Theology of Bioshock (Part II)

Christian tradition has held that sin has at least three characteristics which are on display in the game quite wonderfully.  Namely, sin is addictive; sin deforms us; and sin eventually drives us insane.  The main enemies in the game are both fascinating and tragic, which happened to be called ‘Splicers’.  These Splicers have gotten addicted to Adam at such a level that they simply do not live as normal human beings anymore.  They wander the streets with various weapons, looking for the next fix of Adam.  Additionally, their addiction to Adam has horribly warped their bodies, with tumours and various other malformations, making them grotesque and sorrowful to look at.  Finally, and perhaps the most tragic of all, they utter strange phrases from their past, like an echo, as if they were still living their lives but had not realized the pathetic level they had in fact reached.  Here we see clearly the threefold pattern of sin, that it is addictive, deforming, and induces insanity.

Theology of Bioshock (Part I)

One of the greatest games of all time (PC Gamer placed it 28^th all time (Feb 2010)), Bioshock will most assuredly stand the test of time.  Of course you can discuss the gameplay, which I thought was good; or you can discuss the art design, which I think is the best any game has ever had; or you can discuss the philosophy, which is extremely intriguing; but what I will discuss here, which admittedly will touch on philosophy, is rather the Theology of Bioshock, or rather a Theological interpretation of the game. 

The Yellow Wood

There lies a yellow wood beside a still cobalt lake,
It’s leaves, now dying, fall, leaving ripples in its wake.
The ground is covered in a carpet, a deep golden brown,
The wind blows gently, upsetting the earth’s autumn gown.

I found myself amidst this grove, this autumnal day,
Walking between the cedar columns, in silence they had much to say.
For soon these trees would be bare, the ground thick with snow,
Awaiting the longer days for new seeds to sow.

Their story was sad at first, for soon they were to die,
Their leaves all gone, nothing left but winter’s bitter sigh.
But in their death, beauty lay bright and strong,
As one leaf floats down, singing its dying song.

As I listened to their tale, I felt as though I should cry,
But I realized that there is no spring, if these trees did not die.
For truly in the beauty of death, life springs ever new,
The leaf has fallen, but our joy will come with the morning dew.