Among the games trying to outline even a crude belief system (the one that usually explains the creation of the world), most create some derivative simple mythology to service its game world. The Legend of Zelda and Final Fantasy both employ these tactics. A host of other games will mention a group of all-powerful gods that either abandoned the Earth, or were locked away by some malevolent force. This lackadaisical consideration of a world mythology is trite and hackneyed.
Religion is specifically avoided in such titles, despite the layers of complexity it could unravel, because it would compromise the integrity of the organic world the designers intended. Religion and spirituality among players - be they religious, sacrilegious or passionately irreligious - remain higher on the hierarchy than any other aspect of our humanity, like economics, politics, race and nationalism. Religion must offer a more intimate relationship and experience. As such, it is unspeakable. The word "God" becomes taboo, but "god" is somehow still acceptable.
Occasionally, we see titles embracing real mythologies as functions in the game world (like God of War) as well as titles choosing to say very little concerning the obvious spirituality of its universe (like Shadow of the Colossus). The former places many characters and settings from Greek mythology in its engine not only to carve a narrative, which employs significant borrowing from Greek legend, but also tries to enhance the gameplay with representative opponents, weapons and puzzles. On the other hand, Shadow of the Colossus offers an invisible mythology with minimal information regarding the circumstances of its world. Each of the colossi is clearly immense, powerful and unique - the three most important characteristics of a deity, but beyond that obvious interpretation, we are given little insight. Both these approaches rule out traditional religious iconography, while maintaining a sense of sacredness and sanctity toward the game elements.
There are a handful of games that accomplish what God of War does. That is, employ its mythology to not only influence, but also enhance all the aspects of the game. Games with developed mythologies engineered for a specific videogame, however, are more significant to this discourse. Although these cases are rare, it is interesting to see they are realized in many different genres. Take, for example, Tales of Symphonia, Killer7 and Katamari Damacy.
ToS is an RPG that creates a believable mythology. It recounts the journey a group takes to regenerate a dying world, and involves thick symbolism of scapegoats, rituals, prayers, angels, demons and an all-powerful goddess, Martel. The game's design presents frequent priests, priestesses, temples and altars, and the characters often utter prayers in their exclamations. These nuances fill out the mythology in ways ignored by most other games.
Killer7 crosses every line regarding the sacred and sanctimonious. Every icon, image, figure and name is subverted. Every angelic figure the game presents must have its wings shot off by the player. And yet, the player still manages to serve as a hero in the game world. This is clearly an extreme realization of vigilantism and extra- judicial violence, which consistently acknowledges the redemptive powers of faith and spirituality moments before abandoning them for the game's prescribed brand of justice and resolution. Coincidentally, the last time a game tried to accomplish a similar task, the result was Shiny Entertainment's Messiah, an abject failure, commercially and critically. Even in hindsight, I doubt anyone would argue it proved to be avant- garde. Subverting the bifurcation of not just good and evil, but ethical and unethical, moral and immoral is not, in and of itself, provocative.
Katamari Damacy develops a mythology of an irresponsible King of All Cosmos and the player-controlled Prince. The idea that a katamari will cling to anything smaller than itself provides an awareness of perspective not realized since the 1977 short science film Powers of Ten. Being forced into motion at the command of a higher being, even the great Prince of All Cosmos is left to literally roll to and fro over the Earth with no greater objective than to grow before disappearing into the stars. The existential ennui suggested in the premise sounds remarkably like the desperation that left Schopenhauer bewildered some 150 years ago.
