The world of virtual warcraft

“Avatar.” In its original Sanskrit etymology, the word signifies “de­scent”: the descent of a deity into the earthly world, its incarnation among the mortals. For example, for a Hindu, Krishna and Rama are avatars of Vishnu, the maintainer of the Trimurti; for a Christian, Jesus of Nazareth is (as a matter of fact, if not literally) the avatar of the Biblical god. Today, however, the word has acquired a different meaning. In computing language, it is we who have avatars. We, the earthlings, get to be reborn—in the heroes of our video games, in the icons we use on Facebook, in the characters we choose as we sign up for online games. And this is not just an extension of the original meaning. We do not incarnate as avatars—we de­incarnate. We do not descend to an inferior world. Instead, we project into parallel, ethereal, virtual worlds. And we do so—here is the main difference—while leaving behind us a good deal of our identity. We are not what we could have been, but we could be what we are not, and our avatars take charge of our dreams and illusions.

To be sure, ordinary video games and chat programs don’t offer much: We choose an icon or select a character, and that’s it. That’s our avatar. It is with role­-playing games that things get serious. Such games allow us to tweak and tinker with the features of our avatars, which evolve accordingly, play after play, day after day.

And while the old pen-and-­paper versions of the pre­computing era, like “Dungeons & Dragons,” were severely limited in the modes of interaction that they permitted, the advent of the Internet prompted a boost of truly virtual lives, with masses of players inter­acting anonymously in real time from every part of the globe. There’s something for every taste: from crime to horror, from fantasy to business, from sport to ecology, farming, tourism, romance.

I chose gothic. My world—the world of my avatar—is dominated by the perennial rivalry between vampires and werewolves. And I am a vampire. It wasn’t exactly my choice. I was created by the bite of Hamalene, queen of the night: a gentle, electronic bite, sanctioned by clicking on an email link. I clicked without thinking. Now I am a skilled vampire myself, and I can claim a large throng of creatures of my own. I can’t name any names, for obvious reasons. In most cases I don’t even know who they are. Vampirehood spreads transitively, but stealthily. Yet we write to each other, we challenge each other, we support each other at every move. Currently I am also part of a clan, the Eclypse, founded and sapiently led by Tryzog. Belonging to a clan involves various duties, including the utmost respect for the clan’s code of honor. But it has its advantages, too, and it makes our nocturnal lives less artificial. We have a castle, and in the castle there is a tavern where our avatars can gather, and where during war times we plan our tactics and strategies reading Sun Tzu. For yes, we battle. At the moment we are at war against the PowerWolves. We are leading, though by a mere 24 points. A single error might cost us the final victory.

Alienating? Of course. Those who live a good life have no need for a second one, let alone a vampire life. That is why I spoke of projections, dreams, illusions—sketches of parallel lives betraying a want for existential revenge. But that is easy psychology. In truth, I am proud of my avatar. I feel a sense of ful­fill­ment when my comrades congratulate me on my moves—its moves. I feel a sense of pleasure in its doing things I would never do in my real life. I even feel pleasure when my avatar fights. I admit it: I, a steadfast pacifist, feel a deep sense of pride in taking up arms for my clan. I, a pro­fessional logician, feel genuine complacency in exercising my skills to predict my enemy’s moves and plan mine accordingly. I want to win. I badly want my avatar to win—my avatar and its clan.

This puzzles me. I wish I could say this without sounding jejune, but I wonder: Isn’t that just how people feel when they fight for real? Aren’t those—psycho­logically, at least—the same instincts and motivations that guide those who fight with real weapons?

I spoke with Hamalene, and she wonders, too. We all wonder, thirsty vampires and hungry werewolves alike. Of course our virtual wars are silly. Real wars are no fiction. But we wonder—and we are serious—whether they could be. We wonder whether the times might be ready for the big step. We have gone software in so many aspects of our lives—why not here? We have digitalized our libraries, our music, our money—why not relinquish once and for all our military hardware, too, trading guns and bombs for a wireless mouse? Our generals and soldiers could still fight, and we are ready to respect their actions and accept the con­sequences as we have always done—but without mourning the loss of our dears, the destruction of our homes, the burning of our lands. We are learning to save trees by going paperless, any chances that we might learn to save our lives by going bloodless?

The author is the chair of the Department of Philosophy.

Each Friday, a professor will share scholastic wisdom readers won’t find in lectures. Suggestions regarding which professors to feature are welcome.