Post # 14, Pearce, The Conclusion

There is a bit of irony in the way Pearce concludes her study of the Myst/Uru population. We were initially introduced to them for only a brief period before we read of the shutting down of their community. At the time, they are all rightfully devastated and hurt by having their online homeland destroyed. But they picked themselves up from their loss and perpetuated their community in different online locales. So when Pearce had the amazingly serendipitous opportunity to help relaunch the MOUL world, it came as a shock to the game developers that the refugees didn't come running back with open arms. I think this is a good example of the adage, "too little, too late." Uru refugees didn't come running back in the large numbers that were expected because they'd recreated their communities elsewhere like there.com, Second Life, and Until Uru.

The game developers for MOUL were much more humane about the second closing than the developers who conducted the first closing, and that definitely contributed to good will in the community, but what I think Pearce fails to make clear is exactly why MOUL failed. Yes, the refugees didn't come back in mass as was expected, but there were still people that played and they attracted new subscribers. What ultimately doomed MOUL? I think that perhaps the game developers, while more empathetic, still didn't really know what the gamers wanted. Something that Pearce brings up is ownership: who owns these game worlds? While the developers are the ones that created the world, it really belongs to the players that inhabit it. This is something that I have had issue with in the past, the concept of an author's work not being his own. I still resist it to a point. As a creative writer, I think it's a bit insulting to presume to tell me that my writings, that I put my time and effort into, that I brought into existence, don't belong to me. But I also realize that everyone approaches a text with their own perspective (well, usually).

Pearce wonders how game designers can guide emergent cultures and I think it's really a moot question. An online gaming world that promotes customization, interaction, and community will inevitably evolve into what the community makes it, not what the designers want it to be. Pearce eventually makes a pitch for the importance of cyberethnographers like herself. Anthropologists or sociologists, Pearce posits, have an advantage over the community leaders because they are able to step back from the community and observe it without the interference of personal investment; in essence, they are the bridge between the community and the designers. It is important for the future of online play communities for the designers to adapt to emergent cultures, even from the very beginning of the design process.

Questions:

1) Having read all of Pearce's book, are you more inclined to participate in an online play community than you might have been before?

2) Pearce lists her avatar, Artemesia, as a co-author of her book. What are your thoughts on this?

3) Pearce started her book by pointing out that play is and has always been a very important and natural part of human nature. How has her book affected your perception of what play means?

Post # 13, Pearce, Raena is a Man (and so is Leshan and Teddy)

I decided to focus this blog on part 4 of Pearce's book because, to be quite honest, it was the drama of multiple events she details that kept me even remotely interested. Pearce makes this comment in the section, I, Avatar:

"Some people think that inhabiting an online world is a way of escaping from yourself; others think it is a way of escaping from others. This is not the case; not in my case, and certainly not in the cases of those I study. Being an avatar means exploring the self  as much as it means exploring others; more specifically, it measn exploring the self through others." (215)

Man or Woman?

I do agree partially with Pearce in that inhabiting an online world isn't always about escapism, but exploration. However, it is also just as much about escapism for some people. Some people can only feel free to be who they really are in a place that offers anonymity and/or encourages self-expression like online worlds. To that effect, gender benders have long found refuge in online worlds, as evidenced by Artemesia's friends, Leshan, Teddy, and Raena. I have always been intrigued by gender roles and the implications they have on individuals in both their real lives and their in-game lives. As a bisexual African-American male with friends and acquaintances that are predominantly from a different race, I tend to see things from multiple perspectives at once; for instance, when my heterosexual male friends do or say something insensitive that sparks the ire of their girlfriends or wives, it usually falls on me to point out to them where they went wrong and how they can make amends and avoid a similar situation again. Likewise, when my female friends come to me complaining that they're not able to get through to their husbands and boyfriends, I can usually point out the flaws in their approaches that hinder their progress. So when Pearce details the account of Raena coming out as a man in real life, I was intrigued by the reaction that she and other members of the community had.

We typically want people to behave a certain way, and a large part of this expected behavior is determined by gender. In an online world like the one Pearce was a member of, people also have expectations and preferences for gender behavior When Pearce found out that Raena was a man named Steve in real life, she said she didn't really care about the revelation. However, when Steve created a male avatar named Raenen and started playing the game with this avatar, Pearce noted that she was not receptive to this change. In fact, most members of the group weren't fond of Raenen, even though it was a truer representation of who was behind the Raena/Raenen persona. Conversely, Leshan, though a man in real life, felt that having a female avatar in-game was a truer representation of who he was, and though he eventually started talking with his natural male voice as opposed to using gender-neutral texts, he kept his avatar female.

Another thing I found interesting in section IV was Leesa and Revelations's wedding. I'm not convinced that in-game weddings are valid due to legal issues and the potential for "digital adultery," but that is irrelevant. The fact that they take place is what's important. It is amazing to me how every aspect of real life becomes duplicated in these meta-worlds. Pearce even mentions another character, Zaire, who has had 3 in-game divorces because her game-spouses wanted to meet her in real life. This is where I feel escapism is a large part of even Pearce's community, though she makes a point of denying so.


Questions:

1) Do you think in-game marriages should be permitted?

2) Mark Zuckerberg's sister is making a push for the eradication of online anonymity in order to combat digital bullying. Taking characters like Raena and Leshan into consideration, do you think this is a good idea?

3) It is interesting to me how people are allowed to create multiple personas within game worlds. However, when we find out that someone is not who we really think they are in real life, we react with feelings of anger and distrust. Considering all that we have learned about the depth and validity on play-communities, why is it acceptable to take on alternate personas in a game-world and not in real life?

Post # 12, Pearce, Part 2

If it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it must be a duck. This common adage is what came to mind when I read about The Gathering of Uru in section two. Pearce continues with her theme of play communities by pointing us to this loyal group of Uru: Ages Beyond Myst players and I found myself thinking, "If it looks like a community, and convenes like a community, and emotes like a community, then it must be a community." TGU members eagerly participated in Pearce's study of them and actively welcomed her into their fold. It sounds not unlike the documentaries on remote tribal people that frequently air on TV stations like The National Geographic Channel or The Discovery Channel. The eagerness of TGU to participate in a study of their community, as well as their hospitality to Pearce, supports the notion of online gaming worlds as "imaginary homelands." The online world that TGU participated in seems as valid a community as any. Pearce reveals that the TGU members are very diverse, ranging "in age from mid-teens to mid-seventies" (72). Another thing that I found noteworthy about this community is that they are evenly made up of male and female players. Female gamers are very much underestimated and often times underrepresented in gaming studies and I thought this was a great example of how games cross gender barriers.

In-game screenshot from L4D2

In-game screenshot from L4D2

It is interesting to note that anytime we play online, we become part of a new community. This online community need not be particularly large, nor does it need to be distinctly different from the social circles that we are a part of in our daily lives. For example, I do not play any games with a massive online community such as Myst or World of Warcraft, however, my three best friends and I play the X-Box 360 game, Left 4 Dead 2, on X-Box live from time to time. We behave pretty much the same as we do whenever we are face to face and in each other's physical presences, but something that we've all noticed before is that when we are in the L4D world, we don't refer to each other by our real names. Instead, we refer to each other by our X-Box Live gamertags (mine, for example, is AMBROCI0US). We really have no reason why we do so, except that when we log in to XBL we know we are entering a different world where we are taking on new personas--ourselves as a group of survivors in a zombie apocalypse. In a co-op survival horror game like L4D, there's no particular push to become different person, so with the exception of running into a horde of flesh-eating zombies in order to rescue each other (something I'm not sure my very potent fight-or-flight response would allow me to do in a real life zombie attack scenario) we behave much the way we do in real life.

I was not riveted by Riven

Pearce points out that Uru Myst and other MMOWs and MMORPGs influence the behavior of their players. Uru players in particular, already seemed to have a lot in common with each other prior to playing together in that world. Most were already intimately familiar with Myst and its narrative and gameplay mechanics. Most did not like or play other types of games, and they typically had a negative impression of games that included violence and killing. They were, in short, very much different from the average gamer. Myst, it seems, in being such a different kind of game, courted a very different type of gamer and I can personally attest to that. In the summer of 1998, just before I left for Marine Corps boot camp, I purchased the game, Riven, for my PSX (the original Playstation is now commonly referred to as the PSX). Riven is the sequel to Myst and it got very high reviews in gaming magazines of the time, so I purchased it based on those reviews and a very flawed assumption that it would have at least some similarities with my then-favorite RPG, Final Fantasy VIII. I would soon regret it. With the exception of games like Number Munchers and The Oregon Trail that I played in elementary school on Apple IIe computers, I'd never played a computer game. Myst (Riven) was a PC game that was ported to the PSX, and it was a very different experience than I was expecting. There was no dynamic action, no on screen character (it was completely first-person), no explosions or violence...in short, nothing that a testosterone-laden, teenage boy expected from a videogame. I was bored to tears with Riven, but this underscores Pearce's observation that game worlds attract certain gamers. I wasn't, at that time, the type of gamer that would have gravitated to Myst, and I only purchased the game for lack of proper research on my behalf. It was not a homeworld designed for me, and I would not have conformed to it the way TGU members willingly and eagerly did. That is not to say that it isn't a valid homeworld, because it is. The way the TGU members fought for their world, the way they congregated hours before their community was shutdown, and the way they migrated to new online worlds afterwards attests to the importance and validity of this digital world to its denizens.


Questions:
1) Does the experience TGU suffered by having their gaming world shutdown elicit more, less, or equal pity from you than that of real world communities that are shut down?

2) The Myst shaped and/or confined the behavior of those that participated in its online world, attracting certain people to the game. Do you think society is more or less influential on your personal behavior than a gameworld is on its players?

3) Do you think hospitals and therapy institutions should implement an online world where patients can create avatars and convene with each other in order to facilitate the healing process?

Post # 11, Pearce, Part 1

The first thing I notice about Pearce is how different her approach is from that of Gee and Bogost. Gee, a linguist by trade, took it upon himself to come into the gaming world with no previous experience in order to learn how to be a  gamer and in order to see what videogames could offer the world in a pedagogical sense. Bogost is a programmer who takes a scholarly and theoretical approach to examining games. Pearce is an anthropologist and an avid gamer, so much so that her in-game avatar, Artemesia, is featured as a co-author of her book. Pearce presents many opinions in the first 4 chapters of her book and relies very heavily on citation. I'm not sure if this is a custom of anthropologists, but I found it a bit startling to see the overabundance of citations she uses. Perhaps this is because, as she points out in the first chapter of her book, adult play is always being looked upon with disapproving eyes. So, maybe she decided to quote every source under the sun in order to defend adult play. I can understand her motivation.

A common misconception about adults that I can't believe we persist on perpetuating is that we don't play. This is so far from the truth, at least as far as it applies to me. I'm not embarrassed to say that I play all the time. My imagination takes control from time to time and I literally play in a manner almost identical to the way I did when I was a child. Of course, I'm usually alone in the privacy of my home when I do so. But I'm just playful by nature and, on the spur of a moment, I will engage in play with my friends, as well. So, if playing is such an undeniable part of my personality, I can only assume it part of other adults' as well, and the surge of play communities is indicative of this. Besides these play communities, we have celebrations like Mardi Gras and St. Patrick's Day (although the latter was never intended to be the holiday of revelry and debauchery that it has become).  As Pearce points out, play and games have always been a part of human society and history. Ancient Africans, Egyptians, Mesopotamians, Chinese, etc. all had games, and they were mostly multiplayer games. It seems that play is an innately communal activity for humans, thus, play communities have always been with us and always will be.

Of particular interest to me was Pearce's reference of Dungeons & Dragons. What I did not know prior to reading Pearce was just how popular D&D was in the 70's and 80's, although I suppose I should have inferred that based on the fact that there was a rather popular 80's cartoon by the same name that I was particularly fond of as a little child. Either way, when Pearce mentioned the marginalization that adult play suffers in America and Europe, I cringed. I was once one of the people who denigrated D&D players. When I was 24, I befriended and lived with a guy named James. James was a hardcore D&D fan; he had well over 20 D&D books and frequently asked me to play with him. I always declined, and usually with some snide remark (for instance, I always referred to it as Dungeons and Dorks). I’m not sure why I was so opposed to D&D; perhaps it was because of the ridicule the game famously faces. One thing that definitely turned me against the game was seeing, as I put it then, “A bunch of grown ass men and women dressed up in costumes, pretending to be wizards and fairies.” While I resisted playing the game, I was openly fascinated with the mythology and artwork of D&D; that was inevitable, given my fondness for world mythologies and my innate artistic talents. I suppose I resisted D&D out of cowardice. I was too afraid of what the larger portion of my peers would think of me if I played a game that people were ridiculed for. Eventually I got over that and played with James and a few of his friends who didn’t dress up in costumes (not that there’s anything wrong with that, as I know now).

A game of Dungeons & Dragons in progress.

When I finally got over my hangups and played D&D, I was amazed at how much I actually enjoyed the game. It was very rewarding to create a character and live vicariously in another world through him. My character, Hyperion Starwing, was an Aasimar (a human with divine lineage) psion (a being with various mental powers) who joined a band of pirates in order to help them conquer an evil sect of demon worshiping Drows (dark elves). I became so rapped up in my character and his world that I was very much heartbroken when James had a massive falling out with our dungeon master that resulted in him (and me, by association) being banned from our group. I can very much relate to the Uru Diaspora that Pearce mentions. Likewise, I can understand the concept of avatars being perceived as real entities, though I am not sure an avatar deserves rights associated with a living, breathing human being. I am more inclined, however, to believe that play communities constitute valid cultures. I'm interested to see  how Pearce expounds upon these ideas.

Questions:

1) How old were you when you were discouraged from playing with toys and do you think that's a practice that affects how American society views adult play?

2) Do you think avatars should be afforded rights and how would that even be realized outside of play communities?

3) Do you think that game cultures are as valid as the more traditional cultures that we are accustomed to?

Post # 10, Bogost Chapters 8-11

Bogost shifts his message in the final chapters of his book to the actual application (pedagogy) of the theories and principles he's explicated on thus far. He introduces two contrasting methods of learning, the behaviorist method, and the constructivist method. When we speak of education in the Western perspective, we are speaking of a didactic pedagogy in which information is transferred from the teacher and accompanying texts to the student in a classroom setting. The method that is most often used for this in Western society is the behaviorist method.


Behaviorists posit that learning is all about reinforcement. We respond, according to this logic, to positive and negative incentives (in the case of teaching, these positive and negative incentives come in the form of letter grades--A & B = good, C, D, & F = bad). Because we are also creatures of habit, behaviorist argue, we also learn via repetition. Ergo, put in a child in a classroom, and run through a teaching "drill" that repeats valuable and good knowledge, all the while expressing the necessary positive and negative reinforcement, and that child will come away from the process well educated. It sounds good on paper, but the reality isn't quite so simple. In reality, this method disregards the importance of the personal aspect of learning. Behaviorism, so caught up in it empirical observations, does not account for the subjectivity in our natural learning process. Behaviorism wants to assume that we are all wont to learn in the exact same manner, and this simply isn't true.


Constructivists posit that "the learner 'constructs' knowledge individually, that learning is inseparable from the learner's interaction with the environment." (234). Constructivism focuses education around the individualized cognitive development. We are already very familiar with this type of learning as it is usually the first type of learning we are introduced to in Western schools. Kindergarten (literally "children's garden") is constructivism. In this form or learning, you are encouraged to engage with your environment, to go where your interests draw you, to engage with your surroundings and fellow students. In kindergarten, play was indistinguishable from learning. They were one and the same. It's odd, but until I read Bogost's book, I'd never really given much thought to how kindergarten differed so much from grades 1-12. I mean, I knew there was a difference, but I never focused on what that difference was--that kindergarten made learning fun, and every grade afterwards was less so. The behaviorist take on learning robbed education of much of its inherent fun.

So how does this apply to videogames as educational tools? A behaviorist take on a video game would focus on how a videogame represents a real world process or material, and then judge it based on whether it conveyed these surface aspects adequately, and whether or not what was being conveyed reinforced something that was "good" or "bad." For example, Ninja Gaiden would be said to convey something bad, i.e. killing and overall ninja-badassery. A constructivist look at video games would focus on the abstracts and open engagement that a videogame allows. But the point Bogost makes when pointing out the differences in the two teaching philosophies is not that one is necessarily better than another. In fact, videogames are good learning tools because they combine the best parts of each philosophy. When people play videogames they are learning procedural literacy by way of the abstracts in the game. Those abstracts are models/facsimeles of real world materials or processes. Videogames teach a biased perspective about how these real world materials or processes work. These perspectives are taught via procedural rhetorics that the players “read” through direct engagement and criticism (by playing the game).


The values placed on education can change it drastically from one person or group to the next. Bogost points out that Liberals and Conservatives view the state of education in America very differently. Liberals believe that more money should be spent on education in order to extend equal opportunities to children in poorer districts, and in order to raise the level of pay for teachers to a level comparable to other professionals. Conservatives, on the other hand, believe that too much money is being put into a system that doesn't produced the desired results (those results being high scores on standardized tests). Our society immediately favors a behaviorist view of education and any deviation is frowned upon. Thus, we end up with what are known as concentration campuses, where anyone who strays from the rigid norm and learns in a more constructivist manner is somehow punished, ostracized, or singled out.


In chapter 10, Bogost looks at the phenomenon of exergames. He talks a great deal about immensely popular game, Dance Dance Revolution. DDR manages to get players to engage in exercise while enjoying it. This is done primarily because the players don't really consider it to be exercising, which is often boring and too time consuming to be enjoyable, to say nothing of the physical exertion involved. However, by successfully taking exercise and having it presented by the procedural rhetoric of videogames, games like DDR teach players to enjoy something that is undeniably beneficial to them while not always necessarily enjoyable.

Bogost closes his book by stressing that we "recognize the persuasive and expressive power of procedurality." (340). As both players and creators of videogames, we must be aware of procedural rhetoric's ability to help us engage with, comment on, and change our world. Because we create videogames, they reflect back on us and allow us to better understand ourselves, our world, and what we aspire for. This is ultimately the power of videogames in education.


Questions:
1) Would you agree that the curriculum in the M.A.E. (or M.A.P.C.) program at Clemson should be more like the Montessori model of schools?


2) In what ways has No Child Left Behind been counterproductive?


3) Having come to the close of Bogost's book, do you feel that he made a weaker or stronger argument for games as educational tools than Gee?

Post # 9, Bogost Chapters 5-7

As much as I am loathe to admit it, the people in Cupertino, California are masters of advertising. Recently, one of my best friends, Jessica, was in the market for a new smartphone. She needed to replace her dated BlackBerry and she looked to both me (avidly anti-Apple) and our friend, Matt (fanatically pro-Apple), for suggestions. Surprisingly, Matt told her that he didn't really know much about any phone other than the iPhone and that she should probably just ask me. I, on the other hand, gave her a laundry list of reasons why she shouldn't get an iPhone (avoidance of the lemming mentality that Apple encourages, the higher processing power of Android phones, the wider variety of handsets to choose from, and growing momentum of Google's platform). A few hours later when it was all said and done, she called me and apologetically confessed that she'd bought an iPhone 4. "I couldn't help it, man," she said. "All the posters in the store were for the iPhone and all the sales reps had iPhones." I was oddly disappointed, but I was also relieved that she didn't get a Windows phone. I had to begrudgingly respect the power of Apple's advertising. It did its job.

Types of Advertising

According to Bogost, there are three types of advertising. The first is demonstrative advertising. As the name implies, this form of advertising "demonstrates" a product to the potential consumer via facts and tangibles; the consumer is being directly told why there is a need for the product being pitched. In this type of advertising, the product is presented as a commodity; as such, the functionality of the product being represented is very important. When Intel comes out with a commercial that details the specifications and processing power of its latest computer chip, that is demonstrative advertising. The second type of advertising is illustrative. Illustrative advertising shows, rather than tells, a potential consumer why the product being pitched is necessary. This form of advertising illustrates tangibles and intangibles and focuses more on  social and cultural context. Take the following picture, for example:

This ad features the music superstar, Beyonce, and her younger sister, Solange, looking absolutely gorgeous and trendy. They are both sporting Samantha Thavasa purses and the ad features only a little text, which communicates that the purses are part of a debut collection and in very limited supply(research revealed that this was just a marketing ploy and the purses were never in limited supply). The effect of having the two gorgeous creatures in the ad is that subconsciously women will think that owning this particular purse will make them equally as attractive (an unfortunate lie). The final type of advertising is associative, which communicates only indirect information. This advertising type eschews the mass market appeal of a product and instead focuses entirely on a niche category of the market. The following ad, which shows a frumpy business man in casts and a wheel chair as a metaphor for a crashed Windows PC, is an example of associative advertising:

Oddly enough, even though videogames are more noted for their procedural rhetoric, advertisers rely on the older and simpler visual rhetoric to take advantage of the medium. 

Licensing and Product Placement

Licensing and product placement has been a part of games for as long as I can remember. One of the very first games I had on the original Nintendo Entertainment System was Total Recall, based on the movie by the same name. Over the course of the 22 years that I've been a gamer, I've played countless games based on the intellectual properties of movies, sports franchises, novels, comic books, etc. While putting players in the role of one of their favorite fictional characters (like Harry Potter) is a selling point for game producers there is a negative side to this somewhat shameless exploitation of licenced material. It is almost universally accepted amongst serious gamers that games based on movie adaptations are of poor quality. And games based on game franchises like the Madden football games push out a new game every year with little noteworthy changes except for updated rosters. Along the same lines, product placement in our entertainment mediums is almost always met with cynicism and disdain. When Bogost references the shameless product placement of the Ford F-150 and Mustang in the hit show, Alias, he points out that the plug was ridiculed and drew laughter for being so obvious. Advertisers don't really care about subtlety, though. As long as the product gets seen, that's enough to justify the lack of advertising tact.

Advergames

Advertisers are unscrupulous creatures, and they will invade every part of our lives if we aren't diligent and actively resist them (they're not unlike a cancer in this respect). When game developers allow advertisers to blatantly pitch to gamers in videogames, they risk the ire of the gamers. More and more, developers are opting not to allow advertising in their games. The high costs of current generation games developed for PS3 and Xbox 360 aren't offset by the fees the advertisers offer the developers. It's just not worth it for the developers anymore. Likewise, advergames--simulations of products and services (200)--are also facing a backlash. Not only is it because of the overt advertising, but also because of the poor procedural rhetoric that these games employ.

Questions:

1) Advertising is really just a form of rhetoric. It is meant to persuade you to buy or support a product. Is there any way for an advertiser to effectively pitch a product in a game without it being invasive?

2) Do you think the practice of making sub-par videogames based on movie properties reflects poorly on the developer or the original intellectual property? And if there is such a negative reaction to these types of games, why are they so persistent?

3) What was the first game you played where you noticed overt advertising and/or product placement? Did it affect your opinion of the game as a whole?

Post # 8, Gee, Chapters 5-6

This is how I felt about math in high school.

I have mentioned before that I am horrible at math, and that I had an especially hard time with it from middle school onward whenever I started learning algebra and more complex mathematics. The thing is, I don't remember always having such an aversion to math. In fact, as far as I can recall, I actually enjoyed it when I was in elementary school. I'm not sure exactly why I became less proficient in math as I advanced through the grade levels; it is a oddity for me, especially since I became more proficient in every other subject as I advanced through grade levels. One thing I do know is that once I started doing poorly in advanced math, I started questioning why I needed to know it in the first place. When would I ever need to know how to calculate a hypotenuse? When would I ever have a practical use for an x and y axis on a plane? Gee makes two points in the beginning of chapter 5 that applied to me when I asked those questions: "Humans tend to have a very hard time processing information for which they cannot supply such simulations. They also tend readily to forget information they have received outside of contexts of actual use, especially if they cannot imagine such contexts." (113). I had a hard time processing advanced math partially because I couldn't imagine a context in which I would need it. I also forgot (perhaps eagerly so) all but basic math skills once I managed to pass those classes, almost always with C's, but occasionally with an A or B.

Professor Von Croy

There is a conflict in our educational systems between telling and immersion. To illustrate this conflict, Gee uses the game Tomb Raider as an example. In the classic Playstation adventure/exploration game, the main character, Lara Croft, is on an archaeological expedition with her mentor, Professor Von Croy. Von Croy, represents the traditional method of learning; he instructs Lara to stay by his side at all times and not to venture anywhere he does not lead. He presumes to teach Lara how to become an archaeologist by telling and showing her. The game designers, however, in an ingenious display of good game design, make it so that Lara pretty much has to disobey Von Croy in order to learn the game mechanics and her role as an archaeologist. It is only by breaking away from the constraining traditional method that the player learns the necessary skills to successfully navigate Lara Croft through her game world. The important thing to take away from this example is not that one method is necessarily better than the other, but that it is important to have both, and that a system that relies too heavily (or exclusively) on telling/showing is not likely to produce the most optimal results in a learning environment. In order for things to truly sink in with humans, we must have personal experience with them.

"Good" Cole

In chapter 6, Gee moves his focus towards games that present us with moral options. I know many people cringe at the idea of a videogame teaching us ethics, especially when so many videogames rely so heavily on unethical behavior, but there are a number of games that make good use of moral dilemmas. The last game I played where my moral decisions factored into the game play was Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. If you follow a path of righteousness then you may visit the temples of the various beneficent gods and pray for blessings that will boost your avatar's attributes. If you do something to scorn a god, like killing woodland animals for sport, then you must make amends to the god before he will bless you. If you follow a path of evil then the gods will refuse to bless you at all, which is very detrimental since the only way to remove a curse in Oblivion is  by praying in a temple. Another game that takes the emphasis on a players' moral choices even further is inFamous, for the Playstation 3. In this game you play Cole, an urban messenger who survives an apocalyptic cataclysm that grants him electrical powers. In the ensuing chaos, it is up to Cole to either become the hero that saves the citizens of the demolished city from gangs and warlords, or to become a source of terror, himself. The game works on a karma system, where certain abilities are only available to Cole depending on his moral alignment, much like the contrasting abilities of Jedi and Sith in Starwars. If Cole follows the path of righteousness, his powers take on a calming blue glow, his appearance is clean and healthy looking, and the citizens of the city will cheer him on when they see him in the streets. Conversely, if he follows the path of evil, his powers take on a menacing red glow, his clothes and skin become dark and dirty, and the citizens of the city will alternate between booing him and running away from him in fear.

"Evil" Cole

I don't presume to suggest that videogames should be the first method of teaching anyone the lessons of morality, and neither does Gee. However, I do believe that they can provide a unique and first-hand experience with making such choices and seeing how they have repercussions that affect other aspects of our lives.

Questions:

1) Do games with dynamic ethical decisions cheapen their real life applications?

2) If a student persistently fails at a traditional learning method should that student be encouraged to "rebel" against it?

3) Are there any videogames that you felt catered to your cultural identity too much?