James Cartlidge

About halfway through Hideo Kojima’s Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater, the relentless tactical espionage action is interrupted by one of the most remarkable pauses in video game history. For nearly three minutes, the protagonist Snake climbs a ladder—alone—as a haunting a cappella version of the game’s theme song plays. Though seemingly uneventful, this moment is charged with emotional weight, filled with symbolic resonance, and delivered with aesthetic mastery. It stands as a testament to the capacity of games to evoke profound affective experiences in ways unique to the medium. This article gives a personal and political reading of Snake Eater’s famous ladder climb scene which interprets it as one of absurd melancholy, a darkly comic instantiation of solitude which prompts reflection on the game’s core themes of mortality, sacrifice, the human consequence of war, the injustice of forcing people to put their lives on the line to protect the interests of nations. It forms part of a special issue on the theoretical framework outlined by Tracy Fullerton and Matthew Farber’s book The Well-Read Game: On Playing Thoughtfully (MIT Press), which concerns “the ephemeral and emotional experiences of being in play […] [the] private stories we tell ourselves as we play, the questions we ask, and our reactions to the game’s intent.”

This article examines how Quasimorph, a turn-based roguelike extraction shooter, models and critiques anarcho-capitalism through its narrative, worldbuilding, mechanics and economic systems. Anarcho-capitalism is a political and economic philosophy which envisions a stateless society based upon private property and voluntary contractual exchange within unfettered free-market competition– capitalism, without the state. Traditionally state-performed services (policing, defence, administering justice, etc.) would instead be performed by private companies competing for profit. Quasimorph offers a speculative, futuristic vision of anarcho-capitalism in practise in a colonized solar system. The game offers a powerful critique of anarcho-capitalist thought which, on three distinct fronts, shows that anarcho-capitalism would represent only a ‘seeming change’ from capitalism that would preserve and exacerbate its worst aspects. This paper shows how Quasimorph put this critique in playable form, affirming the video game’s status as a vehicle for the critique of social and political ideologies.

This paper bridges phenomenological theory with practical game design by examining how players of ASCII Roguelikes develop unconscious mastery through mental simulation—a process with implications for interface design, player onboarding, and cognitive load management in games. While the framework is philosophical, its applications extend to empirical player experience research, particularly in understanding how minimalistic or abstract interfaces can leverage embodied learning. Employing a postphenomenological framework, I take ‘Roguelike’ video games, which use ASCII graphics, as a case study for examining ‘mental simulation’, which is described in neuroscience as an automatic, unconscious process by which the mind readies us for performing tasks that we have learned from previous experience. The experience of playing ASCII Roguelikes is analyzed phenomenologically using the concepts of ‘intentionality’ and Heidegger’s ‘ready-to-hand’, and through this analysis the connection of these concepts to mental simulation is explored. I argue that the development of the capacity for mental simulation runs concurrently with the different stages of intentional disclosure and the development of what Heidegger calls ‘readiness-to-hand’, in which our intentional relationship and level of conscious engagement with an object changes as we become more familiar with it.

This article offers a political reading of Mossmouth's UFO 50, a collection of 50 retro-style games that evoke the aesthetics and design principles of 1980s gaming. Drawing on Fredric Jameson's concepts of the ‘nostalgia mode’ and the ‘utopian impulse’, I argue that UFO 50's nostalgia is not a superficial longing for the past, but a political gesture that challenges the current state of the video game industry. By creatively appropriating the past, UFO 50 critiques the complacency of modern game production and consumption, urging us to imagine alternative futures and reclaim the creativity and risk-taking that characterised earlier eras of game development. However, through its meta-narrative, the game also cautions against uncritically preserving the past, reminding us that, while we can learn from them, every historical period is flawed. Ultimately, UFO 50 is a critically nostalgic work that refuses to accept the present conditions of the gaming industry.

This book analyzes the wave of roguelite games that have appeared over the past decade, putting them in historical context, informing readers about their development out of and relation to the roguelike genre that inspired them. The book includes discussions of the historical development and significance of roguelites, critical perspectives on topics such as gender, politics, philosophy, analyses of the influence of roguelikes on roguelites, and discussions of design and mechanics. This book will appeal to those wishing to study and learn more about the roguelites, games studies students and researchers, and game designers interested in this genre.

Fans of ‘roguelike’ video games have long been engaged in an intense debate over what this genre label means, and how we should understand the task of thinking about it. This article argues that the attempt to define ‘roguelike’ known as the ‘Berlin Interpretation’ is an example of the ‘prototype theory’ of categorization in action, and considers the strengths and weaknesses of this type of categorization for understanding video game genres. Using examples from roguelike fan discourse, it shows how the problem with the Interpretation lied in its privileging game mechanics as the salient features of games on which to ground its definition, where a more productive place to start would have been experience and skills, which can also be extrapolated from prototypical examples.

This article criticises David Chalmers’ ‘Reality+’ by interrogating its distinction of virtual reality (VR) from 2D, non-VR video games, a distinction made on the grounds that VR is immersive and these types of video games are not because immersion is a distinct characteristic of 3D perceptually represented VR. Building on the Balcerak Jacksons’ account of ‘representational immersion’, which they acknowledge has ‘perceptual’ and ‘non-perceptual’ elements, I develop an account of ‘non-perceptual representational immersion’ and use it to critique Chalmers’ treatment of VR, immersion, and video games, indirectly problematizing his central ontological claim that ‘virtual reality is genuine reality’ and the reflections he makes about future society which rest upon it. I argue that video games are rich in non-perceptual representational immersion, which includes the representation of non-perceptual information about the structure and behaviour of a virtual world and its systems, the non-perceptual cognitive states that are generated in the player by the virtual world, and the immersion which comes from the constitutively cognitive nature of the player’s engagement with the virtual world, a cognitive engagement construed in an enactive sense. These are just as crucial to the phenomenon of digital immersion as perception. Immersion generally is a much more complicated phenomenon than Chalmers allows for, and it is better conceived as taking place on a spectrum which includes both 3D and 2D experiences of virtual worlds, not as hinging on 3D perceptual representation. I use ‘immersive simulation’ games as a case study.

Warren Zevon’s musical career, though brilliant throughout, is particularly notable for its ending: diagnosed with a terminal illness, Zevon refused a potentially debilitating medical treatment to put his remaining energy into recording another album. The resulting record –2003’s 'The Wind' – was in many ways the perfect farewell: songs of dirty, dark, uncompromising, country-tinged rock, blistering guitar solos, all mixed with intelligent, black-as-coal gallows humour. But it was also a moving farewell to his fans, a heartfelt, personal reflection on his life and impending death: it begins with the words “sometimes I feel like my shadow’s casting me” and ends with “keep me in your heart for a while”. 'The Wind' ranks among Zevon’s very best and belongs in the same category as albums like David Bowie’s 'Blackstar' and Leonard Cohen’s 'You Want It Darker': works of great artists that knew the end was coming and made that knowledge musical. But though it had a particular force towards the end, death had always featured as a prominent theme in Zevon’s music. In fact, the albums that preceded his terminal diagnosis – especially 2000’s 'Life’ll Kill Ya' – have a marked preoccupation with death and dying, and many of his song’s characters (gunmen, gangsters, boxers, murderers of all stripes) either dealt death out, died, or both. In this chapter, I argue that Zevon’s music and speech in his late public appearances personify an idea in Martin Heidegger’s philosophy called ‘authentic being-towards-death’. In his landmark text 'Being and Time', Heidegger undertakes a painstaking analysis of human existence. One of its conclusions is that to live a fully authentic life, we must reckon with our mortality, come to terms with it and allow this reckoning to have a transformative effect on how we live and how we think about our existence. This results, Heidegger argues, in a distinct way of being that he calls ‘being-towards-death’ and ‘anticipatory resoluteness’ in the face of death. Authentic being, which involves properly taking ownership of our lives and their meaning, cannot be adequately achieved without a serious confrontation with the fact that we will one day die. I claim that Warren Zevon’s music, with its continual engagement with death which culminates in 'The Wind', is one of the great musical manifestations of exactly this type of project. Heidegger’s writing is often notoriously abstract, but it pertains to the most fundamental issues about what it means to be human. Engaging with it alongside Zevon’s music provides a fruitful opportunity to make it concrete, better able to understand its most important aspects while providing an interesting conceptual toolkit to apply to the music of one of the great songwriters of death.

This paper interprets the influential colony management simulator ‘Dwarf Fortress’ existentially, in terms of finitude, absurdity, and narrative. It applies Aarseth/Möring’s proposed method of game interpretation, adopting their definition of ‘cybermedia’ as a generalized game ontology, then providing a specialized ontology of ‘Dwarf Fortress’ which describes its genre and salient gameplay features, incorporating Ian Bogost’s concept of ‘procedural rhetoric’. It then gives an existentialist interpretation of ‘Dwarf Fortress’ which centres on ‘finitude’, ‘absurdity’, and ‘narrative’, showing that ‘Dwarf Fortress’ is a game about the existential tensions involved in being human. We live knowing our lives and civilizations are finite, that there are radical limits on what we can know and do. There is no meaning inherent in the world, or in history, so it is up to us to create our own, and one of our most powerful ways of doing this is narrative.

This paper examines the philosophy of Jean-Francois Lyotard in relation to the analytic philosophy of deep disagreement. It argues not just that his work has relevance for this debate, but that it offers a challenge to the ‘epistemic paradigm’ present in its academic literature, represented by the two most prominent sets of theories within it – the ‘fundamental epistemic principle’ and ‘hinge epistemology’ views, arguably most strongly represented by Michael Lynch and Duncan Pritchard, respectively. Focussing on Lyotard’s text ‘The Differend’, I show how its conceptual framework and philosophy of language locates the cause of deep disagreement not in the epistemic realm, but in things which do not fully submit to epistemic evaluation: the radically incomplete and open nature of language, and our increasingly politically pluralistic world full of incommensurable differences that do not always admit of rational resolution. Lyotard’s work calls for us to conceptualize deep disagreements as problems of politics, not epistemology, and to find new ways of dealing with disagreements that do not force a solution on them (which often comes at the cost of one party being wronged, or worse) and to create new ways of speaking so that our collective conceptual resources can be increased to better deal with specific cases of dispute. Lyotard’s relevance for the philosophy of deep disagreement is also further discussed with references to Miranda Fricker’s work on ‘epistemic injustice’, which Lyotard, in a different vocabulary, is also concerned with and analyses in ‘The Differend’.

This paper examines how Jacques Derrida appropriates and deepens Immanuel Kant’s transcendental philosophy. In Derrida’s early essay on différance, Kant is conspicuous in his absence. One of the essay’s key aims is to re-think space and time, drawing on the work of Heidegger, Hegel, Nietzsche, and several others to do so. It is therefore curious that Kant is never mentioned, especially because the method and conceptual framework Derrida ends up adopting owes a huge debt to transcendental arguments. Derrida posits a fundamental double- movement of differing and deferral - différance - as the condition for the possibility of anything to be at all, the originary constitution of space and time. It therefore functions as a kind of ‘ultra-transcendental’ condition, as Derrida would say later in his career, that reaches a level of fundamentality that Kant was unable to, making possible not just human experience, but existence as a whole as such.

The developers of Red Hook Studios’ 2016 gothic horror game ‘Darkest Dungeon’ said that they wanted to ‘capture the human response to stress’. This paper analyses how the game does this with its ‘stress’, ‘affliction’ and ‘virtue’ mechanics. With reference to research literature on stress, I show how these mechanics, which could easily have been cheap gimmicks, approach the topic of stress with admirable detail, offering a complex reflection on the various aspects, positive and negative, of several possible human responses to stress. They show how different responses include similar symptoms, how stress impacts the people around the stressed person, and make the case that stress can break people, but also fuel heroism. It is a fantastic example of how video game mechanics can be used to educate people about complex subjects without explicitly saying this is what they’re doing.

This dissertation articulates and defends a conception of philosophical anthropology by reading Martin Heidegger’s ‘analytic of Dasein’ as an exemplary case of it and developing its account of anxiety and boredom. I define philosophical anthropology in distinction to empirical anthropology, which I argue is concerned with specificity and difference. Anthropology investigates human beings and their societies in their historical specificity, situated in context, thereby contributing to the understanding of the differences between human beings and their societies across the world and throughout history. Philosophical anthropology, however, concerns the commonality between human beings. It questions at a more abstract level, asking what being a human being is like in general, what structures every case of human existence, what is common to all instances of it. It attempts to account for the structures of human existence and generate conceptual frameworks and vocabularies for describing and analyzing human life. I claim philosophical anthropology and empirical anthropology can complement, make use of and relate productively to each other, two sides of the same coin in the investigation of human existence. After outlining my conception of philosophical anthropology, I show how Heidegger engages in it in Being and Time’s ‘analytic of Dasein’ and other texts of the late 1920s that followed shortly after and continue this sort of project. Heidegger himself, emphatically and repeatedly throughout his career, opposed this reading of his work, but I will show that his most significant arguments in support of this opposition are unconvincing. I then critically develop one aspect of his analysis: its account of what I call the ‘revelatory moods’ of anxiety and boredom. Heidegger theorizes a variety of these moods as involving intense, profound experiences of total meaninglessness, with the very significance of the world receding from us. These experiences convey important insights to us about what it means to exist as human beings. In a brief passage, without arguing for it, Heidegger claims that joy is also a revelatory mood in the same sense, despite its seeming very different from anxiety and boredom. I critically develop Heidegger’s account to theorize joy as a revelatory mood, supplementing his analysis and deepening its usefulness as a philosophical anthropology. Heidegger gives us a conceptual framework for analyzing important human affective phenomena, interpreting their existential significance and their function in the context of our lives. I conclude with a corollary investigation into the relevance that my conception of philosophical anthropology might have to Cognitive Science. I argue, drawing on the work of Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty and Mark Rowlands, that philosophical anthropology could aid Cognitive Science in the construction of what Imre Lakatos called a ‘hard core’ – something that has recently been argued to be problematically missing in Cognitive Science. A ‘hard core’ is a set of refutationresistant principles, conceptions or theories around which a coherent scientific research program can take place. I show that the work of philosophical anthropologists could be useful in debating and deciding what needs to be included in Cognitive Science’s hard core.

This paper evaluates Howe and Leota/Turp's accounts of gamesmanship by examining case studies of gamesmanship from professional darts. While Leota and Turp make some substantial improvements on Howe in reconceptualizing the idea of sporting excellence, I claim that there are points of criticism that must be addressed, notably in their claims that sports do not prescribe necessary skills, and that it is impossible to distinguish between legitimate sporting strategy unaccounted for by the rules on the one hand, and gamesmanship on the other. Leota and Turp criticise Howe’s account of rules for being misconceived: rather than rules prescribing necessary skills as Howe claims, rules actually proscribe skills and set limits on behaviour, rather than prescribing skills. I use darts and other sports to make the case that rules actually do both things. Elsewhere, in the phenomenon of ‘grouping’, I argue that we find a skill completely unaccounted for by the rules of darts and not a necessary skill for playing darts, which nonetheless counts as excellence for darts. This problematizes some claims from Leota and Turp on which their account of gamesmanship hinges. An aspect of Howe, Leota and Turp’s accounts on which they all agree is the importance of psychological resilience in sporting endeavours, which I discuss with reference to darts and rule changes in professional sport. The article ends with a discussion of an example from darts of a potential gamesmanship strategy, from a match between Michael van Gerwen and Darius Labanauskas, that unquestionably remains within the rules of the sport and which could not be eradicated through rule changes because it would violate the spirit of the sport. This is an interesting, controversial example for studies of the different forms of gamesmanship and their categorization, and indicates some limitations on what I say in my argument.

Martin Heidegger often and emphatically claimed that his work, especially in his masterpiece Being and Time, was not philosophical anthropology. He conceived of his project as ‘fundamental ontology’, and argued that because it is singularly concerned with the question of the meaning of Being in general (and not ‘human being’), this precluded him from being engaged in philosophical anthropology. This is a claim we should find puzzling because at the very heart of Heidegger’s project is an analysis of the structures of the existence of ‘Dasein’, an entity that human beings are an instantiation of, the entity that has a relationship of concern towards its existence and which is capable of raising the question of the meaning of Being. Heidegger argues that because he only analyses human beings insofar as they are Daseins, he cannot be doing philosophical anthropology, but only fundamental ontology. In this paper, I refute this claim. I provide a sketch of philosophical anthropology which conceives it as the other side of anthropology’s coin. Where anthropology is concerned with understanding human difference, philosophical anthropology attempts to understand what is common to all instances of human existence and elucidate its significant features and structures. Whether he likes it or not, Heidegger is engaged in exactly this kind of project because anything that applies truly to Dasein applies truly to human beings. With this in mind, I examine Heidegger’s analysis of moods to demonstrate that Heidegger’s work is best understood as involving a kind of philosophical anthropology.

Martin Heidegger gave a penetrating account of the different varieties of the moods of anxiety and boredom, which have no doubt been prevalent in the human experience of the Covid-19 pandemic. Heidegger theorized a particular type of anxiety and boredom as what I call 'revelatory moods', intense affective experiences that involve an encounter with our existence as such, our world, freedom and responsibility for the creation and proliferation of significance. Revelatory moods contain much emancipatory potential, acting as existential catalysts for our being able to authentically seize hold of our lives and possibilities as free agents. For Heidegger, the experiences of anxiety and boredom as ones that put us into contact with the structure of our world and the stunning scope of our freedom, letting us know what we can do and are capable of. But can the same be said of these experiences as they occur in a time when our freedom has been dramatically reduced? I claim that Heidegger's theory can be productively built on, arguing that the anxiety and boredom of the pandemic puts us into contact not with the scope of our freedom, but its reduced limits. But it is the experience of encountering these limits that makes it possible for us to begin to work out how to live in spite of them, forging new modes of solidarity and its enactment. Living authentically in this new situation in spite of our reduced freedom must take place on a prior disclosure of the limits of this freedom. Heidegger locates the possibility of such a disclosure in revelatory anxiety and boredom.