Sunday 5 October, 2008

I should preface this with a notation that I have never played any game in the GTA series, though I have been aware of it and its content, and, as a Game Dev major and gamer, I have had pretty extensive exposure to similar titles.

Given the nature of this assignment I thought the best way to approach San Andreas would be to give special consideration to the decisions I made as the game progressed.

That didn't go so well.

The opening cinematic served to acclimate me to the GTA universe. In short, everything is going wrong for C.J. His mother's been killed, old enemies from a corrupt police force are threatening to frame him for a murder, and he's been kicked out of a moving car in a neighborhood where he's not welcome. And he's only been in town for less than an hour. This cut scene is essential to establishing the mood and aim of the game - when the cards are stacked against you this badly, reflexive measures are sometimes excusable.

With the introduction over, I started playing, and upon reflection, I completely forgot to follow my own advice. The first objective is to get back to Grove Street territory, and in order to do so, the game suggests you "use" a bike in the alley where you were dumped. But this in itself is a choice, and I completely neglected to look at it as such during my session. I think I have been conditioned to follow commands presented by games as requirements and not suggestions, and, at least in this case, this is exactly what was being conveyed to me: a suggestion. Given the nature of the game, I very easily could have WALKED to my destination, but instead I instinctively "used" the bike. If my actions in San Andreas were actions in the real world, we would not say I "used" the bike, but rather that I stole the bike. Whose bike was that? Convention indicates that it must have been SOMEONE’S bike. And yet, because San Andreas is a game world and not the real world, the bike really wasn’t owned by anyone; it was there because a game designer put it there. Given this, can any ethical framework grounded in reality be applied to this situation? Kantianism puts forth that I can steal the bike only if I can will it that anyone else be able to reciprocate. But I CAN will it, because my character is the strongest agent in the game. Even if I will that any AI agent be able to do any action I am capable of, C.J. is always at a distinct advantage because my control over his actions allows me to plan and react in ways that the artificial intelligence cannot. It is as though San Andreas exists in the “state of nature” as described by Hobbes, only C.J. has a perpetual monopoly on power.

As the game progressed it became clear to me that the only way to continue the plot was to follow the game’s mission structure. At one point my “mission” was to go eat something at a fast food joint, after which Ryder robbed the store at gunpoint. I had no choice to make in the matter; a cinematic fired, Ryder tried to rob the cashier, and we ran. My only choices were to follow the game’s order to flee the scene or to stand and take a shotgun blast from the clerk. It seems that choice, at least in as far as it is concerned with the direction of the central story, is virtually nonexistent.

I like your statement that, "Given this, can any ethical framework grounded in reality be applied to this situation? Kantianism puts forth that I can steal the bike only if I can will it that anyone else be able to reciprocate. But I CAN will it, because my character is the strongest agent in the game." How might this pose a problem too individuals who are easy influenced, like children? Younger gamers might get the impression that a person in position of power should be able to do as they please.