I had a fascinating conversation with my one of my professors Thursday.
She is always a treat to speak to, and this day was no different. Yet as interesting as discussing the finer points of philosophy can be, it will always be usurped by the mid-evening need for pizza and french fries. My mind’s thirst for intellectual nourishment slowly lost ground to the growling demands of my vacant stomach, and in accordance with my physiological needs, I trudged across campus to the university dining hall.
While my dinners are usually a solo affair, I was pleasantly surprised to find a few friends and acquaintances had also just answered their bellies’ call to action. We gathered at a dimly lit corner table and, as always, began discussing the most indispensable component of college life:
Video games.
As is perhaps the case in most college dining halls, paramount early in our discussions were comments easily summarized as “Call of Duty 4 split-screen this, Halo 3 online that.” But later, between insightful quips about the industry, specific consoles and gaming trends, our conversation shifted into a discussion of the best games of the last few years. And as I listened to grandiose proclamations about the greatness of Heavenly Sword and Assassin’s Creed, I recalled my earlier philosophical discussion and made a profound realization:
They were wrong. Indubitably, irrefutably, unquestionably wrong.
“Whoa, Andy,” some of you may reply. “Maybe to them, Assassin’s Creed is one of the best games ever. To each their own, right?”
And you wouldn’t be alone with that belief. Many argue the concept of a “bad game” is inherently broken, and what defines a “bad game,” or even a “good game” for that matter, is entirely based on personal preference. For example, these folks might point out that while Katie J. Fragger considers one DS game awful, Johnny B. Gamer may feel it is the best game in years. In philosophy, subjectivism maintains the value of a given variable – perhaps an object, ethical view or, in our case, video game – is wholly determined by the individual. Like the cliché “one man’s junk is another man’s treasure,” subjectivists argue a person can never be wrong about a value judgment.
For consumers, subjectivism is an easy and seemingly logical means to assess the value of games, essentially allowing them to justifiably label any game they enjoy as a “good game.” So pervasive is this view, it seems, that a rising movement of subjectivists has negated the validity of the journalists and critics who serve them, suggesting gaming journalists are nothing more than hype-inducing amateurs who cannot be taken seriously. But my criticisms of subjectivism are not entirely focused on this pervasive view of gaming journalism.
Rather, I take issue with the assertion that a given game’s value can be decided simply by whether or not someone likes it.
For a moment, consider the fundamental basis of the subjectivist argument. Is someone who sings the praises of Super Mario Galaxyreally assessing its value no more accurately than a person who calls it Nintendo’s worst effort of all time? What about Katie J. Fragger, who tells Johnny B. Gamer that Ubisoft’s universally panned Red Steel is the best Wii game to date?
What if someone insists Chicken Shoot is a better shooter than Metroid Prime 3 simply because s/he liked it more? Are we actually willing to grant the subjectivist claim in these situations, in which even a hardened subjectivist must acknowledge the approach loses some appeal?
To embrace a subjectivist view of gaming is to award critical merit to any uninformed bargain shopper browsing Wal-Mart’s Wii section, even if s/he thinks Ninjabread Man is more impressive than Twilight Princess.
Fortunately, there is an opposing view, though it may seem a slightly tougher pill to swallow. Objectivism contends value judgments of a given variable can be wrong. Furthermore, an objectivist thinker would also argue there exists not only an incorrect value assessment of a given variable, but also a correct one. Unlike the alluring, all-pleasing simplicity of subjectivism, objectivism takes some fairly controversial positions. It can also be complicated and, quite frankly, can describe two very different positions. In fact, objectivists fall into one of two distinct categories: realists and relativists.
Realists believe there are universal, intrinsic features that determine the value of a given variable and these features alone are the criteria by which something can be considered “good” or “bad.”
This proposition begs an obvious question: what are these intrinsic value features, exactly, and how do we identify them? The realist is admittedly vague, but insists they are the sole means of accurately determining value. In an argument that initially seems preposterous, the realist also claims only a select group of people have senses of value judgment heightened enough to detect these value features.
In other words, some people get it and others just can’t.
The realist defends this position with interesting arguments, asserting these intrinsic value features – the traits that make a given game good, for example – exist in the same way smell, color and taste does, as entirely tangible aspects of the universe. The fact that some are physically unable to detect them, they argue, does not negate their existence. Just as a color-blind person cannot accurately view color and a deaf person cannot clearly distinguish sound, so too exist those with an inability to sense these value features.
Relativists, however, take a very different approach to determining value. Unlike the subjectivists, they feel a person can be wrong about his/her value judgment. But the relativists also disagree with the realist view that value can only be determined by an intrinsic set of value features. Essentially, relativists take the middle road; they maintain value is prescribed not by some intrinsic trait, but by the designation of value through a community agreement.
The relativist/realist split is perhaps most clearly explained in the case of Super Smash Bros. Brawl:
Each of the two objectivist positions face a difficult problem, however.
The realist faces the aforementioned evidential question; color, for example, has a physical story to tell in regard to its judgment, involving light meeting the human retina. But the realists’ supposed intrinsic value features are left with no reliable, physically explainable access. With what faculty do we make these decisions?
Relativists are confronted with a more pressing issue. If asked why a community reaches an agreement on value, their argument could quickly change into to a realist proposition. For the relativist, unless s/he answers that the community decision is completely arbitrary, their argument asserts the community designated something as goodbecause it is good. Their proposition is suddenly rendered obsolete; the relativist would then be supporting a decidedly realist claim.
Like Pit’s Centurion-calling final smash, these pieces of philosophical ramblings bounced feverishly through the corridors of my mind as I quietly chewed my tasty Greek pizza, sipped my crisp, refreshing Cherry Coke and listened to five reasons Assassin’s Creed is the best non-Halo 360 game. I made it to reason three before I interjected.
“Nope,” I quipped. “You’re wrong.”
Surprised looks were shot at me from every direction; I rarely interrupted someone on a ranting roll, understanding full well the value of a healthy pontification. After a second or two of silence, my friend, taken aback, asked me why I felt he was flawed in his leg-humping assessment of Assassin’s Creed.
“Because I am a realist,” I replied. “And you are wrong.”
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