Russia.  For Japan's economic future, plastic and silicon weigh more than steel.


            In recognition of the need to switch from an industrial-based economy to an intellectual property-based economy, in 2004 Japan's Ministry of Economy, Trade, and Industry (METI) set up the “Japan Brand” Program to exploit the popularity of Japanese entertainment overseas in advance the economic and diplomatic goals of the nation.  While not all of the Japanese entertainment considered by the Japan Brand Program would be considered part of the otaku marketplace, the program puts the otaku industry in a central position.
            Although the peak of the global otaku industry occurred around 2008, the 1990s and early 2000s saw a rapid growth in global demand for Japanese anime, manga, video games, and related consumer goods. This growth opened up markets for Japanese entertainment goods in a way that few experts, whether Japanese or international had expected (McKevitt, 2010). This surprising development caused a reevaluation of the otaku industry by Japanese intellectuals, business leaders, and politicians who had to that point viewed the industry as insignificant at best and a social problem at worst.
            In the post-bubble recession, any industry with the growth and global reach of the otaku industry became important to policy makers. When the Strategic Council on Intellectual Property was created in 2002 to transition Japan from an industrial-based economy to an intellectual property-based economy, one of its major goals was to capitalize on this rapidly growing domestic industry (Arai, 2005).
            The goals of the Japan Brand can be summarized in two points. First, it aims to use the popularity of otaku entertainment products and Japan's “gross national cool” to expand the market for other Japanese products. This stands in stark contrast to the post-war policy of creating products divested of 'cultural odor' in order to be accepted more readily by as many international markets as possible (Lu, 2008). The Japan Brand attempts to provide a shared sense of “Japaneseness” to diverse products such as electronics, apparel, food, and automobiles.
            Second, the Japan Brand aims to leverage Japan's “soft power” to support its diplomatic interest abroad. It attempts to shape international perception of Japan by presenting a unified cultural narrative which appeals to popular media narratives already being eagerly sought out by foreign consumers. Examples of this include setting up a “Nobel Prize of Manga” and appointing Doraemon as “manga ambassador.”
            But it is one thing to appoint a cartoon cat as ambassador and quite another to navigate the intricacies of the otaku marketplace. Who are otaku? What motivates their consumer behavior? Is the consumer behavior of Japanese otaku the same as that of, say, American consumers of otaku products? As a somewhat marginalized segment of Japanese society, otaku occupy an in-between, uncertain state; admired for their economic power, yet subjected to stereotyping and surface-level pronouncements of “otaku are like this...”
             The modern history of the word “otaku” began as a polite second-person pronoun used at the prestigious Keio Gijuku Yochisa Primary School. Animators at Studio Nue, many of whom graduated from this school, used it in their seminal anime Super Dimensional Fortress Macross and it quickly became a popular term in the Japanese Science Fiction convention circuit (Okada 3).
            Science Fiction and anime fan's frequent use of the word otaku led to it becoming a label for the culture and self-description for its fans. The infamous serial murders of Tsutomu Miyazaki, and their subsequent media coverage as “otaku crimes” led to the negative connotations of the term - associations with social and sexual deviancy (ibid 6). It is a complex term, implying the consumption of products such as anime and video games but also a separation from mainstream Japanese culture that can sometimes take a sinister tone.
            In its current usage, the term otaku primarily refers to a strong emotional relation to certain forms of media – primarily anime, manga, and video games. While non-otaku also consume these forms of media, otaku have a stronger affective bond with them, viewing them as central to their lives. 
            Otaku” is sometimes still used as a pejorative term, but it is above all a self-description. Though it started as a second-person pronoun, it is now a first-person identity. For otaku, anime, video games, and so on are not simply works of art that exist outside of the self, but part of their central self-definition. As Azuma points out, one of the primary criteria for otaku in judging media is whether or not “it made me cry,” or to rephrase, “whether or not I felt an emotional connection with it.”
            Which brings us to Azuma Hiroki. One of the first serious attempts to get beyond surface-level stereotypes of otaku was Azuma's Dōbutsuka suru posutonmodan: otaku kara mita nihon shakai, or roughly translated, “Animalizing Postmoderns: Japanese Society as Seen by Otaku.” Instead parroting social stereotypes of otaku, it attempted an academic understanding of what the otaku subculture means for post-modern Japan.
            The book was an instant best seller, with over 16 re-printings in Japan and translations in French, Korean, and English. Released in 2001, three years before the establishment of the Japan Brand program, the book struck a nerve with a society that was struggling with understanding this complex, divisive, and economically significant subculture. It remains the only Japanese academic book on the otaku subculture to receive an English translation.[i]

            In it, Azuma lays out what he calls the “Database Consumption Model,” which has formed the basis of most subsequent writings on the otaku subculture, Japanese and Western. Azuma argues that the otaku subculture and Database Consumption have arisen in response to changes in Japanese society, changes in how people relate to themselves and to the world around them. These changes are not limited to the otaku subculture but rather impact Japanese society as a whole. 

            This is why I care about Hiroki Azuma: because by understanding the otaku subculture, we can come to a greater understanding of what it means to live in a post-modern society.

            Over the course of this series, we will be taking a look at the Database Consumption Model, the philosophy behind it, alternate models of otaku-ness, alternate models of post-modern consumption, and how Azuma’s theories relate to specific products and subcultures.

Next: [DC 002] What is Database Consumption and Why Should I Care?



[i] As Otaku: Japan's Database Animals. If you know of another Japanese academic book on otaku to get an English translation, please let me know!

[Database Consumption] Series Hub

            Today, I'm starting a series on Azuma Hiroki and Database Consumption. This is not a ground-shaking announcement, since pretty much every series I've started on here has referenced Azuma at least once. But that's why I'm doing this - I talk about Azuma a lot, so I want to do the legwork of an in-depth examination.

             Parts of this series have
been adapted from my graduate thesis, but this material has been greatly revised and expanded. I consider my thesis obsolete at this point. Depressing, since it's less than a year old, but whatever.

            I basically have three goals for this series: 1). Explain Azuma's work, 2). Compare it with other critics, 3). Compare it to a company in the
otaku market (in this case, Kaiyodo
). Azuma's work is very consumer-centric (not that this is a bad thing), but changes in consumption require responses in production. By looking at how companies respond to Azuma's animalization, we get a better picture of the role of capital and technology in the otaku industry.

            If there is a critic or company you'd like me to address, leave a comment! I can't promise to respond quickly, but I will definitely take your input into consideration as the series moves on.

            Here's my tentative outline:

Part One: Azuma and Database Consumption
[001] Who is Azuma Hiroki (and Why Should I Care?)
[002] What is Database Consumption (and Where Did it Come From?)
[003] Azuma vs. Hegel: Defining History
[004] Azuma vs. Okada: Defining Otaku
[005] Azuma vs. Allison: Polymorphous Perversity
[006] Azuma vs. Lukács: Affective Elements in Trendy Dramas
[007] Database Consumption Summary

Part Two: Kaiyodo Case Study
[008] A History of Kaiyodo
[009] Azuma vs. Kaiyodo: Technology, Capital, and Toys
[010] Pixar's Woody: Normativity in Toy Story
[011] Sci-Fi Revoltech Series No. 010 Woody: Plastic Databases
[012] Creepy Woody: Polymorphous Perversity
[013] Conclusion

In an effort to be a more conscious critic, I'm going to actual provide a bibliography:

Allison, Anne. Millennial Monsters: Japanese Toys and the Global Imagination. Berkeley: University of California, 2006. Print.

Arai, H. (2005) Intellectual Property Strategy in Japan. International Journal of Intellectual
Property
.Vol. 5, No. 12.

Azuma, Hiroki. Otaku: Japan's Database Animals. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 2009. Print.

Daliot-Bul, M. (2009) Japan Brand Strategy: The Taming of 'Cool Japan' and the Challenges of
Cultural Planning in a Postmodern Age
. Social Science Japan Journal Vol. 12, No. 2.           Oxford University Press.

Eko No Tanteidan (2013). Kūru Japan Kasegeru No? Nihon Keizai Shinbun 03/23/2013.

FGI Report. (2010)
Asia Trend Map.
http://www.meti.go.jp/english/report/downloadfiles/201005asian_trend_f.pdf


Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, Arnold V. Miller, and J. N. Findlay. Phenomenology of Spirit.        Oxford: Clarendon, 1977. Print.

Ishiguro, N. (2004) Lecture given on Japanese Animation: Still Pictures, Moving Minds course,
MIT, 10 May.


Leonard, Sean. Progress against the Law: Anime and Fandom, with the Key to the Globalization   of Culture. International Journal of Cultural Studies 8.3 (2005): 281-305. Print.

Lu, A. (2008) The Many Face of Internationalization in Japanese Anime. Animation: An
Interdisciplinary Journal
Vol. 2, No, 2.SAGE Publications, London, Thousand Oaks, CA.

Lukács, Gabriella. Scripted Affects, Branded Selves: Television, Subjectivity, and Capitalism in       1990s Japan. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2010. Print.

McKevitt, A. (2010) “You Are Not Alone!”: Anime and the Globalizing of America. Diplomatic
History,
Vol. 34, No.5. Wiley Periodicals, Malden, MA.


Miyawaki, Osamu. Tsukurumono wa yozora ni kirameku hoshi no sū hodo mugen ni aru -            Kaiyodo monogatari. Tokyo: Kōdansha, 2003. Print.

Miyawaki, Shūichi. Sōkeishūdan: Kaiyodō no hassō. Tokyo: Kōbunsha, 2002. Print.

Okada, Toshio. Otakugaku nyūmon. Tokyo: Shinchosha, 1996. Print.

Okada, Toshio. Otaku wa sude ni shindeiru. Tokyo: Shinchosha, 2008. Print.

Ōtsuka, Eiji. Teihon Monogatari Shōhiron. N.p.: Kadokawa, 2001. Print.

Tēkoku Databank. Kabushiki kaisha Kaiyodo. Nikkē Telecom 21. Tēkoku Databank Kigyō   Jōhō, n.d. Web. 16 Apr. 2014.

Friday, January 2, 2015

[Idle Speculation] Persona 5 and the Red Book

                In an interview with Persona Magazine, Persona 5’s Director Katsuro Hashino said that the ‘theme color’ for the upcoming game would be red, as Persona 4’s theme color was yellow and Persona 3’s was blue. Now, I don’t want to engage in irresponsible speculation or anything, but this may be the most exciting choice in video game narrative ever.

                Let me tell you why.

                It’s no secret that the Persona games draw heavily from Jungian psychology, starting with the term “Persona,” which is kind of a thing in Jungian psychology.

                I don’t want this post to devolve into a regurgitation of Jungian psychology. There are people (and Wikipedia pages) way more qualified than me to do that. Still, we can probably spare time for a quick recap: Jung believed that all stories, myths, and religions could be traced back to subconscious Archetypes. Human stories (rather, the human subconscious) follow these inborn Archetypal patterns, populating them with archetypal figures (the Shadow, the Light Mother, Dark Father, Anima, and Animus) and patterns (the Joining of Opposites, the Quest, Destroying the Monster).

                One example is tarot cards – the reason they seem to predict the future is that they distill these Archetypes into cards, which, when shuffled and distributed randomly, appear to create a story. The target of the reading can easily project their own past, present, and future onto the cards because they all represent the basics of the human experience. The cards cannot tell the future, but the target’s subconscious can project its Archetypal future onto them.

                The significance of tarot cards is one thing Persona fans will find familiar – the “shuffle” of tarot cards at the end of battle is where you receive your new Personas. From the unconscious, non-rational shuffle emerges specific Archetypal figures drawn from stories, myths, and religions. These base Personas which emerge from the unconscious are then “rationalized” through fusion and become more powerful. The balance of unconscious figures and conscious decision work together to make your character more powerful and give him/her a “future.”

                So why am I so stoked about red?

                In 1913, Jung experienced what would be the first of many visionary experiences. These visions, which included both visible and audible hallucinations, were the real-life personal experiences which birthed Jungian psychology. They were the source material of his theory of Archetypes. Jung did not theorize about the existence of archetypes in his writing; he was describing what he had seen. Much like J.R.R. Tolkien’s real-life conversations with elves, Jung had the rare experience of interacting with subconscious figures while his conscious mind was still awake.

                Jung recorded transcripts of these experiences from the very start, but in 1915 he began collecting these accounts into illustrated leather-bound folio. For around 15 years, Jung worked on transcribing his notes into the form of illuminated manuscripts in a leather-bound folio: The Red Book.
BWAAAAAAAAHHHHHH.

                Jung himself described his visionary experiences and his efforts to record them into The Red Book (aka Liber Novus) as “the most important time of my life…My entire life consisted in elaborating what had burst forth from the unconscious and flooded me like an enigmatic stream and threatened to break me…Everything later was merely the outer classification, scientific elaboration, and the integration into life.”

                Okay, so Jung’s diary was pretty important to him. Why is this so exciting for Persona 5 in particular?

                Unlike Jung’s other work on the subconscious, The Red Book was never published. Jung abandoned work on it in 1930 - about two thirds of the visions described in the original notebooks never received finished versions. It is doubtful that Jung ever intended it to be published. During his life, he only showed it to a small group of intimate friends, and after his death his family denied all requests to view it. A small portion of it, titled Seven Sermons to the Dead, was distributed to certain friends and colleagues during Jung's lifetime but never the bulk of the work.

                Jung’s public work and personal correspondence make mention of The Red Book, and Jungian psychologist have long known of its importance to Jung’s life and work. It is a sort of Rosetta Stone of Archetypes – Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about the Subconscious (But Jung Wouldn’t Tell You). For around 50 years, the key to understanding the work of one of the most important figures of the 20th century was hidden from public view. Like the Archetypes locked inside the subconscious mind, it was locked away in a bank vault, sleeping.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."

               
During this time, Atlus was publishing what I consider to be some of the greatest high concept games of all time. Now, the term “high concept game” is a loaded one. As gamers, we’re used to associating games with big M “Messages” with pseudo-intellectual claptrap (*cough* Metal Gear *cough*) and art school kid games that are needlessly obtuse (*cough* Braid *cough*). Every now and then there’s a
Bioshock that seamlessly blends the medium and the message (its sequels, however, can go straight to hell), but on the whole Message Games are as ham-fisted in their delivery as Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing.

Booker DeWitt Teaches Stereotyping

                Atlus has consistently dodged these pitfalls. While the Shin Megami series spends a lot of time retreading old ground in terms of game mechanics and plot elements (demon fusion, check; ability to kill God, check), they tell stories that blend medium and message seamlessly and consistently spark meaningful discussion. Atlus may reuse game mechanics, monster designs, and plot elements, but just like the Archetypes they represent, they use these base elements to tell new stories. Each game reshuffles the deck and deals out a new hand of psychologically rooted characters, beautiful art direction, and finely tuned game mechanics. And the last hand they dealt was an indisputable winner.

                Persona 4 came out on the PS2 in Japan in 2008 and steadfastly refused to die. It went on to spawn a slow-building miniature media empire – anime, comics, side games, a remake for the Vita, and a bewildering array of merchandise. It struck a chord, a deep psychological cord which resonated without reference to language or culture. The beautiful thing about the story of Persona 4 is that it could happen in any small town. Sure, references to Japanese culture abound even in the translation, but the psychological Archetypes represented by its characters are universal.

                But in a way, it is unfortunate that Atlus finished Persona 4 in 2008. If they had waited just one more year, they would have had access to the most influential work to never be read.

                In 2009, with the permission of Jung’s family and funding from the Philemon Foundation, a facsimile reproduction of the Red Book was finally released to the public. It is a monster of a book, weighing in at almost 9 pounds and retailing for around $150 US. Still, a few measly hundred dollars is a small price to pay for the book many academics would have chewed their own arms off to get a look at for 50 years.

10 or 20 years ago, Psychologists would have fought to the death to see this image.
                I am now venturing into the realm of pure speculation, but I can only assume that the team at Atlus was just as excited as all other lovers of Jung to gain access to the Red Book. They’ve had about six years now to pour over its contents (a Japanese version of the Red Book is not available, but there is an excellent Japanese reader’s companion). And now, Persona 5 is going to be Red.

                Is Atlus just moving through the primary colors, or is this a hint that Persona 5 is taking advantage of an unparalleled step forward in our understanding of Jung? I don’t know, but I am excited. It opens up a lot of possibilities, from a narrative which draws on the real-life visionary experiences of Jung to monster designs inspired by his lavish illustrations.


"Would you summon me? I'd summon me."
 
                It may be going too far to claim the Persona series is a Jungian psychology simulator. I mean, the original Persona does open with a group of high school students playing a game called "Persona" that unleashes the repressed powers of their subconscious, but whatever. Maybe I'm reading too much into that. The point is, Atlus has done amazing things with what Jung was available. I can't wait to see what they can do with the mother lode.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

[BoRT Dec. 2014] Moral Valet+: Hegelian Cynicism and Gaming

This post was written for the December 2014 Blogs of the Round Table

                “Since, in the action as such, the doer attains to a vision of himself in objectivity…the inner aspect is judged to be an urge to secure his own happiness…Thus, for the judging consciousness, there is no action in which it could not oppose to the universal aspect of the action, the personal aspect of the individuality, and play the part of the moral valet towards the agent.”

                -Hegel, The Phenomenology of Spirit

                I gave up on this month’s Blogs of the Round Table.

               
What is there to say about New Game+ that hasn’t been said a thousand times before? I had no ideas. The only concept I could come up with was digging an old game out of the closet and starting a New Game+, but I frankly couldn’t be bothered. I only ever play a New Game+ for one reason: unlocking content I missed in my first playthrough.


               
Then I read this excellent piece by Phill of Tim and Phill Talk About Video Games and it all fell into place. Why I hate New Game+. Why so many games bore me to tears. How I play video games and why it precludes making multiple playthroughs only to unlock new content.


                Let’s take it back a step. When I play games with story-path choices, I always take the path that best reflects how I, personally, would respond to the situation. If that conflicts with the story’s morality system, so be it. I don’t care if Infamous saves its best powers for those who stick only to “Good” choices or “Evil” choices; if I disagree with the game’s definition of good and evil, I will defy it. I try to follow the dictates of my own moral system in each situation even if it means losing out on some rewards and content.
                This particularly comes into play with Visual Novels (Katawa Shoujo and Hate+ spring to mind) and games that borrow heavily from this genre (Persona 4). By the end of the first playthrough, I know what choices I would have made, for better or for worse. I have responded to the game honestly and have seen myself reflected in the eyes of the creator. Sometimes my choices conflict with the narrative and I get a Bad Ending, but it is my Bad Ending, the path that I chose.

                Some people like to power game, working with FAQs and walkthroughs to achieve maximum power over the game from the start. This is perfectly valid for those who enjoy playing this way, but I feel that walkthroughs rob me of immersion, of the option to interact with the game on a serious, emotionally involved level. To power game is to play cynically, to view the game as an aggregate of mathematical formulas to be exploited instead of a world to be inhabited.

                When I play a New Game+, I am my own walkthrough. I know the choices that I would make. All that remains is either to re-experience that same narrative or to cynically make alternate choices in order to see something new. But it is no longer my choice, no longer my narrative. The experience of New Game+ is either redundant or frustrating.

                Phill describes a similar frustration, the frustration of genre savviness. When you already know how the game is going to play out, it becomes difficult to view the game as anything but a set of numbers to be manipulated. The total aggregate of my gaming experience becomes a walkthrough and ruins immersion in advance. The game cannot be taken seriously when I can only view it as a game, as a human-made construct instead of a “true” living world. I am an alienated, cynical moral valet towards the game, not a true believer.

                In The Phenomenology of Spirit, Hegel describes the “moral valet” as an alienated individual[i] who is no longer convinced of the authenticity of action in moral systems. As the saying goes, “No man is a hero to his own valet.” While the public persona of an individual may be a hero who upholds a universal law, the valet sees the selfish individual motives behind the façade. He cleans up after the hero, cooks his meals and prepares his clothes, hears the back-room conversations of the powerful contrasted with the moral rhetoric presented to the public.
                For the moral valet, all systems of morality and truth are mere human constructs. Religion is a lie, art is empty, and ethics is a con game. Laws exist only to protect the interests of the rich and powerful – there is no eternal moral truth, only what we can get away with. Anyone who claims to be upholding moral truth is either deluded or a liar.

                Oddly enough, the moral valet finds moral superiority in rejecting human-made morality. “At least I am not propping up the façade, at least I am not playing the game. Others may continue to lie and delude themselves, but I will not participate.” Of course, when asked why they refuse to participate, the moral valet has no answer. If all morality is constructed, there is no reason not to use it for your own advancement. The moral valet has no logical answer, only defiance; a sort of “courage in the face of nothing.”

                Why not play games cynically? I have no good answer. While I might oppose approaching society, ethics, and justice as arbitrary concepts in real life, a video game is, after all, only a game. It does not matter if justice is served in a video game. It does not matter if my character’s morality is a truly held belief or a cynical manipulation of a human-made system.

                And yet, I must have courage. I maintain the Self in defiance of systems. I am driven to respond openly and honestly to games in the same way that I respond to real-world systems. There is an element of selfishness in this (this is how I most enjoy playing the game), but the same could be said of real-world ethics. I prefer to live in an ethical world because it is so much nicer over here.

                The line between game and reality begins to blur. I only enjoy both the game and life when the hard choice is made, when power is sacrificed for truth. Even if the system is rigged and I can extract more rewards by cynically exploiting the faith of others, I refuse. Maybe the system is human-made, but that does not make it unimportant.
                So what if game systems are at heart cynical mathematical formulas? By responding to them in a real way, I make them more real. By upholding morality, I make morality more real. Even if truth is human-made, that only means that it can be made true by humans.

                I still don’t like playing New Game+-es (New Games+?). They seem intended to extract something that does not interest me out of video games. If I want to see an alternate ending, I’ll watch it on YouTube. But I think more can be done than simply trashing the system, and I think Phill hits on part of the solution when he describes his efforts to develop games himself. Don’t like the system? Make a new one. Change the rules of the game.
                Why should playing a New Game+ mean retreading through the same old branching choices that were there the first time? Persona 4 has something like this – there are dialogue options that can only be chosen on a second playthrough.[ii] Ideally, a New Game+ should offer more than the option to plow through the game faster to see all the endings. It should add to the game experience, not just carry over an old game’s stats and items.

               
After all, what narrative justification is there for New Game+? How does it make sense that the first playthrough affected the main character but left the rest of the world intact? Wouldn’t it be great to play a New Game+ where you took the role of Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day, knowing information in advance and taking advanced steps to thwart the villain’s schemes? Many games already put the protagonist in the position of Messiah – why not Prophet?


                There is no reason why a New Game+ has to be boring – or even the same game. Mechanically speaking, New Game+ just involves creating a save file which carries over information from a previous playthrough. So a New Game+ could be an entirely new scenario, plus information from an old game.
                I’m just brainstorming here, but maybe the first playthrough of a game is set in a feudal society and the New Game+ throws the same characters into a contemporary setting. The overall plot may be the same, but how does swapping out the time period change the morality of your choices? Can you support an absolute monarchy in the 21st century? Is it as easy to slaughter Orcs who wear t-shirts and jeans instead of jagged plate mail?

                Maybe the hero from the first playthrough is the evil dictator in the New Game+. “You either die a hero or live to see yourself become the villain” and all that. Or maybe you play as the villain who has to work against yourself in the first game, the hero who is becoming progressively more powerful as your loyal troops are decimated for experience points. There is no reason to fall into the cynical position that New Game+ only exists to pad out play time. It can just as easily be an engaging part of the narrative.
                Cynicism only ruins games when you let it. If you approach game design as a checklist of market-tested mechanics and designs, you will make a boring game. If you approach game play as a checklist of systems to be manipulated, you will have a boring time.

                The moral valet only cares what games are in the most physical sense of ones and zeros. The cynic sees something that can never have a meaning greater than itself. To be a true believer in games is to push their limits beyond what they are into what they can be. Stepping beyond cynicism is the only way to make truth, to recognize others, to find the Self.

                So go out there and make something better - fire your Moral Valet.

Previous BoRTs:

[BoRT Nov. 2014] Lebensraum and Ichsraum: Self-Portrait in Civilization 4
[BoRT Oct. 2014] The Mask of Sanity: Persona 4 as a Psychopathy Simulator
 




[i] Hegel uses the term “moral valet” both for an aspect of self-consciousness that doubts the universality of actions and for individuals that doubt the universality of actions (universality here meaning that a particular action is taken from duty to a universal moral principle instead of selfish, personal desires). For the current article, I’m going to stick primarily with the moral valet in the second sense but I’m adding this note because misrepresenting Hegel is where angels fear tread.
[ii] Specifically: certain dialogue choices require a high stat in Courage or Empathy. Since it is impossible to raise that stat high enough fast enough on the first playthrough, they can only be accessed in New Game+.