It’s a privilege to be representing the students of Cornerstone University and welcome you to our campus. I was asked to share some thoughts, but I only have 3 minutes, so it’ll just have to be one: sort of an intersection between the tools Cornerstone has given me and what God has been working in me lately. I hope it will be encouraging to you.
To be honest, I feel slightly out of place here. I am not a business man, but a story teller. My hope is to one day become a writer for video games. Just this past week, I was in San Francisco for the Game Developer’s Conference. Over 17,000 members of the video game community gathered to sharpen each other and improve our industry.
One of the topics that comes up over and over again at these conferences is the question, “Can video games be art?” Often, this comes to a false dichotomy between designers – the people that make the systems – and writers.
Designers want a completely open space for players to explore. They take pride in giving players ultimate choice.
Writers want to craft a perfectly structured story for players to experience. They want every interaction, every choice to perfectly fall in line with their beautiful thematic argument.
You can imagine, then, that there is some conflict in this process.
As a hopeful writer, I have naturally fallen on the side of structure. I have often compared game design to being god – not in a sacrilegious way, of course. We create this world, populate it with characters, and design a perfect way for them to go through it (the story).
Designers, kind of like the serpent, want to give the players ultimate choice. To let the players do what they want.
Do what they want? You mean allow them to rebel against my beautifully sculpted creation and my design for what they should do?
Yes.
Sounds familiar, right? I viewed the task of the writer to be similar to the task of our God: to slowly and gently lead player from their meaningless, headstrong ways back into the story I had designed for them.
One of the writers at one of the sessions humbled me, though: It isn’t about me.
It isn’t about the designers. It isn’t about the animators or the writers or the programmers. It is about the player. Video games are about giving the player a great experience, not about the messages that a writer or a designer is trying to propagate.
When we have artistic disputes, the only question we should be asking is “Which choice would make a better player experience? Which choice would serve the player best?” It cannot be a matter of what I want or what is easiest for the programmers. Ego cannot factor into our design decisions at all. Only the other. Nothing but serving the player.
And isn’t this what Jesus asks of us? To love our neighbor as ourselves. To serve each other.
I was ashamed. I went to the gardens above the conference center and journaled for 15 minutes. How dare I, as a Christian, compare my role in the creative process to God! And here was this writer – who was not a Christian – reminding me that my job is to serve. Even at the expense of my agenda.
I think businesses that are a little less artistic in nature get service more than any artist ever will. No matter what your job is in the company, ultimately the company exists to serve someone. The ego of an artist – with our themes, characters, and messages – falls before the customer. “The customer is always right.”
As I continue to reshape my theology of writing, if you will, I wanted to encourage all of you to continue loving people more than your agenda. May you always remember that your jobs are not about the messages that you send or the profit you earn. Your job is to love and to serve. I pray that you continue to serve Jesus in every interaction with client and customer, that you would always think first of the other.
With that, join me in welcoming Mr. Bob Israels.
