If video games serve an artistic function, it is to provide gamers with a diverse selection of mythologies to adopt and enact. Far from being a banal form of escapism, mythic video games allow a player to step into the consciousness of a character, to regress into a world of archetypes and symbols. The best of these games give the player a structural framework and a symbolically rich environment while still allowing freedom and creativity. This list attempts to survey the best of these games, as well as demonstrating the different approaches that a game can take to becoming a part of relevant modern mythology.

The Sims is probably the strangest and most surprising choice on this list, but, in a way, the most impressive. The premise of The Sims is mystifying to the outsider. Why escape from a daily life of endless routine and daily repetition into a computerized simulation of the same? There is a sense in which, by observing and controlling the most mundane activities of fictional characters, the seemingly unimportant events and actions of our own lives become clearer and more focused. No doubt more than a few Sims players, after acquiring the requisite addiction, have played for hours on end and at last risen from their computers to wonder briefly whether they are being guided by an invisible hand.

The Xenosaga series is, in one sense, the quintessential space opera. Breathtaking cinematic sequences, sharp characterization, and a sprawling story oozing background combine to make Xenosaga a standout among science fiction RPG's. Many games have attempted to create convincing and memorable sci-fi worlds, and some have succeeded, but very few have achieved the philosophical and mythological self-consciousness of Xenosaga. Xenosaga raises complex, if not entirely original, ethical questions. Sometimes it goes too far in attempting to inspire thought in its players--the obscure Kabbalistic references and Nietzchean subtitle have been called pretentious and unnecessary--but this flaw can be overlooked in a game otherwise teeming with mythological material.

The Pokemon series represents a vast multicultural phenomenon, sprawling unstoppably across the world. The game itself has a simple premise; much of its popularity no doubt arises from its appeal to the collection instinct and, of course, its fun and easy to learn mechanics. The Pokemon phenomenon served as a bonding ritual for many and a borderline obsession for many more. Whatever confluence of circumstances conspired to bring about its astounding success, the Pokemon series defined a generational segment in a way that, arguably, no other video game has.

In many ways, Myst represents the perfect adventure game. It rose to fame quickly, partly because of excellent timing but mostly because of its engrossing world and engaging story. Even today, the graphics of Myst hold a special beauty, and it is hard to think of any more convincing example of a game as art. The basic storyline, a pair of consciousnesses trapped in books, is certain to resonate with many gamers, and Atrus is a purely archetypal figure, an old and eminently wise man whose pen can create worlds (certainly, the game developers identified with Atrus). As the game progresses, Myst presents the player with a crucial choice, and the mythology becomes increasingly tangled in the complex relations between father and sons.

Morrowind is an amazing artistic achievement. Its visuals were unsurpassed in its time, its world is sprawling and intricate, and it is filled with enough content to keep one busy for a very, very long time even without the employment of third-party mods. Morrowind's story is simple and straightforward: there is a prophecy which the player is to fulfill, and much of the main storyline proceeds along the rich but non-specific nature of this plot. The particular beauty of Morrowind lies in its freedom. The player is given complete control over the creation of his character and then turned loose into a realistic and detailed world. The options available are myriad, and there are very few limitations that ingenuity and character development cannot overcome. Morrowind, more than any other RPG, represents the truly mythopoetic game, a game in which the player is free to create his own myth with a massive amount of raw material and as little constriction as possible.

Like Xenosaga, Devil May Cry draws upon existing tradition for a good deal of its mythology. Wherle Xenosaga used references and parallels to establish its link to religious tradition and to display its philosophical bent, Devil May Cry is very obvious in its adoption of Christian mythology. Dante's Inferno provides a base for the game's environment and ambience, and also for the characters' names, but offers little beyond that. The real mythic appeal of Devil May Cry lies in its sweeping vision of spiritual warfare, its courage to explore what have become highly sensitive realms of religious mythos, and perhaps even in the sublime and beautiful implications of its title.

The mythical implications of the Sonic series might not be obvious at first; indeed, this might seem a very odd choice. But the Sonic series brings up some very interesting myths. The most obvious sign of its mythological nature is the effortless anthropomorphism it displays--the characters are animals, but they are unostentatious and, indeed, seemingly unconscious that they are animals. They are uncomplicated and unemotional (as most animals are) and controlling them is somewhat freeing for the human player. It is worth noting, as well, the relative failure of other games that have tried to capture animalism (Ecco the Dolphin comes to mind, with its overt self-consciousness; even the mechanically entertaining Lion King over-personifies its characters, though quite defensibly, as it is based on a movie; the human but not humanized character of Mowgli in the Jungle Book comes closer to the unselfconscious animal ideal than either of these two examples). The mythology of Sonic comes to its peak in Sonic 3, particularly when it is played with the Sonic & Knuckles lock-on cartridge, and seems most evident both in the crystal cavern between the two titles and in the penultimate level's pursuit of Knuckles in the latter title. The proper way to play Sonic mythically is to strive after Sonic's complete unselfconsciousness, playing without any purpose other than enjoyment, and without any pretension at seriousness.

World of Warcraft is another phenomenon title, a god among MMORPG's and a bona fide symbol of the gaming world today. It has been subject to stereotypes, surprisingly mainstream parodies, and brutal controversy. Though WoW's lore is complex, and the world is quite pleasantly developed, the nature of the world itself is not (perhaps ironically) a prime feature of the game's mythology. What makes WoW (and other MMO's, though not as widely or as noticeably) mythic is, quite simply, its players; what makes WoW different from all the other games on this list is the stress on the interaction between people from all walks of life and all parts of the country. In WoW, the alter ego one creates becomes a mythical figure, not just to oneself, but to the people that one interacts with. And the massive amounts of playtime required to be seriously competitive in any MMORPG ensures a deep bond between player and character, such that it is difficult to see where one starts and the other begins.

As a whole, the Final Fantasy series is amazingly engrossing. Each title represents a mostly unique world of high fantasy and exquisite imagination; each title boasts deep and well-developed characters and an epic storyline. The abyssal separation between the various titles in the series serves to enhance and highlight the mythical similarities between them: chocobos and Cid; phoenix downs and echo screens; the resurgence of themes such as love, betrayal, and racism. It is difficult to play through a Final Fantasy game without feeling the mythical currents surging through it, without hearing the character's voices clearly, above and beyond the dialogue, whether the voices are actually spoken or not. Final Fantasy games contain shocking moments of vast sublimity that are almost certain to evoke a breathless gasp from all but the most apathetic players. Final Fantasy X, though it is more linear and less difficult than most of its brothers, seems to represent the pinnacle of mythical achievement in the series. The terrain is rich and varied; the characters deep, archetypal, and above all likable; and the interplay of dreams and death, as well as the inherent religious criticisms, are sure to arouse thought as well as emotion. If the game is played and appreciated as it should be, sitting through the ending with eyes dry and throat open would seem an impressive feat.

Unlike many of the other items on this list, the number one choice was not even vaguely difficult. I cannot imagine a more perfect mythic game than The Ocarina of Time. Here we have the journey of the boy hero, Link, jerked forcibly from a peaceable existence into a world of magic and danger. He undergoes an initiation in the dark and fiery places, travels through the deeply unconscious realms of water, and emerges, victorious and initiated, fully mature. Link has the rarest and most treasured of psychic abilities, the power to change between the physical potentiality of the developed consciousness and the playful freedom of the child's mind. In a beautiful symbolism, he is forced to use both of these modes of consciousness to fulfill his destiny. Here is a world populated by highly mythical and beautiful creatures: the ethereal Zora of water and air, the earthy and practical Gorons. Here is a beautiful princess and an equally beautiful horse. This is a world where music has a primal power, where owls are still wise, and where one is rewarded for shooting at the sun. The Ocarina of Time really is the perfect mythical game--who can forget the myth of the Triforce, which has become a legend of its own? The only flaw, and it is, in a sense, a heartbreaking one, is that Link is the opposite of Sonic: he is a conscious and self-conscious hero, and there is a vague but inescapable sense that we are watching his story unfold from outside. He is too innocent and at once too solid for our consciousness to penetrate. But this single flaw, this great sadness, is easily forgotten in the midst of this beautiful story, the most sublime and applicable myth of the video-game age.

I believe completely that video games serve a deep artistic function and fulfill an array of primal human needs in a way that few other mediums can, particularly in our age. It is sad to see them marginalized or forgotten, decried as pathetic or frivolous or meaningless. The mythology of our generation arises in large part from these "frivolous" pursuits, and I think a little consciousness of the deeper functions of video gaming can be enlightening and entertaining as one plays through one's favorite games. I realize that this has been something of a departure from the typical lists one sees here, and I have adopted an overwrought style in part as a sort of parody of literary criticism, but also in the hope that a deeper analysis of a game's virtues and unconscious abilities can affect us quite potently. I leave you with this image. Outside of Amarillo, TX, on Interstate 40, a somewhat eccentric artist named Stanley Marsh has constructed an odd artistic monument called the Cadillac Ranch. Ten Cadillacs are stuck into the ground at 45-degree angles, and passersby are invited to come in and spray-paint them to their hearts' desire. There are many layers of paint, and each new layer is covered fairly quickly, but every time I have seen this monument, one symbol in particular has stood out: a large yellow Triforce in the center of one car, which has, in several years, not been covered. Anarchist A's and swastikas and names and hearts and declarations of eternal love and Golden Snitches and Grim Reapers and Biblical references have been covered over countless times, but still the Triforce shines clear. It is something to think about.

List by docegm