The premise, like many games today, is that you get guns and kill your foes. Such games are colloquially called shooters, with an adjective prepended to describe the camera’s vantage point, such as first-person shooter, for when you “are” the in-game character, or third-person shooter, for when you are behind the in-game character and separate from her. The game creator’s choice of vantage point, a choice that is generally fixed within a given game, has a significant impact on the player’s experience.

Bioshock is a first-person shooter, so while playing, one identifies visually with the in-game character. This, together with the careful artistic design of the game, leads to an immersive experience that has one feeling like a part of the in-game world. Whether it’s the campy vending machines, the zombie-like inhabitants of an underwater city, or the collectible audio diaries of a tragic past, the different aspects of the environment entice the player more strongly than in other games, where the emphasis is simply on killing things instead of on emotional depth. In this way, the carefully crafted world of Bioshock achieves an unnerving level of realism.

This unnerving realism shocks most when the game forces the player to make a moral judgment. As an example — the example that inspired me to write this post — the Bioshock world is populated with endearing young girls called “Little Sisters,” whose function it is to collect useful genetic material called ADAM that the player desperately needs in order to survive. While these Little Sisters are actually no longer human, deformed into zombie-like collectors through some strange biological procedure, the procedure that transformed them is reversible, and the player can perform the reverse procedure on them in order to rescue them from their status as zombies and make them girls once again.

When one encounters a Little Sister, which one is forced to do in order to obtain ADAM and survive, one has to kill her mechanized guardian (amusingly called a “Big Daddy”), which prompts the Little Sister to start weeping over her lost companion. In this emotional scenario, with silence but for the sobs of the Little Sister, one is told that one has the choice to either harvest the Little Sister, giving one 160 ADAM but killing the creature, or rescue it, giving one only 80 ADAM but earning a voiced thank-you and look of gratitude from the resulting girl.

Logically, one wants to harvest all of the Little Sisters in order to maximize one’s ADAM. But something feels wrong about killing a child-like creature for one’s own satisfaction. Even though it’s sensible from the perspective of pure self-interest, there’s an aspect of our humanity that appeals to the player, asking the player to consider rescuing the Little Sister.

In my first encounter with a Little Sister, after sitting for a few minutes with the moral choice on display (picture), I decided to rescue it. While this did put me 80 ADAM short, which was frustrating for advancing in the game, I felt like I had done the right thing. Looking back though, that sounds silly. I might have done the right thing, but what does morality in a video game even mean? When the game presents the player with this phenomenally constructed moral quandary, it feels like more than just a game — but it’s still just a game. Why not just harvest all the Little Sisters? The arguments in favor of rescuing are weak — unlike in a Disney movie, the gratitude of the rescued girls doesn’t miraculously help the player defeat foes — yet I chose to rescue.

The Little Sister problem is interesting in itself, but it also raises the larger question of morality in the digital world. Many video games, movies, and television shows today celebrate violence to a ridiculous degree, making gruesome digital death commonplace, and yet a core principle of Hinduism is ahimsa, or non-violence. Is chainsawing your video game opponent to bloody chunks consistent with ahimsa because it’s just a game, or is there something wrong with it? On the one hand, it’s clearly inconsistent with ahimsa when it has clear influence on violent actions in the real world — for example, the killers at the Columbine High School massacre videotaped themselves paying homage to the popular violent video game Doom before the shootings (source). On the other hand, it seems justifiable in some way when it serves righteous warfare as described by Krishna in the Bhagavad-Gita — for example, the same violent video game Doom served as the basis for military simulations for soldiers in the United States military.

It’s hard to tell — why did I choose to rescue the Little Sister? Is ahimsa consistent with violent video games and other cultural celebrations of violence? What are the moral consequences of saying that a video game is “just a game”? What do you think? What does ahimsa mean in the digital world?

PS: Perhaps if the Mahabharata had video games, Duryodhana would have been satisfied with the Pandavas and Kauravas logging in for an epic Team Slayer match in Halo 3 on Xbox Live and giving the kingdom to the victor…

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“There are some who are really the salt of the earth in every country and who work for work’s sake, who do not care for name, or fame, or even to go to heaven. They work just because good will come of it. There are others who do good to the poor and help mankind from still higher motives, because they believe in doing good and love good. The motive for name and fame seldom brings immediate results, as a rule; they come to us when we are old and have almost done with life.

If a man works without any selfish motive in view, does he not gain anything? Yes, he gains the highest. Unselfishness is more paying, only people have not patience to practise it. It is more paying from the point of view of health also. Love, truth, and unselfishness are not merely moral figures of speech, but they form our highest ideal, because in them lies such a manifestation of power.”

This is Swami Vivekananda’s most powerful insight — work done selflessly is more rewarding than work done selfishly. But is it a valid insight? As with any text, these are merely words on a page, words that could have been perverted, intentionally or not, through the hands of scribes over the years. For that reason, we have to carefully examine the claims through our own experience. Is unselfishness something that we can confidently apply to our lives, or is it something that we should live more carefully, testing its truth?

In order to answer that question, we have to answer an even simpler question — what is unselfishness? At first glance, the synonym altruism comes to mind, but that doesn’t help much. Turning to the zoological definition of altruism, we find: “Instinctive behavior that is detrimental to the individual but favors the survival or spread of that individual’s genes, as by benefiting its relatives.” This is a bad definition for spiritual seekers, since unselfishness is not always constrained to one’s kin. The philosophical definition of altruism is more promising: “[An] ethical theory that regards the good of others as the end of moral action; by extension, the disposition to take the good of others as an end in itself.” This is a good working definition of unselfishness — regarding the good of others as the end of moral action.

Now, if that unselfishness is the ideal to which Swami Vivekananda inspires us, the question of why be unselfish still remains. It’s an important question to ask — unselfishness, together with love, is Vivekananda’s choice ammunition in bombarding readers with moral inspiration. Be unselfish, he says, give unto others, and pray before the Lord and the strength to continue serving will fill you. Enchanting words — but are they true? What if praying before the Lord fails to give us the strength to serve others? What if being unselfish is just self-abuse by another name? What if unselfishness is God’s illusion on humanity, testing us to see if we blindly believe what we are told by self-styled prophets?

These are important questions to ask, but not to answer — the answers to these questions are irrelevant because the value of unselfishness is self-evident. My most satisfying moments were not when I have obtained something I wanted, but when I have assisted someone successfully. This is not to say that selfish action is bad — simply that I find unselfish action more rewarding. If you are the type of person who can’t think about the welfare of others, then you are not a bad person — you are simply missing out on a more rewarding course of action. On the other end of the spectrum, if you are the type of person who is always there for other people, and you feel stretched to the limit, it is not bad to take time for yourself to recuperate. Unselfishness is desirable because it is a satisfying principle by which to live one’s life, but it need not dominate our lives. To be attached to unselfishness is dangerous — it is important that you are able to detach yourself from unselfishness.

That said, ultimately the validity of Swami Vivekananda’s insight is left to your personal experience. Even if you receive no gratitude in return, be unselfish, because you feel it is the right thing to do.

I leave you with a quote from Dr. Albert Schweitzer:

“I don’t know what your destiny will be, but one thing I do know: the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve.”

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But it is his remarks about the future that I found most interesting and applicable. Swamiji framed the problem of the future as a question: How can we develop confidence? He then said that there are three sources of confidence:

1. Morality. A steadfast life based on truthfulness and selflessness is a source of great inner strength. As Swamiji puts it, “Even if I should suffer, I will stand for what is right.”
2. Faith in God. With a calm belief that there is a purpose to life’s trajectory, we can deal with life’s surprises, suffused with the conviction that things are in the hands of the Almighty.
3. Accepting one’s divinity. Swami Vivekananda exhorts us to be aware of our own divinity, to feel that we are, in fact, the Spirit, or Atman. A firm belief in this internal divinity also affords the confidence to meet the future.

Swamiji remarked that these three methods of developing confidence are not mutually exclusive. One can be moral and pious, confident in one’s own actions and calmly accepting the future. (As a side note, I would also add competence to the list — for example, a licensed driver is confident on the road, and a well-prepared student is confident on the relevant exam. When it comes to technical knowledge, spirituality is no substitute for preparation.)

To me, holiness lies in confidence. I have respect for the confident — it is confident, brave action that pushes humanity forward. I only put a “ji” at the end of someone’s name once I am convinced of their confidence, their certainty, their decisiveness in meeting the future. No matter what degree of technical skill we may have as doctors, teachers, or gymnasts, we may still feel constricted by a lack of confidence. That is where spirituality is useful. Spirituality has the unique ability to free our minds, calm our nerves, and inspire us to meet life every day with conviction.

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So said Swami Vivekananda, according to the reminiscences of A. Srinivasa Pai.

This raises an interesting and often neglected aspect of spiritual development — physical exercise. Hinduism, like most other religions, seems sedentary — after all, if sitting for years on end meditating is the spiritual ideal, then exercise isn’t a high priority.

But a healthy body is important for the sound functioning of the mind, so it makes sense for exercise to be a part of spiritual development. Hinduism addresses this — it is unique among religions in including physical exercise as a part of itself, specifically as asana yoga, known to a Western audience as simply “yoga.” Through diet and the practice of various postures, yoga allows one to develop spiritually by developing physically.

Other forms of exercise, such as lifting weights, or playing soccer, seem equally valid. I often feel profound thoughts shortly after intense workouts, and find it easier to attain mental clarity.

What do you think? How important is physical exercise to spiritual development? Should it be a part of modern Hinduism?

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One interpretation is that being religious is equivalent to being a practicing Hindu — being aware of and following the many rich traditions and rituals our culture has to offer. I’ve learned much about this aspect of Hinduism since coming to Harvard, but I still know little, so it is not what I had in mind.

Another interpretation is that being religious is believing in God. My belief in God wavers because I do not consider it central to my beliefs. This, too, is not what I had in mind.

The most reasonable interpretation is that, for me, being religious is having faith. Defining faith as “belief that is not based on proof” (Dictionary.com), I see that this is what I had in mind when I answered my friend. Religion and conviction are inseparable in my mind, and because conviction is the firm belief that point A will lead to point B, this naturally expands into a faith in destiny. Conviction is at its most effective when it is operating in an environment where proofs are impossible — an environment where one has to take things on faith.

Life is an example of such an environment — after all, life does not furnish us with any meaning, any purpose. It is up to us to create meaning from the nothingness, a nothingness in which proofs of meaning are impossible. Religion — specifically, the conviction that comes from faith in a transcendent destiny — is my way of creating meaning from this nothingness.

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