Final Fantasy and Philosophy: The Ultimate Walkthrough (4 page)

Our Heroes’ mistake as they attempt to sway Kefka from his nihilistic plan is in thinking that a meaning, a goal, or a purpose for life is something one can be convinced of. Although they each have motivating desires, desires are peculiar to each individual. They may hope that Kefka shares those desires, but if he does not, then no amount of logic will get him to agree on their importance. Most of us see existence as necessary, as an imperative. Kefka understands that this is not so, that existence is really only what philosophers call a
hypothetical imperative
.

A hypothetical imperative is something one should do or believe
if
one wishes to attain some further goal. In other words, it would simply be irrational not to follow a certain course of action if you have a particular end in mind. For example, I might say that you should unlock the secret characters Gogo and Umaro as you play through
Final Fantasy VI
. My reasons for this may be based on a desire for completeness or perhaps on the strengths these characters possess that make the game easier. These reasons assume, however, that you care about completing every element of the game or that you don’t want the game to be overly difficult.
Hypothetically
, if you desire these things, then it is logically
imperative
for you to unlock these characters. But if you care for neither completion nor ease, then these arguments, regardless of how well I construct them, will not convince you. Similarly our Heroes, trying to convince Kefka that existence is imperative, invoke hypothetical desires that Kefka lacks. Therefore, without a reason that justifies the continued existence of the world, Kefka sees no alternative other than to effect its complete destruction.

Nietzsche: The Meaning of Morality in the World of Ruin

What a character. Kefka seems to personify exactly the sort of nihilistic, cynical, life-is-meaningless attitude that people might associate with, well, with philosophers! Existentialist philosophers, to be precise. This, however, would be a gross oversimplification. The existentialist movement represented by writers such as Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1821-1881), Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), and Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980) more accurately expresses a belief that while life may lack an objective purpose, we are each born into the world with the ability to decide for ourselves what is meaningful. Nietzsche, in fact, recognized the potential dangers of a nihilistic outlook, particularly in a world that rejects God.
¹
Yet he also saw in this the potential for an even greater justification for existence than philosophers had given before.
²

Sporting a mustache that would turn Cyan green with envy, Nietzsche greatly influenced Foucault by employing the method of historically investigating concepts to better understand their modern meanings. Nietzsche called this process of outlining a
genealogy
, the most famous example of which is
On the Genealogy of Morals
, which explores the evolution of morality. Perhaps surprisingly, our understanding of Kefka can shed some light on the connections between Nietzsche’s famous dictum “God is dead,” the inherent meaninglessness of morality and existence, and the concept of the Übermensch or Nietzschean superman.

The moral history Nietzsche traces in the
Genealogy
documents the fate of two separate notions of “good”: good in the sense of superior (good/bad) and moral good (good/evil). Long ago when the world was neatly divided between the noble, knightly, aristocratic class and the hardworking lower class, “
good
” was a term the nobility used to refer to themselves. They alone were fortunate enough to be endowed with intelligence, strength, and wealth. They looked down with pity, not hatred, on the lower class. The lower members of society were “bad” only in the sense that they were not “good.” Their badness was relative, in much the same way that most weapons might be considered bad when compared to the Masamune—inferior, but not morally evil.

Kefka’s relationship with the rest of humanity (and Moogledom) can be described this way. He feels no animosity toward our protagonists; after his ascent to godhood, he utters not a word of hatred toward them. The same cannot be said of our Heroes’ opinion of Kefka. For most people, Kefka represents the living embodiment of evil. What is evil, though? According to the
Genealogy
, over time, especially with the advent of Christianity, the lower classes began to resent being looked at with pity and being abused by the nobility. So the downtrodden started a gradual change in the definition of the word “
good
.” Rather than being a self-evident concept meaning “superior,” “efficient,” or “top-of-the-line,” the lowly redefine good as the opposite of evil. So everything that the nobility cherish and hold dear is “evil,” and “good” becomes its opposite. The nobility are seen as strong, so meekness becomes a virtue. The nobility have pride, so humility is now desirable. Poverty is a blessing that builds character. Compassion and altruism, which the nobility have no use for, at least when it concerns the lower class, become the cornerstone of the moral life. In time, these ideas take hold in the hearts and minds of all humanity and the distinction between good and evil is born. Nietzsche calls this transition in the meaning of good the
slave revolt
and the resulting moral norms, which exist to this day,
slave morality
.

So perhaps if we are quick to define Kefka as evil, it is only because we, too, think in terms of the slave morality. The scarred and chaotic world that exists after Kefka acquires his power is in many ways the direct result of the slave morality—Kefka punishing those who refuse to accept that he, as god, is good and that they are inferior, though not evil. If they would simply accept this state of affairs without complaint, without trying to rebel against him or label him, he would most likely let them be. They beg for compassion, but compassion is something that Kefka lacks, has always lacked, simply because it is a virtue created by those who lack power, and virtue is rationally unnecessary for superiority, or goodness, in the original sense of master morality.

Neo-Kefka: Übermensch or Failed God?

Nietzsche imagined that at some point in the future, the contradictory nature of the slave morality would become apparent and superior individuals would arise, creating a new morality of self-governance. Note that this new morality could not be called “better” or “worse,” for what moral system can be used to judge moral systems themselves? Would we recognize such a superior person, an Übermensch, if we saw one? Is Kefka an Übermensch?

While Nietzsche may be best known for the dictum “God is dead,” he did not mean the phrase as literally as many people think. The death of God signifies the end of an era in which the meaning of life is accepted unquestioningly from a religious (or other) authority that gained power during the slave revolt. Uncertainty about what will fill the void of meaning created by the authority’s collapse leads most people to close their minds to the thought. At one point Nietzsche has the character who proclaims the death of God (interestingly enough, a madman) give up and smash his lantern to the ground, declaring that he has come too soon and the world is not yet ready to face the consequences of a new, godless existence.

This lack of preparedness is the very worry that Kefka embodies, that without God there is no purpose or meaning to existence. Our fear is that a world in which God has been cast aside or replaced by reason alone is one in which the only possible end is nihilistic desire for the annihilation of everything. Kefka’s failure to justify the meaning of existence shows us that this fear is still strong a hundred years after Nietzsche made us aware of it. If Kefka could not discover a meaning, despite his knowledge and power, what hope is there for the rest of us? Nietzsche wanted more than what Kefka could offer mankind. The Übermensch he described might initially resemble Kefka, but ultimately it shows him to be a false prophet. The real Übermensch is capable not only of overthrowing God and the old morality, but of overcoming nihilism as well: “This man of the future, who will redeem us not only from the hitherto reigning ideal but also from that which was bound to grow out of it, the great nausea, the will to nothingness, nihilism . . . this Antichrist and antinihilist.”

Is Reason Really Madness?

Was Kefka truly mad? Or did he cause a change for the better in the world? At the conclusion of the game, amid the various happily-ever-afters and credits, we find a party of characters who have learned a great deal about themselves and how to live in the world. Although they may have lived satisfactory lives before, they were unenlightened and questioned nothing. The struggle against Kefka brought them face-to-face with the negative influence of magic—of religion, control, and authority—and tasked them with learning to live without it. Perhaps some may think that an ideal world is one in which the gods of magic remained frozen, or where a benevolent ruler usurped their power and handed down a new meaning that would bring us peace, prosperity, and purpose. If what Nietzsche said has the ring of truth, however, then Kefka’s rise and fall represent the best possible situation. In the end, a world without magic is not entirely blissful, it is not utopian, but neither should we expect it to be. Our Heroes will struggle in this new world, but their biggest struggle will also be the most rewarding, for it is the banner under which philosophers have always served: the struggle to find meaning itself when none is given.

NOTES

1
For more on Nietzsche’s critique of religion, see David Hahn’s “Sin, Otherworldliness, and the Downside to Hope,” chapter 11 in this volume.

2
For more on Nietzsche’s response to the death of God, see Christopher R. Wood’s “Human, All Too Human: Cloud’s Existential Quest for Authenticity,” chapter 12 in this volume.

3

JUDGING THE ART OF VIDEO GAMES: HUME AND THE STANDARD OF TASTE

Alex Nuttall

The Malboro appears in almost every
Final Fantasy
game as a very dangerous enemy, usually taking the form of a giant plant with a gruesome mouth and slimy tentacles. Its Bad Breath attack causes many status effects, including confusion, blindness, and charm. Yet, in a sense, the Malboro is artistic in its disgustingness. Furthermore, being confused, blinded, and charmed are the metaphorical states we are in when we first start to evaluate the quality of art in
Final Fantasy
. As players we are blinded by our biases, confused by inexperience, and muddled by poor senses. Unfortunately, we don’t have a potion of remedy to overcome these ailments, but we do have the philosopher David Hume (1711-1776).

Hume argued that we can overcome our limitations to become good judges of art.
¹
“Art” for Hume is a broad concept that included not only painting, but music, literature, dance, and so on. In this chapter we’ll broaden the concept a little further to include video games. After all, who could deny that
Final Fantasy
is a work of art?

Beauty Is Not in the Eye of the Evil Eye

Before falling back on the tired conclusion that beauty is simply in the eye of the beholder, let’s look at how we evaluate the artistic merit of video games. When we talk about general artistic qualities in video games, we applaud similar things. We think higher detail is better, as well as pretty visuals and interesting-looking 3-D models of monsters or characters. But when we look at a particular game, we may disagree entirely about whether those good qualities apply. I might find Sin’s attack on Kilika Island in
Final Fantasy X
to be a great example of the Playstation 2 era, whereas you might see it as far too pixellated. Although we may agree on the general qualities of a good game, we may end up disagreeing entirely about any particular instance of one. Because of such disagreement, Hume believed it is natural to seek out a standard by which we can reconcile our various sentiments.
Sentiment
is Hume’s term for our feelings or preferences.

It’s odd that we should have any disagreement, though, as Hume suggested that beauty is not actually in objects. For example, the color red
is not
in an object. Such a statement might seem odd, but consider that when we see red, it is a sensation in our minds. The qualities that produce red are part of the physical world outside of us, but the experience of red is not. This is, of course, why people who’ve never seen color don’t truly understand what it is. The beautiful rendering of Sin in
Final Fantasy X
is not in the image of Sin. The object “Sin,” depicted as a giant floating creature, is just digital information translated into various wavelengths of light. It’s hard to see where beauty would be in that object, and all art “objects” can be similarly broken down in terms of their physical components.

The next obvious place to look for beauty, then, is in the beholder—the person who sees the beauty. While Hume agreed, as a metaphysical point, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, we should be cautious of misinterpreting what he took this view to mean.
²
When we say, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” it is usually to end disputes or conversations about whether something is beautiful. If I say that
Final Fantasy VIII
’s gun-swords are tacky and look silly, and you disagree and say, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” then there’s not any more conversation to be had about the gun-swords—we simply take it that beauty is relative to each person. Hume, however, did not want us to end the conversation. While beauty may ultimately be in how we perceive an object, there does seem to be a strong connection between the object and what we perceive as beautiful, and without this connection we would be unable to have any standard of taste.

Could Cloud Strife Beat Superman in a Fight?

If beauty is not in objects, then it seems that all of our sentiments would be equal—no one’s sentiments would be better or worse than another person’s. Sentiments, taken by themselves, are neither right nor wrong. When we see the color red, our experience of red is neither right nor wrong—it just is. So why do we ever bother with disagreements about art? If it is, at root, as subjective as we’ve been discussing, there is no disagreement to be had. If I like chocolate ice cream and you like vanilla and you dislike chocolate and I dislike vanilla, there doesn’t seem to be anything more to say about our preferences other than acknowledging them—and then buying and eating the ice cream we each like.

But Hume suggested that disagreements may arise from considering two artworks that are vastly different in quality. Let’s compare
Final Fantasy VII
and its hero, Cloud Strife, with
Superman 64
and its hero, Superman. Cloud Strife is great with a sword, has special
limit break
powers, and, despite his identity problems, is an accomplished hero. Superman is insanely powerful and can do almost anything. In a battle, Superman would almost certainly win (unless Materia is actually kryptonite, in which case Cloud’s chances of victory would be much greater). But what would happen in a fight between their respective video games? Those familiar with both games will immediately see a clear winner:
Final Fantasy VII.
This is because
Superman 64
is, by the estimation of many, a broken game.
Final Fantasy VII
is not only a working game, it is a game that is praised, is often discussed, and ranks highly in the history of video games. Is saying that
Superman 64
is a better game than
Final Fantasy VII
just as reasonable as saying the opposite? Keep in mind that the question is not whether someone likes or enjoys
Superman 64
(although it’s hard to see how one can enjoy a broken game), but whether it is better than
Final Fantasy VII
. I think most of us would agree that there is little room for disagreement here—
Final Fantasy VII
’s superiority is not simply a matter of what we
prefer
. We seem to recognize that there are differences of quality between works, and we don’t always treat them as simply different flavors of ice cream. Now, do we bite the bullet and say that all of our disagreements are mistaken, or do we try to both explain how beauty is a subjective experience and maintain that we are still able to objectively assess its value?

The Sea Devil’s in the Details

Like
Final Fantasy VII
, most of the games in the
Final Fantasy
series seem to be of higher quality than many other games that are available. Its full-motion videos, such as Bahamut’s attack on Alexandria in
Final Fantasy IX
, are expertly rendered and awe-inspiring. Its stories are well told, emotionally gripping, and coherent. For example, Cecil the Dark Knight’s path in
Final Fantasy IV
to become a Paladin at Mt. Ordeals still gives me goose bumps. Interesting characters, plots, and art design are found throughout the
Final Fantasy
series. The excellent quality of these characteristics does not seem to simply be our subjective preference for them. But if they aren’t subjective preferences, then what are these qualities? They can’t be in the object, as we’ve already pointed out, at least not completely. Yet there does seem to be something in objects that excites particular perceptions. These perceptions have a strong relationship to certain qualities in the object.

Hume’s description of a scene from
Don Quixote
shows us that there is more going on than simply our subjective experience of beauty.
³
In this scene, two wine connoisseurs taste wine from a barrel that is believed to be of excellent quality. They both judge it to be good, but one detects a hint of leather, the other a hint of iron. Later it is discovered that at the bottom of the barrel of wine, there is an iron key with a leather thong. Good judges, like these wine connoisseurs, can detect very small variations in a work. Although beauty is a perception, it does not seem to be entirely accidental. Our perceptions of beauty are affected by properties in the object that can either detract, like iron and leather, or add to the experience.

An unfortunate side effect of this view is that we are not all able to become good judges of art. Some of us will simply not have the perceptual acuity to notice such detail. But is noticing every detail always best for judging art? Often, artists will have a lot of detail in their works, and the art is best appreciated when these details are noticed. Not all art is about the details, however. Some art is best observed without excessive attention to its specifics. Hume would claim that focusing on these specifics brings the worth of a work down. Or, more precisely, he would say that good judges would agree that the specifics can detract from, rather than add value to, a work. Again, it’s not obvious that Hume is right here. Sometimes the rough edges of a work add to the experience of it.

Brewing a
Remedy
: Qualities of Good Judges

In order to be good judges, Hume argued that we need “a perfect serenity of mind, a recollection of thought, a due attention to the object; if any of these circumstances be wanting, our experiment will be fallacious, and we shall be unable to judge of the catholic and universal beauty.”
⁴
We need serene minds so that our moods don’t influence our judgment. We must be able to carefully recollect the art in question so that we don’t make mistakes in asserting what the art contains, and we must pay attention to details and be able to notice the nuance and subtlety in the art, or we will again fail to judge appropriately. In other words, we start out as if breathed on by the Malboro. We are confused, blinded, and charmed, and we need to alleviate each of these curses in order to judge well.

First, we need to gain experience in viewing art. Hume didn’t suggest that we battle monsters to do this, however. We need to view different works of art, but not only that, we should engage in repeat viewings of the same works. In the
Final Fantasy
games, we often find ourselves engaged in battling Imps, Flans, and Chimeras multiple times and developing strategies to deal with them. Hume said we should do the same with art so that we are not charmed into thinking that a lower-quality work is a higher-quality one. More specifically, experience helps us avoid being seduced by art that, as Hume put it, is “florid and superficial.” That is, art that seems pleasing at first but eventually is found to be sorely lacking in quality.

One reason Hume thought that we need to experience a lot of the art we are planning on judging is that we can’t be fair judges of the art if we don’t know what has been done with it before. It would be like trying to judge the whole
Final Fantasy
series by only playing any of the Crystal Chronicles games. Not that the Crystal Chronicles games are bad games; they simply are not representative of the series.
Final Fantasy
games are fairly diverse, even when they share many of the same elements—like Chocobos, Malboros, and status effects. The basic point is that we need to be aware of what has been done in an art medium before we can fairly judge a work in that medium. We might think something is great, only to find out that it has been done and redone many different ways, and perhaps it has been better done by someone else.

Viewing things may give us experience, but those experiences need to mean something if we are going to be good judges. As Hume stated, “By comparison alone we fix the epithets of praise or blame, and learn how to assign the due degree of each.”
⁵
We need to compare and contrast the art we encounter. What are the qualities that separate games like
Final Fantasy
from other games? What makes
Final Fantasy VI
different from
Final Fantasy VII
? If one is better than the other, how do we explain this? This is the sort of process Hume had in mind when he said that we need to compare the art we view. By comparing, we refine our sensibilities and improve our insight into the qualities that make art succeed or fail. Once we start viewing art this way, we are well on our way to becoming good critics, but we are not there yet.

Charmed by Bias

If we were simply machines, like Warmech, experience and comparison would be enough for us to be good judges. Okay, so Warmech would probably just blast any art put in front of it. But we are different from Warmech: not only do we like looking at art, but we also suffer from particularly human limitations. The biggest limitation we have to deal with in judging art is bias. If we are biased or prejudiced, we can’t accurately evaluate the relations of the parts of an artwork and how these relations bear on the work as a whole. In order to check the influence of bias and prejudice, we must employ
reason
in judging art. The careful use of reason throughout judging allows us to recognize when and where biases creep in and gives us strategies for eliminating them from our final judgments about the quality of a work of art. In role-playing games, I have a preference for sword fighters, which is fortunate because so many of
Final Fantasy
’s lead characters are sword fighters (Cloud Strife, Tidus, Cecil, and so on). But this does not prevent me from recognizing the awesome power of a black-magic user’s Fire spell or Odin summoning. Reason is a remedy against bias in gaming, as well as in judging.