God Of War And The Power Of Being Better

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20 years ago today, I found myself immersed in the world of God of War for the first time, March 22, 2025. Now, as we reflect on this epic journey, it’s fascinating to see how Kratos’ character has evolved, mirroring real-world themes about masculinity and change.

Although many people recall the brutality and grandeur of the God of War game from 2005, featuring Kratos battling a hydra and tearing soldiers apart with his bare hands, it’s crucial to remember that this epic adventure doesn’t start at that point. Instead, the storyline commences in a different manner.

The narrative commences with a suicide attempt by the character Kratos. He ominously states that he feels deserted by the gods before leaping off a cliff into the Aegean Sea. This warlord is haunted by past actions, having accidentally killed his own wife and child, and then being condemned by an oracle to carry their ashes as part of him forever. His crimes are not forgotten in Greece, causing him no respite. The gods assign him a task: to kill Ares, who initially set him up for trouble. This doesn’t bring relief, but instead, he gains their power and becomes the Greek God of War, leading to widespread destruction. Even Zeus, the almighty, feels compelled to stop him. Later, an unexpected twist reveals that Zeus is Kratos’ father, which fuels his quest for vengeance. Consequently, Kratos wreaks havoc across Zeus’ entire domain.

In a series known for its early fame due to violent release, it often seemed like Sony was having their cake and eating it too as Kratos’ journeys never truly alleviated his suffering. Even when he selflessly gives up his life in God of War III for a higher purpose, shedding blood doesn’t solve issues within this franchiseit provides momentary satisfaction. However, the outcome always leads to the devastation of Kratos’ homeland, the obliteration of its pantheon, and him condemned to roam Earth, tormented by his thoughts. It appears that many prestigious PlayStation franchises end up in this predicament.

Essentially, Kratos’ character and the game he originates from, God of War (released in 2005), are deeply rooted in the cultural context of their time. The game presents a dark, gritty interpretation of Greek mythology that was popular during the nu-metal era, and interestingly, preceded Zack Snyder’s film adaptation by two years. Kratos embodies the angst typical of that period, reflecting a man burdened by regrettable actions and uncontrollable rage. This anger is not just his problem but affects everyone around him.

Every aspect of Kratos’ design, from his character to the gameplay mechanics, is a reflection of the era they were created in. One enduring message from this time is that hatred and violence can serve a purpose, yet they are not ultimate solutions. They lead to nothing but emptiness. God of War III showcases this bleak conclusion, or so we thought before 2018 when Kratos’ journey evolved into one of the most moving stories ever depicted in pixels.

A significant detail often overlooked is that the transformation for this character didn’t commence in 2018; it started in 2010. This was when we discovered the reason behind Zeus’ desire to kill Kratos, marking the first instance where Zeus admitted his own role in instigating a cycle of violence. This violent cycle ultimately led to Kratos causing harm to Zeus, mirroring what Zeus had done to Kronos. However, it’s worth noting that Zeus does indeed meet his end in God of War III. One persistent issue in AAA gaming is the inability for stories to communicate anything other than a language of violence, and there was no way to resolve Kratos’ existence with these forces except by ensuring that Zeus could no longer inflict more pain – given that there were no survivors left on Olympus when Kratos had finished. The cycle could only be potentially broken by removing Greece’s most prolific abuser from the equation.

In both real-world scenarios and virtual games, we seldom ponder or depict what lies beyond – a reference to what comes after a certain event or situation. While vengeance can be swiftly achieved and retribution easily envisioned, the aspect that often goes unaddressed in our creative works is what rehabilitation might entail. Considering the atrocities Kratos has committed, if we choose to keep his character alive, how does he continue to coexist? This question sheds light on an important aspect of storytelling that is sometimes overlooked.

In simpler terms, there isn’t a guide on how to deal with what Kratos has done in his past, and he carries the heavy burden of that weight. The Kratos we see in 2018 is shaped by his time, being strong yet silent, fully aware of the devastation his power and rage can cause, trapped within a prison of scars and regrets. His manhood, as it were, leads him this way. However, one problem with men realizing their actions have consequences is that there’s little guidance on what to do next. This is particularly true for Kratos since the woman who might have helped guide him towards a more righteous path is gone when the new games start.

In the depths of that darkness, there’s only one beacon of light – Kratos having a son. This son serves as his compass, his guiding star, even when he may not have the words to express it. His priorities shift drastically in this story, and instead of feeling remorseful, he strives for improvement: “Don’t feel sorry. Be better.

How does Kratos make amends for his actions? Does the long period of self-imposed isolation sufficiently atone for his mistakes? Is redemption found when he suffers another loss, such as the death of his wife? While true atonement may be impossible, it is valuable and meaningful to strive towards it.

Here begins an extraordinary tale, unique within the realm of gaming and exceptionally uncommon in all of literature; a warrior who has slain gods, monsters, and men now strives to restore instead of destroy, a father whose future mirrors in the kaleidoscope of his child’s life, while continually haunted by the twisted funhouse reflections of his past. Despite Kratos wielding his blades once more, it is intriguing that he does not revert to his old ways. There remains brutality within him, a reservoir to tap when confronted with danger. Yet, the tone of this violence changes. It is violence striving for purity, devoid of malice. This delicate balance is challenging to maintain, and God of War 2018 and Ragnarok do not always navigate it without slipping. However, the message from the developers and this character, this man, is clear: we must strive to improve, even when doing so is difficult.

It’s truly captivating to see Kratos observing him and his son grapple with power and privilege, but their path towards understanding and compassion for one another, given all they’ve been through, is equally compelling. However, what truly elevated Kratos into the realm of exceptional gaming characters happened later. In the Valhalla DLC for God of War Ragnarok, Kratos confronted his truest adversary – himself.

In this version, Kratos encounters his younger self – the ruthless killer responsible for countless deaths, drenched in rage and blood, the one who preferred death over dealing with sorrow and transgressions, and the one who rose to a power he neither wanted nor comprehended. That was Kratos. He could have been an ultimate enemy. Instead, it’s a monologue. Kratos possesses the words to confront himself.

High-profile games often fail to consider the impact of their creation deeply. They may not be enjoyable, educational, or inspiring in conventional ways. However, a game like God of War from 2005 is primarily defined by these qualities. Nevertheless, regardless of the medium, there’s an essential truth that stories we share evolve with us, and a narrative can signify one thing at age 20, and something completely different at age 40. What sets God of War apart is its rarity among video game characters in genuinely growing and changing over a 20-year period. This isn’t due to a reboot or makeover, but because the character has lived through experiences that alter everything he’s done before. Consequently, Kratos grapples with his own identity.

What am I to tell you? I recall the sensation of ascending the throne. Everything it encompassed, and everything it lacked. A deity of war. A deity of pain. Of sorrow. Of devastation. The Norns foretold that I pursue a redemption I can never truly earn. What does that make me? A god to the foolish. A god…of hope. ‘When all else is lost.’ You’ve lost everything and everyone. There is no absolution for you. You made that choice. I did too! So, what next? Must I, this same man…must I remain seated? Rule? Declare? Lead? Serve? In service. Must I lose everything and everyone? Will there still be enough within me to prevent myself from becoming like you? I don’t know. But I hold onto hope. You are cruel, arrogant, and selfish. Yet, you are more than that. You have always been more than others perceived. You are more than that.

This monologue stands as one of the most remarkable instances of storytelling within this medium, engaging in a direct conversation with the game we’ve grown up playing and continuing to follow into our adult lives. It masterfully explores the essence of escapism, its allure, but also its boundaries, flaws, and ultimately, it underscores that it is insufficient for any soul seeking growth. For men who found solace in Kratos’ unquestionable violent force, hearing these words come from a superior man is nothing short of miraculous. Interestingly, the monologue employs one of gaming’s most brutal creatures to convey its message, refraining from portraying redemption, instead illuminating the path towards wielding power and privilege. There is no narrative arc quite like this in the broader gaming sphere. And it is this profound impact, rather than any divine favor, that will ensure Kratos’ eternal legacy.

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2025-03-22 19:41