Cpetruz1’s Weblog

In this essay, Freud discusses the behaviors of individuals suffering from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, comparing their actions to those found within a religious context. This is particularly interesting, as he continually refers to such obsessive actions as “the illness”, and then proceeds to talk about the compulsive actions of religion. Freud claims that, “Neurotic ceremonials consist in making small adjustments to particular everyday actions”, and that any deviation from these actions will cause anxiety within an individual. While I feel that OCD is a genuine illness, I disagree with its supposed relation to religion in this sense. However, it is easy to see some of the similarities as discussed by Freud. For instance, neurotic ceremonials and religious rituals both require complete isolation from all actions not directly involved with the obsessive act or ritual. Yet, Freud claims that one of the most distinguishable differences is in how the acts occur. An obsessive action is typically private, while religious observances are public; after all, one of the key traits of religions is community, and the shared aspect expected to complete a religious ritual. At the same time I find myself slightly disagreeing with Freud. Even though the communal aspect of religious ritual is vital, I think religion also brings with it a very personal aspect. Take confession in the Catholic church, for instance. The individual follows a particular order of actions (going to the church, kneeling in the confessional, praying to Mary, etc.) This isn’t a public, communal action, but rather  a private set of slightly neurotic actions for the individual.

One of the other significant differences the Freud addresses is the motivation behind such actions. He claims that “it is one of the conditions of the illness that the person who is obeying a compulsion carries it out without understanding its meaning”. Unfortunately, I understand this point firsthand: I have an aunt who suffers from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and she can’t throw away any mail she gets (she actually has newspapers and junk mail from about the year 1981). She doesn’t know why she can’t part with it, but if you try and take it away, she becomes physically violent. Meanwhile, a religious ritual has specific meaning behind it, which is why an individual will carry it out in the first place. While it upsets me to admit it, I don’t think this is always the case. When children are brought up in the church, they tend to simply follow the service, doing what their parents tell them to do without actually questioning the meaning behind it. Celebrating religious holidays is a great example of this. For instance, on Maundy Thursday in the Lutheran Church we strip down the alter and leave the sanctuary in complete silence. It is a very powerful religious ritual, and I’m pretty sure that the majority of the youth members of my church don’t know why we do it. 

Haeberle begins his essay by posing some questions on the issue of morality within virtual reality. His key question is whether the standards and ethics of actual reality should be imposed on virtual reality, or if each reality is an entity unto itself? He addresses the common assumption that virtual reality is simply a game, claiming that there is actually one ultimate game: life. Therefore, it can be assumed that everything in our lives plays a part in this continual game. To this respect, Haeberle breaks everything down into two types of games: finite and infinite. With finite games, there is a rigid set of rules that needs to be followed, and a time limit on when the game will come to an end. However, with infinite games, there is a more flexible structure. Rather than following a particular set of rules, the players define the game for themselves, deciding how it should be played and when it will end (if it ever ends).  Using Haeberle’s model, it becomes apparent that virtual reality is more of an infinite game. The individuals interacting with virtual reality have the option of how they want to “play”, even maintaining the ability to create their own character, therefore manipulating the actual player. When it comes to the actual ethics of the game, everything depends on the individual player. People are only able to do what they know, so if the players are the people who shape the rules of an infinite game, then they will change depending on the ethics and personal history of the actual players. Yet, Haeberle addresses another problem with ethics inside virtual reality: not all individuals are able to distinguish the boundary between reality and virtual reality (if one even exists). Therefore, they struggle in determining the ethics within the game as opposed to the ethics of reality. This comes in particularly useful when analyzing violence within video games. Haeberle argues that he doesn’t believe in eradicating violence with a purpose: for example, games where the violence advances the story or the movement of the player. However, he sees killing without motive as a dangerous trend that could begin within virtual reality. Personally, I think any and all violence in virtual reality is dangerous, regardless of it apparent purpose. If we start trying to justify violence in virtual reality, and we simultaneously claim that virtual reality mimics our actual lives, then aren’t we beginning to justify all violence in our everyday lives? One thing Heaberle claims is for certain: “it is impossible for a set of ethical standards to not exist when humans are involved”. Therefore, ethics must exist within virtual reality, as they are a human entity. 

In his essay, Penny begins by addressing the way we learn in today’s society, specifically when it comes to a physical action. He claims that repetition is vitally important, and that “physical imitation is a key component in social development”, particularly in the establishment of gender roles. As children, we may never be specifically told what boys do and what girls do, but it is demonstrated to us on a daily basis. I played with dolls, while my brother played baseball-I didn’t ask questions, I just accepted this as the way the world worked. Penny states that there are two ways for an activity to be introduced: either verbally and methodically, or through discipline and repetition. I think it’s fairly obvious that virtual reality simulations have become a prevalent way to obtain information and learn particular behaviors due to the discipline and repetition aspect of this model. People will sit down and play video games for hours on end (I’ve never been able to understand this, but I’ve witnessed it on multiple occasions). Isn’t the repetition of playing a video game the same as the repetition required in practicing a sport in order to master it? This is exactly the argument Penny makes in his essay. Specifically, he cites the influence of virtual reality on the United States government in training the army, marines, etc. I think Penny makes a valid argument in claiming that, “the fact that the US military have invested millions in Simnet, STOW, and other simulation training systems is proof enough that simulation is an effective tool for such training”. While I don’t necessarily agree with all decisions made by the government, I don’t think you can argue that individuals must be learning something from these simulations, or they wouldn’t be a viable recruiting option for the millitary.

Whereas we have read many authors who argue that video games can serve a narrative function, Frasca refutes this claim, drawing what he finds to be the distinction between narration and simulation. His main argument is that, while a narrative is about what has already happened, a simulation is about what could happen. In his model, narratives are formed from a fixed series of events, actions, and descriptions- video games simply don’t fit follow these rules. Frasca says, “Video games need the active participation of the user not just for interpretational matters, but also for accessing its content”. He continues by noting the importance of sacred books within religious following, demonstrating why simulations are not a good choice as far as religious practice is concerned. For example, moral codes strictly enforced by the church are not meant to be read alternatively. Frasca uses the example of “thou shalt not kill”, and how it would be completely unacceptable for it to be simulated as “thou shalt kill”. 

I feel that Frasca’s argument in this respect perfectly explains society’s reaction to films such as “The Last Temptation of Christ”. When Martin Scorsese interacted with the biblical accounts of Jesus’ life, he simulated the narrative to suit the story he was trying to tell. The story of Christ is traditionally a linear narrative, and any play that occurs with it can be considered trivial. This is the same reason we never see video games depicting Jesus Christ. While he followed one particular path that is meant to evoke a certain feeling within society, a video game would give the player the opportunity to make decisions for Christ: this is exactly what Scorsese did with The Last Temptation. He focused on Christ’s humanity, diminishing his sacrifice for the sins of mankind. Can you imagine the outcry of a Jesus video game? While Scorsese had Jesus stray onto one path, what would happen if everyday people were given the ability to have Him stray in multiple directions?

The other interesting argument that Frasca raises is the ability for an online forum for video games, or what he refers to as “Video games of the Oppressed”. Like the classic tradition of Theater of the Oppressed, where the audience has the ability to help chose what will happen to the characters, in video games of the oppressed the players are given the opportunity to start online forums, posting video games and having others comment or take the code and create their own interpretation of the material. Frasca mentions the possibility of Character Exchange sites, where individuals can find characters written by other people and adapt them to suit their own desires. I feel that he is basically arguing for a free flow of ideas across the internet, and this seems odd to me. Isn’t the internet already a forum for discussion on social change and reform, with people borrowing ideas from others all the time? I don’t see why programing code should have to play a role, seeing as how many people (myself very  much included), don’t have the skills required to interact with the medium in this way.

In her article, Underwood begins by focusing on the role of women within virtual reality and the cyber realm that was once dominated by men. She analyzes the the equality that can be provided through virtual content: within the virtual world, a man can be a woman, a woman can be a man, and a woman can even be a man pretending to be a woman. It’s empowering when you think about it this way: not only are our identities hidden, but even our gender, which can often serve as a determining factor in how the world views us. However, Underwood makes one argument that I feel is untrue, as well as contradictory to what she has to say. Underwood states, “But as usual the message was mixed: by entering the genderless world of the Internet you can better fulfill your traditional gender roles.” I feel that because of the untraditional genders within virtual reality, traditional gender roles can’t really exist. She attempts to cite the websites visited by women: cooking, fashion-basically their connection to the outside world. Yet, then she immediately contradicts this example, citing a woman giving an executive conference via the internet, where the executives are unable to tell if she is a man or woman. Underwood continues to jump back and forth within this argument, seeming unclear in whether or not she views gender equality on the internet.

Underwood also discusses the issue of embodiment online, addressing the obvious point that cyberbodies are not flesh and blood. Yet, there appear to be physical reactions to online conversations. Underwood uses the example of a virtual hug. Some people may actually be lonely enough that they claim to feel another’s arms around them. The same is said for the phrase LOL (laugh out loud): individuals also said that when they type this expression, they are actually laughing in reality. Underwood suggests that this may simply be a new form of embodiment that cannot be compared to our traditional understanding of the word.

In all honesty, I struggled to understand exactly what Strickland was saying, let alone the point she was trying to make. From what I could understand, she was analyzing the flow of language: how it moves through the speaker and the listener-the different ways both individuals interact with particular words. The one thing I did find interesting toward the beginning of the article was her notion of “moving through me as I move”. In this sense, language appeared to be a metaphor for the Christian belief as to God’s relationship with the people he created; he shaped them, and then influences their lives by moving through them, and interacting with them in this sense. However, I became terribly lost as to her argument about the oscillation of images. I understand the difference between “looking at” and “looking through” something, but I fail to see how this relates to hypertexts. It seems to be common sense that two sets of images containing words, when layered on top of each other, won’t result in legible text, making it more difficult for someone to interact with it. Anything else she talks about for the rest of the article is pretty much nonsensical to me.

Cindy Poremba focuses in on one key issue in her article: the reality of games, particularly the “forbidden” games within society. One of her most dominant frames of analysis is the frequently used excuse that some particular behavior is “just a game”. Poremba claims that we use this excuse in an attempt to rationalize behaviors we may partake in that go against the social norm-behavior that is “forbidden” within the context of reality. For example, she cites games with implicit sexual undertones, including Twister and Spin-the-bottle. With Twister, we know the actual rules of play to partake in the game: spin the dial, a certain body part lands on a certain color, and you move that body part to said color. However, these explicit rules of the game are not the only ones. While “playing”, we are able to temporarily suspend the rules of personal intimacy found in society-this is an implicit rule of the game. People in a real social setting don’t get down on their hands and knees, straddling an almost-complete stranger. However, within the context of the game, this is not only accepted, but even expected. The same holds true with a game of spin-the-bottle. Generally, promiscuity is frowned upon in society. We approve of relationships and commitment to a particular individual. However, the actual explicit rules of the game call for and individual to spin a bottle, and kiss whoever the bottle points toward. There are implicit implications to this as well: it can be viewed as a game of seduction, suspending our boundaries as far as promiscuity is concerned. Poremba also cites the arguments of Salen and Zimmerman, as well as Bogost, discussing her own theory on the “magic circle” of virtual reality. According to Poremba, this line around the “magic circle” is often blurred. We will take place in “forbidden play” within the “magic circle”, which encourages typically taboo behavior. Yet, the rules of real society tend to collide with those of “forbidden play”,  ”challenging the integrity of the boundary between two worlds”. Meanwhile, Poremba also addresses Bogost’s argument that games both draw from and rupture the rules of the actual world. He suggests that there is a gap in this boundary between worlds, allowing ideas and concepts to flow freely between the two. What Poremba implies is that, if this is the case, then there really isn’t a “magic circle”, but rather a very thin line that is constantly on the brink of being crossed. This makes me wonder: do we put ourselves in the magic circle as just an excuse to take part in behavior that we so desperately want to in reality? Or do we actually believe that what we’re doing is “just a game”, and we only are doing it for fun?

I want to focus on one of Erikson’s quotes that really struck me as to the  meaning behind his essay: “I have suggested that the most basic quality of human life, hope, is the inner strength which emerges unbroken from early familiarity and mutuality and which provides for man a sense (or a promise) of a personal and universal continuum”. To start with, he looks at a phase of life that tends to be forgotten as the years pass by: infancy. In our society, we focus on money and time, two qualities that prove insignificant to the youngest generations. We are always so busy looking forward to the future and what we can accomplish that we tend to forget the beginning, the events that actually helped shaped us into the people that will be stepping into this hopefully bright future. Yet when you really think about it, everything that happens in our adult lives is merely an adaptation of our infancy. For example, Erikson talks about the stage of separation by abandonment, which we must prevent by surrounding ourselves by the familiar. This sounds strikingly familiar to an infant and its mother: children fear abandonment, as they are raised constantly surrounded by their parents-how often is an infant’s first word some version of mom or dad? Both infants and adults need this reassurance in the familiar, and I feel that religious rituals provide this to adults. Don’t rituals often include repeated activities that would therefore be very familiar to the people partaking in them? Going back to the quote, Erikson claims that hope for ourselves-hope in a greater power-emerges from this sense of the familiar, a promise of a “personal and universal continuum”. What I think Erikson is trying to say is that what we experience in our infancy simply becomes a continuous, repeated cycle-we have the same fears of abandonment as an adult that we do as an infant, just on a different level. Therefore, if we keep having these repeated cycles of feelings and fears, they become familiar to us, enabling us to achieve the most basic quality of human life: hope. 

In her article, Karen Moltenbrey focuses on a key problem Ron Howard faced when he decided to make “The Da Vinci Code”: how to depict the Church of Saint-Sulpice. The famous Parisian church is a critical visual and narrative aspect of the novel, yet it would be nearly impossible to bring this same description onto the screen. While in other movies, there is the option of shooting at a different location and simply claiming it is the one mentioned, the same could not be done with Saint-Sulpice. Because it is such a recognizable and described church, anyone who had visited it would immediately be able to tell if a double was being used. Plus, there was never even a possibility that a film crew would be granted permission to film in the actual church. However, effects supervisor on the film, Bickerton, had previously worked on another film requiring special assistance as far as effects were concerned. He called in two talented effects artists, Breakspear and Rainmaker, who were able to devise another plan. Rainmaker went into the church and took hundreds of pictures (the article emphasized that photography is allowed within Saint-Sulpice). The images were then used to create a 3D computer generated version of Saint-Sulpice. Even when the effects artists reached the problem of how to make the image appear as though it is night, the CG artists used alpha channels, maps, and controls to grade and rebuild a nighttime version of the composition. A set was actually created on which to film the scenes-it was just enhanced the the CG replica of the church. The entire process used  to digitally create Saint-Sulpice really makes me question the idea of sacred space. The movie was not filmed in the actual church, but was rather a created replica of the space. Therefore, I think a fairly obvious question comes to mind: is the church still sacred? The greater issue behind all of this is that this isn’t the only digitally created area of worship; take Second Life, for instance. The churches and cathedrals within this world were created in a manner similar to that of Saint-Sulpice in “The Da Vinci Code”. People worship in these churches as though they are physically attending a service-this is the same in the case of actual online churches. I wonder: what actually makes a space sacred? Is it the person who built it? Because if that’s the case, then all churches are sacred, digital or not, for they are all created by man. If it’s the activities that occur within a space that make it sacred, then any form of building could be considered sacred. And one final question still comes to mind: in “The Da Vinci Code”, Dan Brown manipulates the facts of Saint-Sulpice with fiction, so can the space still be sacred if it doesn’t actually depict the real church? 

I feel that Warren Sack and Jill Walker look at the phenomenon of online conversation in two completely different manners, yet there are similarities within their arguments. In both VLSC’s and Walker’s interaction with Online Caroline, the individual is able to communicate their thoughts and feelings with other people-every person has a voice. However, the difference between the two articles is whether or not that voice is actually heard. Sack emphasizes the importance of reciprocating with others; you don’t just visit one of these conversations to talk at people, but rather to talk to them, to generate a continuous flow of ideas. When this happens, everyone is heard and actual conversation takes place. However, Walker looks at the way conversations can actually prove to be simulations, and the way these simulations can “play” you. With Online Caroline, Walker would try to converse and state her opinions and ideas, yet they didn’t actually matter in the greater scheme of the simulation. She even created a second identity completely opposite of the one she had already established online, yet discovered that “Caroline” would still send her a generic response, regardless of what she actually had to say.   I think Online Caroline is a perfect example of how the level of interactivity on the part of the participant can actually determine how real they find a game or website to be. In Sack’s article, he discusses the interaction between actual people online-how they use this new format as merely another means of communicating ideas. However, Walker looks at a newer concept: interacting with something that was before only ever used as a means of entertainment. I mean, there are multiple times I have read a book or watched a movie and yelled out loud at a character for something they were doing. It’s hard to believe that we have reached an age where it is actually possible to interact with these once-fictional characters. I say once-fictional because I believe that as soon as we begin to interact with them, they are no longer fictional to us. Walker herself even addresses her level of investment in what happens to Caroline, despite the fact that her voice isn’t actually heard. It’s easy to see how a website like Online Caroline can become an instant community-it’s not just about the interaction with Caroline, but the relationship that may develop between her followers. I see it as the same as fans of a television show: each individual will interact with Meredith Grey in their own way, yet everyone’s mutual interaction and investment in the show ties them together into their own community.