A Belated Response to Assorted Moral
Criticisms of the NES
Author: Mike Craig
Of late, though not for any
particular reason, I’ve been reminded of one of Dave Barry’s old columns. Around
the turn of the decade, Barry leapt head first onto the bandwagon of ex-hippie
parents and provincial congressmen who thought it necessary to deride, defame,
and debase the NES. He called it “mindless”, and otherwise promoted the notion
that it was an addictive, destructive agent that would wipe out the potential of
an entire generation to make a difference.
Well, time has gone by. The
NES has gone from the public’s pedestals to its closets, pawn shops, and, in the
case of certain thoroughly misguided individuals, waste baskets. That in mind, a
rebuttal of past moralistic attacks upon the system seems untimely. However, it
troubles me that the “moral majority” has hitherto gone unchallenged on this
issue. What they said may not have been acted upon by anybody of real influence,
but it remains, in my view, a jutting thorn on the rosebush of
NES-preservationism, nourished by the Miracle-Gro of critical misinformation
(wow, I sure can milk a metaphor). I expect this sort of fabrication from
partisan politicians, but it pains me to recall that a man I regard as our day’s
greatest satirist has both bought into and defended these half-truths.
As a society, we have latched onto the notion of ascribing profoundness
to a select group of mediums -- poetry, prose, drama, film, visual art
(sketching, painting, sculpture, etching), and music. Frankly, this view
resembles segregation to me. Moreover, as one who has been moved both to
epiphany and emotion by television (assumed poster child for all things vapid
and unintellectual) and video games, it strikes me as illogical. The only
difference between television and print is that, in dealing with print,
moralists see only classical literature, and in dealing with television, they
see only daytime trash. For every Monica’s Story and topless lounge there
is a Jerry Springer Show and a Tomb Raider; but likewise, for
every Huck Finn and Midsummer Night’s Dream there is a Final
Fantasy III and a Taxi (okay, so that comparison is a reach -- my
point is that no medium is entirely genius or entirely crap). The creators of
art (and yes, I am calling video games “art”) do not confine profundity to a
fixed list of forms, powerful individuals with no self-originating comprehension
of artistic meaning do, and the majority listens to the latter group because
they are more prevalently audible. What Thoreau called our "wise minority" (in
this case, the creators of profound video games/television programs) is content
to produce its work for those who appreciate it, and let the backwards puritans
dump on it all they like. This manner of discipline is commendable, but I’ve
observed that complacency has allowed the dictatorial message to infiltrate the
views of many gaming enthusiasts, including certain retro gamers (“It’s just
a video game, man -- lighten up.”) Would we not be goaded to correct a
person who saw Moby Dick as nothing more than a story about whaling?
Well, I may be acting out of sheer arrogance (knowing me, that probably is the
long and the short of it), but I feel obligated to defend classic videogaming
against the many myths that, in its heyday, surrounded it.
Perhaps it is
ironic that I -- a self-proclaimed opponent of contemporary gaming -- should
defend the medium at this time. Maybe the points I will make can be plausibly
used to defend the era I so dislike. But I don’t principally object to modern
games on moral grounds; I object to them on aesthetic grounds. Thus, I’m not all
that concerned with the possibility of people using this article as a defense of
modern gaming. My impugn of that is reserved for another editorial. My intention
here is to vindicate the NES from the dogmatists who called it corruptive
(though I’ll probably just end up making an ass of myself.) If I seem to espouse
modern gaming in the process, there’s nothing I can do about that.
Myth I: “Video games engender violent behavior”
Nobody
denies that video games contain violence. Moreover, some, like Bryan Cord, have
no qualms about proclaiming their love of “killing” digitized baddies (and to be
frank, I’m one of them.) Of course, the people who propound the above “myth”
aren’t concerned with people of Cord’s or my age. The question centers around
what harmful effects might stem from the exposure of young children to this
“brutality.”
However, one must recognize that the violence evident in
video games (at least on the NES) exists for task purposes. The principle that
spawned all shoot-em-up, beat-em-up, and other action games was the development
of reflexes, not the destruction of “enemies.” But critics believed, even at the
time of the NES, that the violence had escalated beyond that point -- that it
was so real as to encourage children to settle all their problems with violence
and only with violence.
Schoolyard fighting, however, is almost as old
as elementary school. Young children may be impressionable, but, saliently in
this case, they are undeveloped. (I do not mean to insult children or the beauty
of childhood, but reason at that age is very fundamental.) Children have trouble
differentiating between severe and slight injury, so they cry almost as much at
a skinned knee as a broken one. By the same token, rage leads to violence -- be
it violent screaming, a kick in the shin of an adult, or wrestling on the grass
-- at this age. Some children react and aree inclined more in this way than
others; many are not at all. This is simply a part of diverse emotional
development -- adult reason may not be evident from birth, but individuality is.
Also, there is the age-old argument of NES violence not being “real.”
Looking back upon my youth, I do not recall I or any of my friends being
compelled to harm one another because Mega Man shot some yellow ellipses into a
robotic frog that summarily blew up in a yellowish-white circle; because a bunch
of words suggested that a sword had been thrust through a giant scorpion;
because we blasted off and struck the evil Bydo Empire (sorry Bryan, I just love
that so much); or because a walking mushroom was leapt upon. This is the main
reason I so dislike modern gaming -- the action, like the rest of many such
games, has lost its whimsy to realism. Take Mortal Kombat -- the game has
virtually no setting, no fluidity, and no point other than mutilating the other
guy in a thoroughly realistic (if exaggerated) fashion. I suspect that the above
myth has become validated with the “evolution” of gaming -- that the violence
has become an end in itself, and risen by way of its realism into the proverbial
danger zone.
Anyway, after a time, the potential ramifications of
violent behavior make themselves known to all but the deranged, and the concept
of diplomacy enters the human repertoire of skills. The importance of this point
is that it is here that NES violence becomes a personal release. Frustrated
individuals can allow all their stresses to flow from their own minds and bodies
into two red buttons and a game of Street Fighter 2010 or Kung Fu
-- or whatever they prefer. (This may not wwork for everyone, but it’s been
stated so often that I think it’s at least viable.) Childhood violence is, in
most cases, transient -- and in those in which it’s not, the problem more likely
stems from an inherent psychological/physiological dysfunction than the fact
that the individual in question enjoyed beating the dickens out of Bald Bull in
his/her youth.
It is also worth noting that several video game genres --
game show conversions, puzzles, certain RPGs (Princess Tomato in the Salad
Kingdom is a good game, dammit), and most sports games -- contain, at the
very least, no non-athletic violence. Thus, those who still aren’t convinced
that NES combat is/was benign (and most probably aren’t -- I don’t think I was
that persuasive) can always confine their children/themselves to these genres.
Myth II: “Video games kill imagination”
With the recent
increase in the interactive capabilities of modern toys (“My Interactive Pooh”,
etc.), many have come to question the state of creativity among the nation’s
youth. Legos are championed as the last bastion of “incomplete”* entertainment
-- toys that necessitate imagination, creattivity, and childlike idealism to
complete the experience -- that can’t create a complete social world in and of
themselves. This criticism, however, truly originated a while ago. The
popularity of the NES concerned quite a few people. They feared that children
were losing not only their imagination, but their intellectual capacity, to the
gray box -- citing on some eighty thousand occasions a “mesmerized” look that
came over children when they played. Fire-and-brimstone admonitions followed
quickly behind (“Your children are becoming zombies! Repent and believe in the
doll house!”) and the result was epidemic fear of the NES. To this day, purist
parents refuse to have anything to do with the Nintendo Corporation (though with
the N64, that’s starting to make a little more sense), as they worry it will rob
young children of the imagination a bunch of peg-nippled pieces of plastic could
supposedly better provide (I actually like Legos quite a lot, so don’t get the
wrong idea.)
Reflecting upon my own experience, I just can’t see the
logic behind that claim. In my youth (I don’t know what age group people are
worried about, though), I and my friends would engage in that well-known
practice of "playing pretend" -- but with a slightly less pedestrian, Brady
Bunch-esque backstory than most (conjecture what you will of my attention
span, or ability to accept reality, but I always found “house” simulations
perfectly boring -- even before I had played the NES). We would create
innumerable stories centering around both the worlds of established video games,
and fantasy-like locales completely of our own origination (the stories weren’t
all violent either, wise-ass.) In addition, I would, on my own time, create and
act out elaborate character dialogues for action games, and bring RPG journeys
into the third dimension, expanding many of the interchanges that took place
(especially the “entering the inn” scenario -- that fascinated me for some
reason). I did the same with my own stories -- not all of which were epics --
and depicted them, tapestry-style, in a series of notebooks. All of my friends
did similar things, brimming with the idealism of childhood and fervently aware
of the potential of all people for heroism. The NES didn’t destroy our
creativity; if anything, it augmented it.
Now, it’s possible that
contemporary games do too good a job of representing reality -- that they
complete the picture without calling for any audience extrapolation. If that is
the case, it’s a terrible shame, but I can still not justify the notion that
all video games sap human creativity -- not so long as I am aware (at the
risk of seeming sappy) of the contribution the NES has made to the individual I
presently am (though considering the fact that we are talking about me here,
Nintendo might not want to be associated with that. I still don’t see the NES as
having produced any detriments to my imagination, though.)
*Contrary to the word’s connotation, this isn’t intended as
a pejorative term.
Myth III: "Video
games are mindless"
I’d like to know just what these critics mean by
"mindless", and why, in the overdriven society of 1990s America, a bit of mental
down time is such a horrible thing. We, as a culture, have become fixated on
being at the zenith of civilization to the extreme that contentment is regarded
as evidence that an individual has too little to do. Is happiness no longer of
value? Must children meet with constant intellectual rigor in order to fulfill
some vague ideal, whether they find it enjoyable or not? Where is the value of
fun in all this?
It is not as though I’m suggesting that children run
out and join gangs because they believe that would be “fun” -- I’m talking about
video games here. Granting the premise that they are “mindless” (with which,
obviously, I don’t agree), I still cannot see the grandeur of a child who never
learns the importance of kicking back, relaxing, and enjoying him/herself in a
manner reflective of his/her individuality. If the given person does not like
video games, that is fine, but we cannot dismiss a viable and usually harmless
medium of leisure simply because it doesn’t fit into this eugenic jigsaw puzzle
that is all too loomingly evident (”Oh Dief, just take some Soma and shut
up.”)*
If the NES truly does/did dissolve human intelligence, and
make “zombies” of its patrons, though, that is another matter. However, a survey
of the classic gaming webscene almost entirely disproves that theory. Witness,
to name a few, Kurt Kalata, Bryan Cord, Nick Beckius, Tim Connolly, Jeff
Nussbaum, Rob Strangman, and |tsr -- they are all thoroughly intelligent; they
are all unique and versatile individuals; they are all marvelous company; and,
this is the kicker, they all love to play classic video games, and have loved to
do so from childhood -- even those of the “mindless” variety (shooters,
beat-em-up, action, etc.) Obviously, these people have not been irreparably
damaged by the NES, and there are countless more like them.
This entire
issue truthfully boils down to a matter of semantics. Certain games do not
employ a huge degree of high-level thought -- are, to generalize, “mindless”,
even though a quota of reaction and intuition is necessary to complete them --
and that has come to be considered dangerously addictive. Yet, all great human
interests can be technically categorized as “addictions.” If an individual spent
much of his free time reading classic works, society would not call that person
a “literature addict.” The difference lies in cultural agreement. To repeat
myself, literature is considered by those in power an enriching and poignant
medium (which I staunchly believe it is); NES games are not. Yet, while not all
video games are poignant, many have the potential to be enriching -- whether as
an agent of “unwinding”, through the possibility of observation, or, in the case
of those with involving stories, in a manner markedly similar to the literary
experience. The key, as with all other forms of entertainment, is to avoid
becoming a passive or apathetic receiver (unless one is simply trying to relax
and has no interest in being enriched, which, contrary to the way it sounds, is
equally valid.) Acute viewer observation allows videogaming to transcend its
“mindless” image. The experience is, in some cases, quite unlike other forms of
entertainment, but not wholly inferior.
* Okay, so we do have a long way to go before we become that
dehumanized.
(Not Really A) Myth
IV: “Video games cause eye strain”
Any attempt to disprove this
would make a liar of me. I guess not even bureaucrats are wrong all the
time, though some of them exaggerate this.
But let’s have a little fun
twisting philosophical logic and getting completely off the subject. After all
that posturing rebuttal, even I’m bored.
Existence is, in itself,
straining on the eyes (except for the blind). Every time we look, we exert our
vision, and all art other than music demands to be looked at. So, by seeing too
much art, we put ourselves at the risk of blindness. In other words, being
pedantic for a long period of time ruins our ability to truly see. After all,
when we interpret many things for an imposed duration, most of us eventually
start coming back to the same conclusions, and put ourselves on the rack of
redundancy. At this point, art loses its meaning to our weary heads -- and the
necessity of rest comes into play. The only trouble is that this sort of
eye/mind strain builds exponentially over time, and can’t be alleviated with one
night’s rest (even if taken at one of the inns in Dragon Warrior.) So the
civilized interpretation of art becomes a self-repeating endeavor. But then,
this comes back to the malady of seeing too much -- after all, “civilized” life
consists mostly of universal truths of our own silliness, which, if we delve
successfully into what we call “profoundness”, we humble ourselves by
discovering. The result, in most cases, is that we find out something we didn’t
especially want to know.
“All art is quite useless.” -Oscar Wilde
Now how was that for pointless chatter?
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