The Need for Honest Effort

In some cases, I know that I’m going to make a two-part post before I even start writing. Not so this time; I realized about two minutes ago that I could extend what I said last week. (Well, two minutes before I started writing, anyway.) And really, it’s more that I realized I could use similar titles than a realization that I had more to say.

Regardless. Last week I discussed some of the rewards that I found in the effort I put into Pokémon. But there’s more than that in what video games have to say about effort and hard work, at least for me. You see, like many activities, video games offer rewards to dedicated players.

It’s visible all over: the amount of effort required to even clear a lot of games is almost enough right there. The idea of an “achievement”, first seen in Xbox titles, has spread all over the community of Internet flash games, even spawning a parody game (Achievement Unlocked, produced by Armor Games, link to OneMoreLevel.com) that has nothing but such achievements. Even after clearing a game, usually there’s even more to do for 100% completion (link to TVTropes). And unsurprisingly, these kinds of rewards for reaching goals, even if those rewards are nothing but the satisfaction of success, do encourage the kind of motivation and effort that can translate into all areas of life.

And an excellent example of one game in which this applies more than any other is Dance Dance Revolution. Dance Dance Revolution (or just DDR) is a kind of rhythm game where the challenge is to respond to a song being played. Predictably, having a good sense of rhythm is unendingly helpful when playing these games. DDR in particular is a dancing game, in which the player has to step on arrows on the ground in response to the arrows on the screen. The game, like most rhythm games, thus requires a special controller to play. In this case, a pad with four arrows on it.

The difficulty ranges from really easy to insanely hard. The songs with difficulty levels around one or two are usually easy enough for anyone to handle, while songs up at eight or nine usually cause people unfamiliar with DDR to stop and stare. The legendary level ten songs are usually impossible for just about anyone, even experienced players. The odd thing about all of that, though, is that surprisingly enough, it requires no small amount of practice and effort to become any better at the game.

I can barely even remember when I first tried DDR. I know it was in an arcade somewhere, and I seem to recall being immensely proud of myself after doing a really easy song. That lasted about until I finished, and the person waiting for the arcade machine got up and played a song that was much, much harder than anything I had attempted. Better yet, it seemed like every time I went to the arcade, there was a large crowd of skilled players around the machine, and I didn’t dare interrupt them.

Because of this, I wasn’t really getting any practice. I wasn’t improving significantly at all. Now, I certainly could have just written it off as unimportant and done something else. Certainly, there are plenty of people in the world who write off video games in general as unimportant. But that’s not what I wanted to do. I wanted to get better at DDR; I harbored my dream of being able to one day walk up to such a crowd and force my way in on the basis of my skill. And I knew that if I wanted that, I had to practice.

I could have backed down overall. I certainly could have just thought about that dream and satisfy myself with those thoughts. But that wouldn’t have gotten me anywhere. Setting a goal or having a dream is only the first step. It’s a first step that’s meaningless without the willpower and effort to make it happen. I could have saved my money and my time for other pursuits. But all of life is making choices and allocating resources to the goals and dreams that we possess. And in this case, I chose to put my effort into realizing this dream.

In addition to the arcade versions, there are DDR games sold for home consoles as well. So I went out and got the only available DDR game for the only major console I had at the time: DDR Mario Mix for the Nintendo Gamecube. And I practiced and (slowly) improved. Unknowingly, I had bought a DDR game that was easier than most other available games; I can’t say whether or not this affected my development.

I eventually got to the point where I wasn’t being challenged anymore by any of the songs on that game. By this time, we had an Xbox as well (still in the previous generation), so the obvious solution was to pick up one of the DDR games for that system. After getting DDR Ultramix 3 as a gift, my improvement continued.

Two more recent events have shown the culmination of all of this effort. My old high school held a talent show every year, and by the time that my senior year rolled around, I was confident enough in my ability (and encouraged by all of my friends) to play DDR for the crowd. I chose what is known as a “boss song”, one of the insanely difficult songs that on the hardest difficulties are almost always difficulty level ten. I did not play at that level, instead going for the level nine difficulty just below that.

It went about as well as could be expected. I missed all of three steps in a lightning fast song that demands quite a lot in terms of physical ability. And I led off the talent show in style as the first act; according to some of my friends in the audience, I drew at least a partial standing ovation. I had gained the respect and admiration of a crowd far larger than I had ever dreamed of performing for.

Much later, at a club meeting for video game players at Brandeis (yeah, CGX shout out!), two highly skilled club members had brought a DDR game on the computer (not technically called such, but it might as well have been the same thing) that several members were enjoying immensely, including myself. And with a massive selection of songs from any number of different DDR games, I had a lot to choose from.

Near the end of the meeting, I found the song that I had played for the talent show in the list, a song called The Legend of MAX. And I decided that, since I had improved in the intervening months, it couldn’t hurt to try it on its highest difficulty. Yet again, I stood in front of a crowd of people and demonstrated my skill. One cleared level ten song later, I had finally reached that goal that I had set so long ago.

And now? Now I can do things like, well, the video below.



That’s a level ten song on DDR SuperNova for the PS2, called Xepher. (Obviously, I was the one dancing in that video.) I’ve cleared six level ten songs since then, and I’m still practicing. The nature of songs of this difficulty means that really, one has to individually break down each one. Unlike at the lower difficulties, where the ability to clear one level nine or level eight song usually translates into the ability to clear most of them, level ten songs usually require a lot of individual practice before they become possible.

It took me about a year to get from being a complete novice to being able to handle level eight or nine songs. And it took me about another year of practice after that to finally clear a level ten song. For the truly motivated, video games like Dance Dance Revolution aren’t just a waste of time; they’re a skill in their own right, one that like any other requires time and effort (that is to say, practice) to master.

And over the years that I improved, there were so many chances for me to turn back. Either before I got any DDR game, or before I got Ultramix 3, or just at any time to get tired and quit. But nothing in life works that way. Not Dance Dance Revolution, not my classes, not my extracurricular activities, nor anything else. If one has a dream, one has to put in the effort and the will to make that happen. And that’s a lesson that if nothing else is reinforced by the challenges presented by the video games that I play.

The Rewards of Honest Effort

In today’s world, Internet connectivity for video games has progressed past a novelty into a requirement. Almost all decent multiplayer games have a system in place to connect with other human players anywhere in the world these days. But that isn’t always enough. In most cases, these systems will have limitations, especially Nintendo’s systems. Without having other ways of communication, without knowing a person in some other manner, it is usually impossible to connect with that person over a Nintendo game on the Internet.

Thus, the need for other means of game play. There are programs that can be downloaded that replicate certain functions of games and allow these competitions to be held online with less restriction. Not just video games, either; there are systems that emulate things like trading card games as well, to allow their play over the Internet.

I’ve tried some of these emulators. As a Pokémon trainer, when I learned about the world of competitive battling for that game, I wanted to try my hand at it. So I got a simulator called Shoddy Battle (their website is here, for the curious) which has as its stated goal “to create and maintain… a computer program that offers an online RPG battle experience similar to one found in the Pokemon games.”

And honestly enough? I don’t really like using it all that much. Now, before I continue, I want to make it abundantly clear that this dislike has nothing to do with the program itself or with any of the people involved. The program works beautifully; the people I’ve battled have (usually) been fine people and a fine challenge for my skills. No, after some personal examination, I’ve come to realize that my dislike has to do with the idea of using a simulator in the first place.

When it comes to Pokémon battle, there are two major parts to the planning. In the real world, strategy is generally long-term planning for a wider situation, while tactics are more immediate methods in a single battle. Pokémon is divided much the same, with the art of team building alongside the actual use of that team in battle. Both are highly complicated affairs for which experience is a major asset.

And when actually playing the game, both require a lot of effort and skill to properly manage. As I write this, I’m laying initial plans for a new competitive team. Even after I finally decide on what Pokémon I’m actually going to use, which is a challenge all to itself, I’ll still have to get those Pokémon with the right natures (natures affect their statistics) and train them properly to optimize those statistics for each Pokémon’s given role. This is a process that will likely take up several hours of game play, spread over days or even weeks, in its completion.

Once all of that is done, I’ll start battling with them and figure out what works and what doesn’t, along with having to deal with the fallout from any mistakes that I make. Each battle will be a challenge all its own, as I’ll have to figure out how to deal with anything that comes my way. And more often than not, I’ll probably fail and end up losing, as competition between human players is something for which experience is important… and I don’t have much of that yet.

But after all of that effort, I get its due reward. I do have a team designed for competitive battling already, after all. And yes, it did take a lot of effort to set up on my game card. It isn’t the greatest team in the world, but it is mine. After all of that effort, there is nothing I enjoy more in the Pokémon games than bringing it out (usually on Pokémon Battle Revolution for the Wii, since I can battle random people over the Internet with that) and trying my level best to take down the opposing team.

I have also constructed a competitive team on Shoddy Battle for use on that program. And after battling with it several times, I started to notice that I didn’t really enjoy those battles as much as the ones I did with the actual game. It eventually got to the point where I all but ceased using the simulator entirely; I haven’t really logged on to that for a while. And I think it has to do with the effort involved in using the simulator.

There’s a reason why I emphasized that the team I built on my Pokémon Diamond game card was mine. After I spent the amount of time that I did, and invested the effort that I did in creating it, I feel like that team has become more than just a few Pokémon that I trained. There’s more than just that time and effort in them now. I feel like I’ve invested a part of myself in that team.

And when I battle with that team that I built, I feel like I’m displaying that; I feel like I’m putting my effort forward for the world to see. The people that I have challenged probably aren’t too impressed with my effort, but that was never the point. I enjoy battling with my Pokémon; I enjoy challenging myself in attempting to lead them to victory.

The problem is… I don’t get that feeling from dueling on the simulator. I haven’t put much effort into creating that team. I still had to decide what Pokémon to use and what roles they would play, yes, but once those decisions were made the rest was nothing more than clicking buttons to do what took me hours in the actual game. The feeling that that team is a result of my effort just isn’t there.

I have no doubt that there are people who would dismiss much of that as irrelevant; this isn’t the Pokémon anime show, in which the relationship between a trainer and his or her Pokémon is of paramount importance. But until computers can simulate the kind of interaction between trainer and Pokémon that is seen on the show­­, I think that what I feel playing with the team that I built is as close as I can possibly come to that same camaraderie.

And maybe it is irrelevant. It certainly doesn’t affect game statistics; in fact, the Pokémon team I constructed on the simulator is superior in that respect, because I have more power to alter certain aspects of the Pokémon on that than I do in the game. But there are still rewards for that effort that I put in. There is a sense of joy that I haven’t found elsewhere, in taking the results of my work and pitting it against the work of other trainers.

Finally, I turned on Pokémon Battle Revolution and played a few battles against people that I’ll likely never see again just a few days ago. It was as enjoyable as it always is, despite the loss that I took. In contrast, I haven’t activated Shoddy Battle for several months now. That, more than anything else in my opinion, shows what my rewards are for the effort I put in. Maybe it’s only me, but I take pride in that effort, and that gives both the results and the process of that effort a joy that I haven’t found without it.

The Past and the Future

Going back to Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha, another thing that only really becomes apparent late in the series is how annoying linear time is, at least for the villain. We all know how that works: the past has already happened and cannot be changed; the future is unknown and affected by the events that come before it. And it was both of those facts that created a problem for Precia, the primary villain of the series.

Decades before the events of the actual series itself, Precia had an important research position and a daughter named Alicia. That said, though, she was conducting illegal experiments, and in true mad scientist illegal experiment fashion, those experiments ended in a catastrophe. When the dust settled, she was exiled from the city and her daughter was dead. That was her past, the events that came before.

But then, what future became of that chaos? With Alicia gone, Precia descended into madness. She chased after myths and legends in an effort to change what had come before, in a manner that promised yet more harm and suffering to anyone nearby. Essentially, Precia chose to ignore the future, to change her future by reclaiming her past rather than by moving forward. And it was that desire that created all of the problems in Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha.

There are people much like her in the world today. There are those who look at their past and see nothing but regret, nothing but events that need to be changed. Unlike Precia, they usually aren’t villains that end up causing more harm, but they share her anguished lament of “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be!” For better or for worse, it is a reaction to loss and sorrow.

But it can be carried too far. The past will not change, no matter how much one laments on what could have been different. As Crono Harlaown, one of Nanoha’s allies in that final battle, put it, nothing’s ever the way it’s supposed to be. Nothing is ever perfect, and anyone who wants to find only what could have been done differently will be paralyzed for months, doing nothing but regretting the mistakes they’ve made.

What, then, can we do? How can we balance learning from the past with having a positive effect on the future? No one should become completely consumed by taking back their mistakes. We will all make them, and we can’t demand of anyone that they put things back to the way they were. Sometimes, such a restoration back to the original order will be impossible, as it was for Precia.

We cannot change the past, and we cannot always reclaim it. Because of that, we need to focus on what we can change. When mistakes are made, we can’t look to the past and try to reclaim the world before those errors. We need to look ahead. Move ahead, to the future that is shaped by the events that come before. The events of the past will remain in place, so all we can do is look to the future and create those events that will bring about a better one.

Precia had her attention fixed on the past. She stated, “I’m going to change what was, and create a brand new future for me and Alicia!” I find that statement more than any other to be a contradiction. She may have wanted a different future, but she didn’t pay it any mind. She was devoted to changing the past, not the future. The problem was not in the events of her past but rather in herself.

Statements like that have no place in the creation of the future. A fixation on the regrets of the past is no help in forging a better future. We may not be able to change the events of the past, but we can change and shape the events of the future. And thus, it is on that future that our attention must fall.

The choice is one presented to anyone who has ever lost something, whether it be a few hours of play time from forgetting to save before quitting all the way up to the people that are important to us. We can fixate on that loss, and pine for what was. With some lesser events, we can try to exactly recreate what we lose, as one could with a video game. We can allow our own lives, and reality as a whole, to lapse in our grief over what is no longer there.

Or we can take that loss and build a new future even with it. We can play the game again, not caring for what exactly happened the first time but enjoying the second no less. We can fondly remember our losses yet move forward with our lives anyway, learning and changing from the events around us and doing what we think is important. Those losses and that past will always be with us, and shouldn’t be ignored. But they do not deserve our entire focus.

I know what I would prefer when I leave this world, as I no doubt will one day. That could happen tomorrow; it could be a hundred years in the future. But when I do, I would not want to see the people around me overly devastated by grief. I would not want to be completely forgotten. If I could, I would want to see those around me remembering yet moving on. Looking to the future even with the losses of the past.

Again in the words of Crono, we can choose to run away from reality, or we can face it head on. We can take our losses and mistakes of the past and make them part of our future. We can choose to not let our grief and regret rule our future, but rather make them a part of our future. We can carry the past, which will remain unchanged, and look to the future, which can be changed.

To create a better future, to truly do what Precia was trying to do in Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha, both the past and the future will be important. The past will inevitably be part of our future, but so too will our decisions and our outlook be important. And as long as only one of those can be changed, then I know what I’ll focus on. Not the past, as Precia chose, but the future.

The Weapons of the Righteous

It’s one of the more interesting things that the characters in Tales of Symphonia say, for an end-of-battle quote anyway. Most of the time, one of the four in the party, the one that dealt the finishing blow, will spout off some quick taunt to the now-dead foes. However, sometimes you get a combination quote out of the party. And when Colette, Genis, and Kratos are in the party, one of those quotes that has managed to stick in my mind is, “Our weapons are love!” “Justice! And-” “-hope.” (Colette, Genis, and Kratos, respectively.)

It bears thinking on. Obviously, no small amount of video games have a war between good and evil, between the righteous and the wicked. In fact, it’s common in all fiction. And I fully believe that those offhand remarks are also completely accurate. There are some qualities, some attributes, that are essential to a righteous cause if it is to be completely successful. Those qualities are what define such a cause; they’re what set the righteous apart from the evil.

And in the fantasy worlds of Dungeons and Dragons, Tales of Symphonia, Shannara… the list goes on. In a story of high fantasy where the righteous heroes are out to save the world, you’ll be able to find those qualities in the adventure somewhere. Yet are they applicable to our own world? Can it be said that the weapons of the righteous are as necessary here as they are in high fantasy?

I do think, for those good causes that people look up to, that the most important weapons are going to be love, justice, and hope. And I think that those causes, from governments to religious organizations, need to remember that an openly militant stance won’t always be an effective weapon. As counterproductive as it may seem, sometimes the most effective weapons are those that do no damage; that are worthless in killing and incapacitating enemies. After all, it’s only with such a weapon that an enemy can be permanently defeated.

At first glance, that statement seems easily contradicted. After all, the Second World War didn’t end with love, it ended with Soviet tanks in Berlin. It seems at first glance that military power has ended most conflicts, not ephemeral concepts like love, justice, and hope. This is only the case, though, if you consider the end of a war to be the end of the respective threat, which it rarely is. That concept is even more visible in the terrorist threats of the modern day, who have no capitals and have so far evaded all efforts to crush them with military force alone.

If we’re going to take the righteous high road of virtue and morality, or claim that we’re better than they are, we can’t simply attempt to eradicate all opposition with sheer firepower. If a righteous cause desires victory over those it considers wrong or evil, the only way to do so is to deploy those weapons unique to such a cause.

The word love usually conjures ideas of true love, boyfriends and girlfriends, and the old fantasy stories of a prince and a princess. But there are more kinds of love than that. There is also the tolerance to accept other people as they are, or the empathy to care about and understand any and all fellow members of the human race. Both applied even to an enemy, even to one who would see you dead. It is those kinds of love that find a place as weapons to defeat such enemies.

Those two forces combined are a powerful weapon, one that has an even greater effect than a weapon that actually does damage. While killing an enemy removes a threat, deploying tolerance and empathy can, under the right circumstances, turn an enemy into an ally. A force that shows such traits, that uses love as its weapon, will gain respect and admiration from all corners. Its allies will respect its capacity for kindness, and be all the more willing to assist; the individuals opposing it will know that they would not be ostracized if they were to switch sides.

Likewise, a “righteous” force that shows no hint of love will find its path to be all the harder. A lack of tolerance or empathy will seem insular and unwelcoming. Allies will dislike helping a force that has no tolerance for any of their unique views, and enemies will fight to the death, knowing that no quarter will be given even if they want to defect. Possibly most damning, the youngest generation will look at that force and see a hostile, unwelcoming presence. This only continues a cycle of death and destruction.

Justice is often a word used to label a righteous cause, but it is also a weapon of such a cause nevertheless. Although the exact definition of justice can at times be debated, one way to define it as a weapon is to call it respect for and adherence to a consistent code of laws. Or in other words, being consistent and open in the way that people are treated is important to a righteous cause.

Such a cause that puts a high value on justice, and treats even its enemy in a fair and consistent manner, will also gain respect and admiration from those around it. Especially if its opponents have no regard for common decency, allies can look to the righteous cause and see even and fair treatment of all. This emphasizes the need to defeat the opposing forces and helps a righteous cause gain widespread support. And as no one person or group can fight alone, such support is very important.

The contrast is a “righteous” cause that disregards justice in some form. A cause that does so, perhaps by applying a different standard to the enemy, will be viewed as having the same flaws of the cause that it is opposing. A cause that denounces a certain practice while engaging in that practice itself will be seen as hypocritical. In either case, the youngest generation will rightly question how righteous such a cause is.

The last and possibly most important weapon is hope. Technically, hope is not a weapon to be used on an enemy, unlike justice or love. It is, however, a weapon that backs up the efforts of all of the people fighting in a given cause’s name. It is the weapon that gives people the strength and the will to take up a cause in the first place. Hope, the belief that a cause will succeed in its goals, enables a person to fight to bring about those goals.

If a cause fails to provide hope, no one will be able to fight, either with conventional weapons or with love and justice. Without someone to say that victory is possible, or with a belief that victory cannot be found, no one will stand up and try to bring about what is right. A group that says, “Yes, we can” will find widespread support from many different corners; a group that says, “No, we can’t” will never even exist.

Love. Justice. Hope. An offhand comment, yes, but one that so clearly demonstrates what is important to the truly righteous of both this world and any other.

Taking Games Too Seriously

Anyone who’s ever played video games probably knows the type of person I’m talking about, for whom games are serious business. I’m talking about those people that focus entirely on winning. For some, the only goal is to play the game, and as long as they don’t lose, effectiveness isn’t a huge concern. But then, there are people as well who maximize their effectiveness and become as powerful as can be achieved in the game.

Neither is wrong, despite what ardent fans of both types would try to tell you. We all enjoy videogames differently, after all. Some people just play the game, and don’t care that they’re not perfect. I, myself, fall more into that category. I don’t usually focus on spending the time to maximize my power level, and generally just enjoy playing the game even if I’m not perfectly effective. Indeed, I often have fun playing in ways that defy effectiveness.

On the other hand, some people take pride in becoming as powerful as possible. Enjoyment comes through victory, usually against other human players. In addition, gamers of this type also take pride in the effort they go to and the results that that produces.

The problems usually arise when people in the first category, usually referred to as casual gamers, and people in the second category, usually called competitive gamers, end up competing against one another. Barring a level of luck usually referred to as a miracle, the competitive gamer inevitably wins such a contest.

From here, the flame war develops. The casual gamers that have been defeated cry foul, calling the techniques that the competitive gamer employed any of a number of negative labels including “cheap” and “exploit.” Competitive gamers respond with anger, feeling that their efforts were the result of hard work, not of cheap tactics. Understanding on any side is hard to find.

Even without actually competing, either category can still get riled up at the other. A casual gamer will see a competitive one engaging in repetitive actions, usually to improve statistics in a game, and will wonder out loud why said competitive gamer is wasting time when he could be enjoying the game. A competitive one will see a casual gamer use a less-than-effective strategy, and will inform that casual gamer that he’s not playing the game intelligently.

One wonders why anyone would bother to waste that amount of time fighting over games that are almost always marketed to children. You’re fighting over Mario Kart, people; we don’t need to care that much about it! The only thing to do is to realize that people are going to find enjoyment in different ways.

As I said earlier, I fall more on the casual side. But I’d like to believe that I’m more forgiving than some casual gamers, like the ones that take offense when competitive ones handily defeat them. I recognize that maximizing effectiveness isn’t easy, and I don’t waste my time getting annoyed when I lose. When I lose, most of the time it’s because the opponent is better than I am. And I’d much rather recognize their victory than tell them that they’re not enjoying themselves correctly.

There’s a flip side to that too, though. Some people don’t focus on maximizing their effectiveness. And as much as I acknowledge superior skill when I lose to a competitive gamer, that respect runs out real fast if they start saying, “ha ha, you suck, you don’t know how to play the game,” or anything similar to that. Yeah, I’m not doing the same things that you are, and I lost probably because of that. That doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself correctly.

Taking games too seriously doesn’t have to mean focusing on winning. For me, I think the phrase would be better applied to people who think that their way of playing a game is the only correct way. It’s hard, if not impossible, to find two people with the exact same personality, you know. So why should we think that we all get enjoyment in the same ways?

We all enjoy different things, and because of that, it borders on the idiotic to tell someone that they’re not enjoying themselves. If I enjoy playing casually (which I do) then who is anyone else to tell me that I can’t have fun unless I play competitively? If someone else enjoys playing competitively (which I know some people who do) then who am I to tell them that they can’t have fun unless they play casually?

Taking video games seriously enough to focus on winning isn’t a bad thing. It’s when people take it to the point where they argue with other gamers that they’re playing too seriously. Why should I spend my time arguing with others about how to play a game when I could be enjoying myself playing that game?

The Daily Life of a Pokémon Trainer

Yeah, interestingly enough, that’s something that even the most dedicated of Pokémon fans know very little about. In the games themselves, it makes very little mention of distances or of time spent traveling, and the day-night cycle is based on the real world’s time. (The alternative is a system like that in The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask, where a certain amount of real time, measured in minutes, caused an hour to pass in the game’s world.)

And I don’t blame them for that either; it would have little relevance to the game to have to worry about camping out for the night on the road to Hearthome City. But it’s also impossible that the minute or so that I spend biking from one major city to the next is as long as it takes in the game’s world. This is an adventure that would probably take many weeks or even months to complete; the game ignores those details to simplify the game play.

Okay, so the game doesn’t include many of the minutiae or logistics of actually traveling around on foot, and thus offers no real insights into the day-to-day life of traveling, training, and battle that a Pokémon trainer’s life would theoretically consist of. One would think, though, that we could look at the animated series for more on that, right? After all, there are eleven seasons and hundreds of episodes of Pokémon anime. Surely some of those offer more insights into what the daily life must be like.

And one would be right… mostly. Certainly, there are times when the anime definitely offers a better look. Brock is often shown cooking meals, and he’s just generally well prepared for traveling. (Good thing Ash became friends with him.) Also, Ash and Dawn sometimes do training sessions. (I wish that was possible in the game, to train without battling.)

There are, however, several problems with accepting the picture painted by the anime as the daily life of your average Pokémon trainer. Most of those have to do with the limitations of producing a show that needs to provide ratings and money. After all, it would be incredibly dull to watch an episode of the show that just had them walking along the road to the next town. Yet I have no doubt that most of their days consist of just that and very little else.

After all, from episode 469, Following A Maiden’s Voyage, (that was its title on the western side of the Pacific, anyway) to episode 516 (which wasn’t aired here in America), theoretically lasted a year. That 516th episode, for Ash and Dawn anyway, was a year after they started their adventure in Sinnoh. Now, fairly basic math then tells us that that’s 47 episodes (I’m not counting the 516th) covering the events of 365 days. More fairly basic math indicates that the vast majority of the time they spent traveling was time we didn’t see on TV.

The 516th episode, from what I can gather, was a collection of the highlights of the 47 episodes (and that year of travel) preceding it, but for Ash and Dawn, the 47 episodes could probably be considered mere highlights of a year spent walking through Sinnoh. What does a Pokémon trainer do on a day-to-day basis? If the only acceptable source of information is the games, anime, and movies, we have no real idea.

I do have a good guess, and that is: walking. After all, they don’t really seem to have any more advanced means of transport, and it’s a long distance from one city to the next. How long would it take any of us to walk from Baltimore to Washington D.C.? How about Washington D.C. to Los Angeles? As awesome as the life of a Pokémon trainer would appear to be based on the anime, there’s almost certainly a lot of less glamorous hard work, either walking or training, in between episodes that we don’t see.

There’s a lesson in there somewhere. Daily life as a whole has its moments, yes, but the majority of that day-to-day life is simply work. For another example, I can point to the TV and the Olympics that have been running for the past two weeks. Again, just from the competitions and the glory that we get to see, it looks like those athletes get to do some pretty neat things with their lives. Michael Phelps wins eight gold medals and becomes a major superstar, and the Chinese gymnastics teams win multiple gold medals from team and individual competition.

I wouldn’t want to be in their places, though. For all the glory and fame that they’ve received, and for all of the joy that I know they have from winning such honors, one would think that they lead such awesome lives. Yet I also know that they’ve spent the vast majority of their day-to-day lives training for this kind of event. The life of a major athlete is not all competitions and glory; if one were to randomly pick a day out of their life, I’d be willing to bet that it would be a day spent training and working out, preparing for the next meet. No glory, no accolades, just hard work preparing for the next major event.

Not every day has to be eventful; not every day should be eventful. I know that some days will be more interesting than others, and I know that some will be dull beyond belief. That’s the way life is. I’ll take joy in my moments of glory, and I’ll move on through the days of boredom. Above all else, though, I’ll remember that that’s the way it is. The day-to-day work can’t be avoided or skipped in the end.

Ash and Dawn have to keep moving onward, even if they’d rather laze around and have some mock battles in any given day. That might be more exciting than walking toward Pastoria City, but they do need to get to that city eventually, and the only way to do that is to walk. Phelps, and any pro athlete, can’t skip training often and still expect to win. Daily life may often be boring, but it can’t be dismissed.

What Can't Be Seen...

One of the enduring mysteries of science is the person sitting three rows away on the train. Seriously. As much as we know about the form and function of a human body, how close are we to an artificial creation that is the equivalent of one? Honestly enough, I’m not all that sure; I don’t keep up that well with current scientific developments. I’m pretty sure that the biggest hurdle to such a creation, however, is the mind.

As a video gamer, I’m fairly familiar with the progress we’ve made in that department, at least as far as artificial intelligence is concerned. Since video games use a computer to provide a challenge to the player, they have to be able to make tactical decisions in a lot of different situations. Advance Wars is one obvious example; it’s essentially a war game. The computer has to be able to evaluate the situation, attack and defend intelligently, and so on.

The progress that AIs have made in that respect is obvious. The first Advance Wars AIs were, quite simply, pathetic. They made tactical decisions on basic priority lists, to the point where a specific unit that had no tactical value could draw fire for more valuable units. As time passed and more games were released, the computer became much better at providing a challenge.

In fact, there were many maps in the first Advance Wars game that were blatantly lopsided. The player was at a major disadvantage to the computer, and if there was a human player in control of the computer’s position, victory was assured. Those maps either don’t exist anymore or have been more balanced, because the computer has become more capable of providing resistance.

Even if the AI in Advance Wars could mount a challenge that equaled that of a human, though; even if the AI could play the game better than any human, it still would not be the equal of one. After all, that computer can play Advance Wars, yes, but I can put Advance Wars down and play Pokémon Diamond. Or MegaMan Star Force 2. Or… well, you get the idea. That is the challenge that faces modern science: how does one create a computer that can match a human in all aspects?

Frankly, I’m not even sure if it’s possible. Again, I could be way off here; I’m not keeping track of current developments as much as I should be. But I haven’t seen a computer yet that can exceed its programming. The computers in today’s world are programmed to perform a task. They are often far more capable at that one task than a human would be, but cannot do anything outside that task. The computer that controls a robot can be programmed to vocalize a greeting, such as, “Hello!” when it identifies a human in front of it. But when I see someone I don’t know, I can say any number of things, from “Hello!” to “Good afternoon!” to “What’s your name?”

Often, I don’t even know which one I’ll use until right before I use it. It’s not like I go walking around thinking, “Okay, I’ll walk up to that person and say hi.” Which is another aspect of a human intelligence that I’m unsure about replicating: spontaneity. I can decide to do something for no apparent reason. Very little factored into the decisions I made about what to do next as I rode down the highway. (I’m coming back from vacation as I write this. Yay laptops!) I just felt like playing games for a little while, and then I took out my iPod… none of that was determined by reasons that a computer would be able to find. I just felt like it.

As I said in the second part of The Growth of High Technology, an essential part of being human is human emotion. How does one code for that? Sometimes, when I’m faced with a serious challenge in a game, I quote Captain Sisko, among many others (“Fortune favors the bold”) and just charge in. Sometimes, humans act outside of self-interest or in unpredictable ways. Whether motivated by altruism, love, or just sheer insanity, humans don’t always act logically. Yet computers are driven by logic; how does one create computer code that can replicate such quirks of humanity?

There are several predictions flying around as to the power of computers in the future. Certainly, they’ll grow ever more powerful; it’s not like they haven’t been in the past. I’m not sure, though, if we’ll ever design one that can imitate a human perfectly. There are just too many facets of human behavior that can’t be easily measured or copied. Regardless of one’s beliefs about a soul or other aspect of humanity beyond that of scientific confirmation, there are too many things about humans that can’t be seen.

When Destiny Comes Calling...

Destiny is usually defined as the predetermined course of events or as the force that determines those events. Unsurprisingly, in fantasy worlds where deities are powerful, visible forces and divination magic is common, such a predetermined fate can often be known ahead of time; prophecy and fate are common enough tools for writers of any age, from ancient Greek drama (Oedipus the King) to the more contemporary Shaman King manga series.

However, destiny exists in the real world as well, although the extent of that would be hotly debated. Whether a force exists that is determining the events of the future often becomes a debate over religious beliefs in today’s world, and raises vast numbers of additional questions that are far too numerous to address here. That said, though, there hardly needs to be a divine force to create a predetermined future, and one does not need to be a mage to read the course of the future. The question then becomes, how does one react when in a situation where the future is already known?

Admittedly, when I say such things, I refer almost exclusively to the immediate future. As a mild example, I offer my experiences playing Halo with one of my friends this past Thursday. I’d like to believe that I’m reasonably skilled at most types of video games, and I have played Halo before and proven to be at least mildly proficient at it. But I don’t own an Xbox 360, and I can’t practice with Halo 3 as much as my friend can.

Predictably, then, he is several times better than I am and absolutely merciless. You can probably imagine how much I welcomed the one-on-one duels that he was setting up. Of course, my destiny (for the next few minutes, at least) was pretty much set then. I knew that there was no way that I would be winning the upcoming matches. Hardly the world-spanning divinations of powerful magicians, but it was a predetermined course of events that I was able to read.

What mattered then were the details. After all, it’s rare for divination, especially of the future, to reveal every single detail. Certainly, even knowing I was royally doomed didn’t tell me how that would happen, or what the final score would be. So, really, I had my own choice to make in the matter. The choice before me was the same that many others have faced: the wisdom or worth of fighting a battle that was already lost before the actual battle began.

How should we react when we can tell what course the future will take? What can we do when we believe that we know what will happen next? There are those who would argue that fighting a lost battle is a waste of effort and power that could be better used for more uncertain pursuits. I can see the wisdom in avoiding a fight that cannot be won, to be sure. Especially when the resources at stake are the lives of soldiers in an army as opposed to the numbers on a computer screen that I typically work with.

Wars, however, are not won by numbers. Victory in battle is not always measured by the units lost and units killed, and battles are not always those of war. In the Naruto manga, the titular character was confronted with one of his most difficult challenges yet during a promotional exam, a powerful enemy that repeatedly insisted on the inevitability of destiny. Among other things, he told Naruto, “…the moment I was selected as your opponent, your fate was sealed as well.” And certainly, it didn’t look like Naruto could win.

Had Naruto taken his words as truth and surrendered, though… As it turned out, his opponent’s reading of the future was incorrect. It is in challenging what appears to be impossible that we discover what truly is impossible and what is merely difficult, and by accepting the most likely outcome of a course of action, we can find the courage to try for a different one.

As I have expressed in previous articles, I’m a fairly mediocre runner. Better than many, yes, but also hardly the best of the athletes that I know. And due to the nature of my preferred sports, cross-country and track, I have never really been able to count myself as the best in any one event. There are far too many more skilled athletes on the course or the track for me to simply win.

But then, why is it that I keep running? Essentially, I’m doomed to at least a form of defeat every time I run, just as I’m doomed to defeat whenever I’m pitted against my friend in Halo 3. However, I learned long ago not to think of my destiny in such terms. The joy I take from challenging myself and all of the runners near me is reward enough to explain my preference for the sport, and the challenge I find in trying to even kill my friend is a major part of why I didn’t flinch from fighting him one-on-one.

What is the appropriate response when destiny comes calling? How should we react to a fate that may be inescapable? We cannot really read the future with any great accuracy, certainty, or detail; such a precognitive ability rarely appears even in fantasy. In the end, then, all that we can do is try. Even if there’s no realistic hope of me actually winning the race outright. Even if it’s impossible for me to best my friend in a direct contest of skill.

I know that I’ll learn and improve despite my predetermined fate, and maybe eventually I’ll learn enough to change that fate. Merely because I’m destined to lose the next race I run in doesn’t mean that that fate will always be so. In the end, intent and the will to carry it out change the future. If I work to improve, and challenge myself in every race I run, I may lose most of them, but there will be one where I don’t. That is a destiny that cannot be found by refusing to challenge fate.

Who Wants to Be a Hero?

Spoilers from Mega Man Star Force 2, In the Starlight and Live Free or Die Hard.

Don’t we all. I can barely begin to count the times when my imagination has put me in the forefront of whatever story I read last. Or when I’ve just made up new stories with myself as the protagonist. If my imagination was reality, I would have found myself in every fantasy world I’ve ever known at least once.

Certainly, in video games, anime, comics, and movies, it’s common enough for apparently random people to end up being the hero that saves the world. In Mega Man Star Force, Geo Stelar meets an alien being and becomes the newest incarnation of Mega Man as a result. Of course, only the demands of the plot direct when and where that alien arrived, making the choice in the game world itself somewhat random. Magic Knight Rayearth is another good example, where the three people that were summoned from Tokyo could just as easily have been anyone else as far as the summoning spell cared.

The storyline of In the Starlight is another example. Eventually, the links that the protagonist has to the rest of the story are shown to be far more complicated, but before that point, said protagonist actually muses on many of the same things that I’m going to, about having a normal life as opposed to having strange things happening to her. Finally, in the fourth Die Hard movie, the computer hacker (who I will always remember as the guy from the Mac commercials) wonders how and why McClane does what he does.

Who doesn’t wonder what they would do if they were the ones forced into an unknown situation, and who doesn’t think that they’d do better than the protagonists of those events? And yet, I find myself wondering these days if that would really be as fun as I used to think it would be. Who can really tell how much fun that would be? I’ve never actually been in any kind of situation that resembles one from a game, never had to prove whether I could stay calm or react quickly to an immediate problem.

Geo, in Mega Man Star Force 2, gains a lot more publicity and recognition. Although, most of that is recognition for Mega Man, not Geo, he still doesn’t like it. That was a little hard to understand at first. I know that when I do something right or reach some kind of goal, I’d rather have people know about it. I was irritated when I learned that the principal would announce the valedictorian and salutatorian of my high school class at graduation practice because I knew that I was the salutatorian, and no one outside school staff and students would be at that practice.

For Geo, though, it wasn’t a matter of people recognizing his actions. He didn’t like being called a hero because of the expectations that came with that title. The few people that knew who Mega Man really was kept turning to him when a crisis broke out, and he was afraid that he would fail to live up to their expectations. I can fully understand that; after all, everyone saw me as a genius during high school. Which can be a good thing, but gets very annoying when I hear for the third time, “You got a C? You???” Yes. I’m a human being, is this some huge surprise?

Being a hero is a lot harder than it may seem. For a very long time, I fantasized about how I would react if I found myself in any number of the fantasy worlds I’ve seen, as I already mentioned. And in all of those imagined events, I adapted to the new circumstances rapidly and acted with all the intelligence and efficiency I could muster. You would think, though, that the heroines of Magic Knight Rayearth would be able to do the same. Fuu had played video games before, after all. Yet they had no small amount of difficulty adapting to their new circumstances.

The difference, I think, lies in the setting. All of my fantasies have been with worlds I’m well familiar with. From the time I imagined myself also getting thrown into Cephiro and meeting the aforementioned magic knights, to all of the times that I’ve intervened at a key part of some other story, I’ve already been well familiar with the world and the rules. For Hikaru, Umi, and Fuu, they found themselves in an unfamiliar setting, and a situation that they knew nothing about. Who can say if they’d be able to retain their poise when faced with a completely unknown situation?

I worry that there are people in this world who are absolutely certain that they would make a good hero. I have no doubt that there are people that yet dream of them protecting others from some danger, or intervening to save the world. But those kinds of dreams aren’t how one becomes a hero. I can tell myself that I would intervene if someone’s life was threatened, even at the risk of my own, but I can never be certain unless I am actually tested in that regard. And because of that, I hope that I never will be certain.

Heroes aren’t created by people going out and looking for trouble. Geo Stelar, despite the power that he had access to, didn’t wake up every morning wondering what problems he’d have to solve that day. He was reluctant to act even when a problem threatened him personally. Yet he always did something. McClane in the fourth Die Hard movie didn’t really want to be a hero. As he put it, “Believe me if there was somebody else to do it, I would let them do it. There's not, so [I'm] doing it. That's what makes you that guy.”

Running around bragging about what you would do if someone broke into your house doesn’t make you a hero, and it wouldn’t even if you did manage to repel an intruder. Humility is a trait that goes unrecognized far too often, and without it, it’s hard to gain respect as a hero. Hoping to prove yourself as heroic means that you probably don’t have the right mindset to be a hero; as I see it, some of the greatest heroes are the ones that hope they never have to act, but do so anyway when they must.

The Growth of High Technology:Part I: The Promise of Utopia?

I felt the need to split this into two parts as it continued to grow steadily. Not that I have a problem with too much to write, but I just can’t drown everyone in text. And I apologize for the delay in updating; AP tests coinciding with final exams and a major chorus concert made the last week sheer hell. On a happier note, it was literally the last week; of high school if nothing else.

I suspect that the spoiler warning will become standard issue. For this one, I’ll be referring to the video game BioShock and a manga called Aqua.

Hopefully, we’re all familiar with the growing development of technology. It’s visible everywhere: computers get faster almost every week, cars powered by electricity or solar power are announced, and many other examples. And almost without exception, we herald these changes and improvements as better. We’ve grown to the point where we consider new technology to be a good thing.

But is it a good thing in and of itself? Is improvement simply to make a more powerful computer a good thing? And the million-dollar question: do we apply the idea that everything is a system to improve upon to our own bodies?

For me, the answer is a resounding no to all. And I can gladly call upon many, many examples from the fantasy worlds that I enjoy to defend that point.

The most obvious example from the games that I know comes from BioShock. As a quick caveat, I have not actually played the game; my knowledge of the game comes secondhand from sources such as the Plot Summary article on GameFAQs. (For those interested in seeing that themselves, go to GameFAQs through the link I have, search for BioShock, and click on FAQs.) And even then, it’s not really the game play or what the protagonist does that really concerns this topic. It’s the back story, the events that set the stage for the game, that provide a chilling example of the faults of high technology.

Admittedly, that quick comment doesn’t do the many factors in the fall of Rapture any justice. For those unfamiliar with the story, a man named Andrew Ryan built an underwater city called Rapture to break from the ideals of the world. He wanted a purely capitalist society where no one would be obligated to share what they had, as people in the U.S. and the Soviet Union had to. The city quickly became a haven for what Ryan felt were the best examples of mankind, and indeed, their technology progressed much faster than the rest of the world’s.

That didn’t exactly save them, however. When a new substance was commercialized by a man named Frank Fontaine, Rapture slowly descended into war. This substance, called Adam, had the power to change the human body in unimaginable ways. And yet, as this new technology granted Fontaine ever more power and influence, it also led to Ryan’s strong desire to eliminate him. The resulting civil war destroyed the city as the utopia that Ryan intended it to be.

The point behind all the back story is that the technology of Rapture didn’t help improve the lives of its citizens. While it certainly wasn’t the only factor involved, it also was a contributor. I see the story of Rapture as a warning: the warning that an ever-increasing march toward “better” technology isn’t certainly going to improve the lives of people.

As with anything, the real determinant of what our lives are like won’t be directly connected to how advanced our technology is. As human beings throughout history have found, the enjoyment that one gets out of life is connected to what you do with that life.

Simply making our lives more convenient isn’t going to ensure that we’re happier. As Akari Mizunashi put it in the first volume of Aqua, “All the cities are progressing with beautification and simplification. It’s very neat and tidy. And shopping, and work—unlike here, you can do everything from home. It’s very convenient. But… I feel like something is missing in those neat, tidy, convenient cities.” That, I think, exemplifies this reason against a continued improvement of technology. Some things can’t be quantified in science, and those are exactly the things that would be missing.

How do you measure the joy that one gets from a job well done? The pride when one is praised by a parent? Or the determination to complete a task? These are all things that the future would ask us to sacrifice, if the future holds a continued race to higher and higher levels of power.

Akari left those neat, tidy, convenient cities to come to a different world. She came to do a job that in the advanced world would be a computer’s job, as a gondolier and tour guide in a city much like Venice. Yet that is what she wanted to do, and what her attention was devoted towards from the day she left that advanced world. She sought that determination, that pride and joy in her life. In a world of the highest possible technology, she wouldn’t find those things, and neither would anyone else.

Simply upgrading ourselves so that we can run faster, breathe underwater, or even fire lightning bolts from our hands isn’t a ticket to bliss. I am a runner; I enjoy track and cross-country. But I can’t say that I’d be considerably happier if I could improve my time with genetic modification or nanotechnology. Either would improve my fairly mediocre 11:04 two-mile race, yes. But I take pride in what I do. I work to improve my capability as a runner, and I find joy in doing so.

That last race, when I set that 11:04, was one of the best races I’ve ever been in. I was constantly changing positions with two other runners, with first place in that heat as the prize. It was a matter of sheer determination at the end there. I fell behind the leader by four seconds at the end, and only barely held second place against the other runner. That race required all of my skill and determination, for sure.

And had I been “improved” to be able to run 10:34 rather than 11:04, then one of two things would have happened. Either I would have won because the others were not enhanced, or they also would have been enhanced and nothing would have changed. What would my victory have proven, then? That I had a better geneticist than the other two? Certainly, not that I was a better athlete or runner than they were. When I win, or when I set a personal best time, I take the joy from the fact that my work paid off, not from the victory or the personal record itself.

So, what does this say about the growth of high technology? That it is nowhere near an assured utopia for all. Rapture tried to create that; they failed spectacularly in a manner that assured death for all involved. Akari found herself in the growth of such a “utopia,” and found it to be unsatisfying. Why then must we continue to strive for such a false hope, when we already have the tools to create happy, satisfied lives?

Of course, I have no doubt that some question our ability to create happy lives. That, however, is a subject I’ll address with my next major post.

An Archvillain's Take On Moral Behavior

I'm opening this with a spoiler warning: if you haven't finished the first season of the anime series Magic Knight Rayearth, or haven't finished the campaign mode of Advance Wars: Days of Ruin, then I would finish those before you read this. I'll be quoting the villains of both from very late in the season and the campaign, and I wouldn't want to ruin anything for anyone.

I'm sure that many of us are familiar with those people that call themselves moral and virtuous. I personally know at least one person that really is one of the most moral people I've ever met. Likewise, I've met people that claim to be righteous or moral. Sometimes they are, but for anyone that would take that title, there are a few major pitfalls to avoid. And ironically enough, it's the villains of most games that bring those pitfalls into the spotlight.

As a side note, one of the anime series that I actually have the complete DVDs for, if the spoiler warning didn't tip you off already, is called Magic Knight Rayearth. For those unfamiliar with the series, Magic Knight Rayearth describes the adventures of three schoolgirls transported to an alternate world of magic and monsters. Their goal is to save that world by defeating the High Priest, Zagato, that kidnapped the princess.

That description makes it sound very clichéd, but it really is a very complicated situation and a very interesting story. One of the key mechanics in this alternate world, called Cephiro, is that the world is a land of the will. A strong will does more for a person than anything else in the world. Magic is powered by convictions and beliefs, and determination literally ensures victory.

One of Zagato's minions was in love with the High Priest. She betrayed everything else, including her former teacher, to fight for Zagato. Near the end of the series, she learned that Zagato was actually in love with the princess. This destroyed her usually calm demeanor, and she lamented that everything she had done was for him. Zagato responded coldly, "No. You fought for yourself. People always fight for themselves. You are no different. It was not for me. If you look, you'll see that you fought for your own heart."

I can hear the righteous of the world yelling, "No, that isn't true! I help others!" Well, yes, maybe. I can hardly deny that some are motivated by the needs of others. But can any of us ever say that we're completely devoted to the needs of others? Can you truly, honestly say that what you want never even enters the picture?

As an example of what I'm trying to say, I'll gladly refer to Magic Knight Rayearth yet again. The three girls that were transported to Cephiro were (understandably) extremely disoriented when they first arrived. Think about it: what would you do if you were standing in a skyscraper's observation deck one moment and falling out of the sky in a strange world the next? I can bet there aren't too many people that would just coolly brush themselves off and accept that they weren't where they came from.

Yet then the problem emerged. When they first came to Cephiro, they didn't question the situation that they were in. They focused on the next goal that they had been given, and didn't stop to question what was happening to them. They were often more concerned with getting back to Tokyo and protecting each other than they were about the world that they were in. And as much as they may have said that they were going to save the princess and save Cephiro and its people, I have to find some serious flaws in their reasoning and their motivations.

Thus does Magic Knight Rayearth illuminate a major pitfall of altruism: when those that are trying to help have other motivations behind it. Helping others to get people to see you and admire you is wrong. If a person helps others merely to be recognized by his friends and associates, then what happens when he no longer needs or wants more time in the limelight? And for those who like happy endings, the protagonists of Magic Knight Rayearth recognized this as well as the first season ended. Throughout the second season, they devoted themselves to actually helping Cephiro, rather than just following instructions. They realized that if they were going to help Cephiro and its people, they needed to focus on, well, helping Cephiro.

It's put best in Advance Wars: Days of Ruin. In that game, the world was devastated by a rain of meteors that nearly meant the end of days. The sun was blocked out for over a year, and the majority of the world's surface was damaged in the fall. The main character of the campaign, Will, tags along with and eventually becomes the commander of a division of troops that remained intact and now focuses on helping as many people as they can. However, the head of a military contractor, Caulder, welcomes the devastation. After all, a world without much organization or government means no restrictions on scientific progress, and no restrictions on experiments that would be kindly called "despicable."

When Will finally reaches Caulder's main base, Caulder mercilessly assaults the basis behind Will's actions. He tells Will, "You have simply been conditioned to accept the values of society. And now you unthinkingly spout those same values to me. Do you not fight? Do you not kill? Is this not for selfish reasons?" And, there is a tiny bit of sense in what he says. After all, who's to say whether one does good things for the people that benefit, or for that sense of righteousness that one gets when one does good things?

Yet Will has a perfect response. Although this isn't the direct response, Will does eventually say, "If those ideas aren't my own? If he conditioned me? Then that's fine. Keep your theories, Caulder. What's important is that I help people. I have no other ambitions. That is what my heart tells me to do, and my heart is my own."

If you're going to be a righteous person, then take the lessons of Magic Knight Rayearth and Advance Wars: Days of Ruin seriously. If you want to help people, don't do so for the accolades you'll get or the rewards that society gives you. Don't do the right thing because you'll be rewarded for it. (Far too often, you won't be.) Don't do the right thing because you have to, whether because you know nothing else (Magic Knight Rayearth) or because someone else would punish you otherwise. Do the right thing because you want to. Do the right thing because it is the right thing.

Huh, I thought this would be about conflict more in general. Oh well. In any case, I mentioned scientific progress when I talked about Advance Wars: Days of Ruin. For my next article, I'm addressing that in more detail, and asking a very hard question: when should we tell the scientists "no more"?

Ten Years of Pokémon.What Have I Learned?

Pokémon. Easily one of the most well-known video game franchises ever, and also one of the most successful. For those people that have been under a rock for the past ten years, Pokémon had its start as a game where the player took on the role of a Pokémon trainer. The goal was to capture these creatures called Pokémon and train them to do battle with other trainers and their Pokémon. I say that that was how the game started because of the fact that it inspired dozens of spin-offs, including anything from photography (Pokémon Snap) to pinball (Pokémon Pinball and its sequel) to dungeon exploration (Pokémon Mystery Dungeon). The derivatives of the original Pokémon games aren’t even limited to video games, as there is also a Pokémon animated TV series and several animated feature-length films, along with a trading card game and any number of toys and accessories.

Despite these many, varied Pokémon items, there are still games that keep to the original format. From the original Red and Blue versions, the games have gone through four generations. Each generation has added new Pokémon and changed the world that the game takes place in. Pokémon Diamond and Pokémon Pearl represent the newest games in the series that maintain the exploration, capture, and battle that Pokémon was built upon.

I first played Pokémon almost ten years ago, when Pokémon Blue was released in the U.S. in September of 1998. I’ve been enjoying the games of the Pokémon world ever since. The question now is: was the time I spent enjoying myself pointless entertainment? Or is there some meaning, some lesson I can take from my long years of game play?

As should be obvious, the answers to those questions aren’t simple. Looking back on how I played Pokémon, I’m forced to come to the conclusion that there’s more than one way to play the game.

When I was younger, first playing Pokémon Blue, I wasn’t exactly old enough to worry too much about such questions. I didn’t really worry about how I was playing the game either. I considered it a mark of pride that I could use my Wartortle, a Water-type Pokémon, to defeat the challenges of the third Gym, Lt. Surge’s Electric-type Gym. After all, since I was at a disadvantage, obviously I was good to be able to win with a disadvantage. The fact that my Wartortle was ten levels higher than all of the Gym Leader’s Pokémon didn’t strike me as odd, nor did I think about what that meant for my victory. I was playing the game, and I was enjoying myself. Certainly, there was nothing wrong in what I was doing. And yet, I wasn’t really getting everything I could out of the game.

Fast-forward to the release of Pokémon Diamond. I hadn’t played Pokémon games for almost four years, since I ignored the releases of FireRed, LeafGreen, and Emerald, along with the fact that I had finished and become bored with Sapphire shortly after its release. I picked up the game again, and this time I played very differently. Rather than using my starter Pokémon all of the time, and ignoring type advantages in favor of raw power, I trained every Pokémon on my team. I played using all six of the Pokémon I could have in my party, using my type advantages to overcome the opponents who were now higher level than I was.

The culmination of that was my battle against the Elite Four. (Although, why they don’t just call them the Elite Five is beyond me, since there’s always the Champion after the Elite Four.) That fight taught me how Lt. Surge felt. My Pokémon were constantly lower-level, and for the final two battles, I was facing at least a ten level disadvantage almost constantly. And the first time I fought them, I lost. I didn’t take that defeat too badly though. Actually, I had expected it the whole time. While I took on the Elite Four that first time, I was taking notes, though. They weren’t much more than “use this Pokémon against this enemy” repeated for the entire Elite Four, but that was enough. I was able to limit my losses and conserve my recovery items the second time through, and succeeded in defeating them.

What does that say about the value of the Pokémon games? In the end, Pokémon is a tactical battle game. To win, the player has to be able to either overpower the enemy or exploit the enemy’s weaknesses. Overpowering force isn’t hard, and I managed to enjoy myself using the same Pokémon over and over again. But that isn’t all that I got out of Pokémon in the end. When I came back to the game in high school, I took the second route. I focused on using the weaknesses of each Pokémon to find attacks that would be more effective. I had to plan out my actions and choices of attack to overcome the same overpowering force that I had used years ago.

I had to plan, and I had to think. Strategy and tactics are very important when one plays the game without overpowering force. Since then, I’ve built three different teams, including a Lv. 5 and under team that required a vast amount of planning and effort to create. I faced down a four-Pokémon team controlled by another human being, the issue here being that he had one level 100, two level 90, and one level 76 Pokémon to my six level 73 Pokémon. A seventeen-level disadvantage should not be overcome at all, especially not when there’s a human being directing those attacks, yet I nearly defeated him, and I still can say what I should have done differently to win the battle outright.

In the end, Pokémon has taught me about thinking and planning ahead, about strategy and tactics. What’s the most effective way for me to achieve this goal? How are we going to carry out this order? Answering those questions is fundamental regardless of what the goal is, whether it be the arbitrary target of a video game or the requirements of a job ten years in the future. Being able to make a plan, whether that plan is for a strategic challenge in a video game or a project assigned to a manager in a corporation, can only aid in becoming a better leader.

And I haven’t even begun to talk about the animated series or any of the movies. But those are subjects for another time. For my next article, I’ll take what I’ve seen in anything from anime to video games to address a fundamental human question: why do we fight?