Halo and Philosophy

by Cuddy, Luke

  As part of his writing process O’Donnell composes whole pieces of music, and the majority of these, he told me, were written while keeping in mind what would be happening in each level. Working closely with the level designers he attempted to write music for “the emotional journey [they wanted] the player to have.” It’s not too much of a stretch to assume that what is being designed by the level designers is primarily meant to be seen, and therefore onscreen. So it would seem there is a desire for the music and visuals to synchronize or complement each other.

  As Halo stands, while an explosion onscreen may not trigger a musical stab from the cello section, O’Donnell will still have the knowledge in advance of which sections explosions are likely to occur in, and this has the potential to influence the music he creates. But the point of music in Halo, O’Donnell notes, is not to convey this kind of semantic information. When asked whether he used or was interested in applying the techniques of the Leitmotiv,35 he replied, “That’s not the composer that I want to be. I’m not writing Peter and the Wolf, as much as I love Peter and the Wolf.” O’Donnell doesn’t seem to be composing, then, with explosions in mind. Instead, he says, “music creates emotional enhancements that work best when you have reasons for music to exist,” which is, to use Murray Schafer’s earlier term, an Apollonian view of music—music is emotion; connotation rather than denotation.

  When pressed about the potential for a closer relationship between music and visuals in the Halo games, O’Donnell pointed to the success of the synaesthesia game Rez which places the emphasis on music being generated by the player’s actions. The visual information is informed and constrained by the music, and O’Donnell agreed that attempts to find a similar approach that worked within a more traditional FPS game is “a great place to explore.” Naturally, he had reservations, saying that while “it works great for electronica and that sort of genre,” if the game needs to have a more orchestrally scored epic feel, “you struggle with that.”

  The experiential result of O’Donnell’s musical philosophy and implementation is that music in Halo 2 is linked on an emotive level with the game narrative, as determined by O’Donnell and the other game designers. It is linked, however, only on the most broad macro scale. Given this, it appears as if the music has only a static, or at best accidental, relationship with visuals, where it occasionally encounters Michael Chion’s “forced marriage” phenomenon. The relationship between music and the game extends only to the emotion O’Donnell wants to convey to the player in certain places for certain durations. But what happens if we reject the Apollonian view of music and open our ears to the full spectrum of sound in Halo 2? We discover a whole new world of musicality.

  A Musical Soundscape

  Stop and listen at any point within a Halo 2 level and there is always sound. Even when no music is playing there is always an underlying ambient soundbed. On top of that foundation, the game engine is always ready to play any number of individually synchronised sound effects at an instant’s notice; everything from weapons fire to vehicle noises, to the player character’s own footsteps. These sounds, if we redefine our idea of music more inclusively, have the potential to be musical as well. As Murray Schafer advocates above, all sounds are potential musical elements given the right circumstances. There is a unique factor involved in the production of videogames which allows them to be purposefully more musical than they otherwise might. When I talked with O’Donnell, he noted that in videogames unlike film and other media,everything is virtual so we have no source to begin with . . . there’s [no] live action that we shot, [to] listen to what we recorded and implement . . . everything is virtual . . . character models and weapons and vehicles and you name it are all completely virtual so they have absolutely no sound.

  Because there are no real-world sources for most of the objects in Halo 2—unlike say the latest Modern Warfare game for which weapon sounds will already exist in the world and need only be recorded—O’Donnell and his team of sound designers were forced to create everything from scratch. Some sounds, particularly the human weapons and vehicle sounds, he told me, were designed to sound close to what real world sounds might be. Most importantly, however, he noted that with many of the alien sounds, they were less constrained by realism, more synthetic and freely created. O’Donnell even told me that they used some of the same musical instruments to create the alien sounds. The result, intentional or otherwise, is that the alien suite of sounds have a musicality to them that is generally (but not completely) lacking from the human sounds.

  For an example of this musicality, let’s look at the Covenant carbine rifle, a common weapon found in most levels and one which the player often begins with when playing as the Arbiter. When the player activates the zoom function by clicking the right analogue stick, an alien-like zoom sound effect is heard. When clicked again, the scope zooms back out and a similar sound is heard. The key point is that both of the zoom in and out sounds are pitched. The zoom in tone appears to be a G flat, and a lower tone sounds as D flat upon zooming out—creating a musical interval of a perfect fourth, one of the most commonly used musical intervals. The timbre of both tones sound nearly identical in timbre to a similar synthesizer sound found on the track “Ancient Machine” from the Halo 2 soundtrack, Volume 1. It’s a particularly “alien” piece of music which plays during the first level in which the player assumes control of the Arbiter. The Covenant carbine rifle, then, contains a musical interval as an integral part of its sound palette. It even sounds like part of the music.

  This example points to a general trend in the covenant weaponry; the plasma pistol in its charge-up mode sounds as a rising hum that reaches a pitch of B flat when fully charged; the sentinel beam weapon fires a constant stream of energy at a pitch of A and upon releasing the trigger this rises up to a short B flat. For those familiar with the terminology of music production, the sentinel beam’s “A” note acts like the sustain portion of a synthesizer envelope and the B flat as the release.

  The actual pitches themselves are not the focus, more important is the fact that they can be pitched—as pitch, if we recall Plato’s three aspects of song—is an important element of Western music and musicality. In Halo 2 many sounds possess a fundamental tone despite also possessing quite complex timbres.

  An additional factor in determining musicality is rhythm, and the set-duration of many weapon actions like reloading, shooting, and the aforementioned zooming, require sound effects that play out for the same duration. Try emptying several complete clips of an SMG or battle rifle in a row and you’ll soon notice that each action possesses a certain rhythm to it, and through repetition, these strings of sounds become familiar to the player adding a rhythmic dimension to otherwise un-pitched sounds.

  Sound, Music, and Vision

  The in-game sound effects of Halo 2 are infused with a musicality through pitch, timbre, and rhythmic elements which contribute to an overall soundscape that is highly musical. The musicality of sound effects works to bridge the gap between music and sound effects and helps overcome the incompatibilities between music and vision as identified earlier–because all of these sound effects are synchronised with their onscreen actions already.

  To repurpose an earlier example: Martin O’Donnell may not be able to make the cello section perform a musical stab whenever a plasma grenade explodes, but he can place within the sound effect of a plasma grenade an aural connection to a cello stab that happens elsewhere. He could even choose to use the cello to form part of the plasma explosion sound effect. This achievement is centrally important for how it changes the relationship between music and visuals; it enables a new kind of audio-visual relationship that works exceptionally well in interactive videogames. Halo 2’s musicinfused sound effects present a picture of a unique new way for music—and music meant in the broadest possible sense—to operate within videogames that is almost unlike anything else in the medium.

  7

  Personal Identity in Blood Gulch

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p; PETER LUDLOW AND CHIARA REPETTI-LUDLOW

  One of the more remarkable fan-created spinoffs of the Halo videogame franchise has been the Red vs Blue (RvB) machinima series. Machinima, for those who don’t know, is a form of movie made from video captures of videogame play. These video captures are edited and mixed with voice, music, and sound effects to create a (hopefully) coherent story line. Typically the action in a machinima video is staged and rehearsed, just as in a standard film production. The difference, of course, is that the “actors” are videogame player characters being operated by the producers of the show.

  RvB is a machinima web series that is produced by Rooster Teeth Productions, based in Austin, Texas. The episodes appear weekly (premiering each Monday night at 9:00 P.M. Central). The show typically has nineteen episodes per season and is now in its eighth season. There are also two important mini-series that appeared between seasons and that fleshed out details of the narrative. In addition to the web broadcasts, the episodes are released on DVD.

  There has been lots of critical acclaim for the series, including the remarks of Graham Leggat, former director of communications for Lincoln Center’s film society, describing RvB as “truly as sophisticated as Samuel Beckett.”36 That may be over the top, but as we’ll see, the RvB series is not only great entertainment, but it also engages philosophical questions in a very deep way.

  This is a scene from the machinima web series Red vs. Blue (RvB, Rooster Teeth Productions, 2003).

  Some of these questions center around the nature of personal identity—what it means to be a person and under what conditions a person continues to survive. We think the series has a serious philosophical contribution to make on this topic. Surprisingly, the classic philosophical positions on personal identity are undermined by the thought experiments given in the RvB plot line.

  Welcome to Blood Gulch. Meet the Red Team

  RvB begins in a location called Blood Gulch, with what appears to be a standoff between two teams of combat troops—the Red Team and the Blue Team—but the story line rapidly evolves into much more, incorporating elements of videogame criticism, commentary on digital culture, artificial intelligence, personal identity, and the meaning of life. The dialogue is fresh, sometimes ridiculous, but also at times quite deep. When we’re introduced to the RvB characters, it initially seems as if we’re watching an existential conversation between two members of the Red Team. But then the conversation takes a turn and it becomes a discussion about the absurdity of online multiplayer mode (in which users are assigned to either a red or blue team and then take part in player vs player combat against the other team), and perhaps also about the absurdity of war.

  SIMMONS: You ever wonder why we’re here?

  GRIF: That’s one of life’s great mysteries isn’t it? Why are we here? I mean, are we the product of some cosmic coincidence, or, is there really a God, watching everything, you know, with a plan for us and stuff? I don’t know, man, but it keeps me up at night.

  SIMMONS: What! I mean why are we out here, in this canyon? GRIF: Oh, uhhh. Yeah.

  SIMMONS: What was all that stuff about God?

  GRIF: Uhhhh, hm, nothing.

  SIMMONS: You wanna talk about it?

  GRIF: No.

  SIMMONS: You sure?

  GRIF: Yeah.

  SIMMONS: Seriously though, why are we out here? Far as I can tell, it’s just a box canyon in the middle of nowhere. No way in or out.

  GRIF: Uh hmm.

  SIMMONS: The only reason we set up a Red Base here, is because they have a Blue Base over there. And the only reason they have a Blue Base over there, is because we have a Red Base here.

  GRIF: Yeah. That’s ’cause we’re fighting each other.

  SIMMONS: No, no. But I mean, even if we were to pull out today, and if they would come take our base, they would have two bases in the middle of a box canyon. Whoopdee-fucking-doo.37

  While the narrative drives an independent story line, it also makes an effort to connect with the broader Halo story. This is clear throughout the RvB narrative, and is introduced in the very first episode in the conversation between Grif and Simmons:SIMMONS: What’s up with that anyway? I mean, I signed on to fight some aliens. Next thing I know, Master Chief’s blown up the entire Covenant armada and I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere, fighting a bunch of blue guys.

  GRIF: Talk about a waste of resources. I mean, we should be out there finding newer and intelligent forms of life, you know, fight them.

  SIMMONS: Yeah, no shit. That’s why they should put us in charge.

  With this clever comic move, the narrative for the series is embedded within the Halo universe, and is able to draw on elements of that universe. In this case, we have a reference to Master Chief, the player character hero of Halo: Combat Evolved, and we also have a reference to the initial goal of that iteration of Halo—stopping the Covenant.

  Whether we think of RvB as fiction within the Halo universe or a completely independent fictional world, it raises interesting questions in the themes that come up in its narrative. As we suggested earlier, these themes can be thought of as philosophical thought experiments.

  Thought Experiments in Philosophy

  Throughout its history, philosophy has utilized thought experiments as part of its methodology. This dates at least to Plato, who used the analogy of the cave to illustrate the relation between forms and particulars. Other thought experiments have not merely illustrated ideas, but have played an important part in philosophical arguments.

  Thought experiments involving personal identity were introduced by John Locke in the seventeenth century and then by Bernard Williams, Derek Parfit, and others in the mid-twentieth century. Locke’s thought experiment was designed to show that a person should not be identified with his or her body. Would it be possible for the consciousness of a prince (all his memories, thoughts, and desires) to be placed in the body of a cobbler and vice versa? In other words, the prince would be walking around in the Cobbler’s body and the Cobbler would be walking around in the prince’s body, much like the plot of the movie Freaky Friday. Locke drew upon this scenario to show it was possible that a single person might occupy different physical bodies. So what’s required for the persistence of personal identity between the bodies of prince and cobbler? What makes it the case that the prince is the same person when his consciousness occupies the cobbler’s body? Locke felt that memory was the key element.

  More recently, several thought experiments have been designed to show that Locke’s memory answer can’t be right. Bernard Williams constructed the following thought experiment.38 Consider a person who appeared having all the memories and personality traits of a long deceased person named “Guy Fawkes.” Perhaps, following Locke, we are tempted to say “well, I guess then it must be Guy Fawkes.” But Williams then asks us to suppose that two such characters appear. Can they both be Guy Fawkes? It seems not. The original Guy Fawkes cannot be identical with the resulting individuals (one thing cannot be identical to two, after all) even though the memories survive intact.

  Williams took his argument to show that bodily identity is required for personal identity, but other thought experiments have called this into question. Consider the thought experiment of Sydney Shoemaker in which a person’s brain is removed and placed in a new brainless body, resulting in a person with the same characteristics as the original. We’re tempted to think it’s the same person as the original.39 But now consider a wrinkle added by David Wiggins:40 Suppose that we split the brain of the original person (let’s call him “Guy”) and put each half in a brand new body (people have survived the loss of half a brain, so this seems reasonable). Suppose that each half has the same psychological characteristics and memories as Guy. Now the objection used against Locke has returned, since there are two individuals with the same psychological characteristics as Guy (even the same brain as him more or less), but two things can’t be identical to one, so both can’t be the same person.

  Derek Parfit held tha
t the real moral of cases like this is that identity is not the important thing, but rather psychological continuity is.41 That is, while we might say that Guy is not identical with either of the split-brained individuals that come from him, it would be another matter to say that Guy therefore does not survive the brain splitting and re-embodiment. Survival and identity are two different things. In a case of splitting (what Parfit calls “fission”) we may not have identity, but we have survival. Parfit also pointed out that psychological continuity was important to assessing personal plans and goals. So while the split-off individuals might not be identical with Guy, they would naturally maintain the plans and goals of Guy.

  While thought experiments like this have been used in all manner of cases in philosophy, some philosophers have questioned the reliability of the method. Why should we rely upon our intuitions (or judgments) that something is possible, and why should our judgments of what is possible have anything to do with what is actually the case? The answer is that thought experiments are designed to probe the nature and character of individual concepts. Is it conceivable that we could have a mind without a body? Well then we at a minimum have established that there is no conceptual restriction on saying the mind and body are distinct.

  Recently a lot of work in so-called experimental philosophy (known to its practitioners as “X-phi”) has argued that the suppositions of Western philosophers about what is conceivable don’t square with what is considered conceivable in other cultures.42 One way to take these results (assuming they’re correct) would be as a caution against appeals to notions of conceivability in philosophy altogether. But of course another way to take the results would be as a reminder that more may be conceivable than we might suppose upon first reflection.