What really worries me about the term “empathy game” is the implication that the game is supposed to do all the hard thinking for you.
Even worse, the idea that a work of art is supposed to fit in the same category as folding beds or hovercars or TV dinners, just another handy gadget to make life easier. It’s not. It’s supposed to your life hecka harder. To expect anything else is an oversimplification of empathy.
And yet, despite this, the battle cry of “empathy games” is so often used by people who feel that they need to use them to legitimize videogames. And don’t get me wrong, I understand that a lot of us want the games we make, our work, to change the world. That’s good! That’s awesome! But the way we talk about their ultimate value can be so disgustingly pragmatic and soulless sometimes, a lot of the time, most of the time.
I think the worst part is of all is that, as a society, our relationship with technology is so harshly split between extreme utpoianism and extreme technophobia (and let me remind you that videogames are still seen by this society as technology first) that I can’t even blame these people for being so willing to “martyr” themselves “on the altar of games,” as Anna Anthropy put it. Sometimes it really does feel like the only way out of our own ugly reputation.
And so we have the guy working on Microsoft’s VR hardware calling it an “empathy machine.”
Even when we try to be positive, we can’t help treating videogames like mere machines. Even when we try to champion them as True Art, we can’t help but treat them like toaster ovens. Always, always, always, they have to justify their existence.