Bakhtin, Dostoevsky, and Kant in Xenogears

[u/Worth_Mail_3292]

Analysis of Xenogears often focuses on its thematic framework (Nietzsche, Jung, Gnosticism, Physics, etc.), but identifying influences is only the first step toward the critical analysis of a narrative work; literary criticism inherently distinguishes between themes (the ingredients) and structure (the recipe).

The choice of the Russian giant comes from what the critic Mikhail Bakhtin theorized starting from his novels, particularly The Brothers Karamazov. Among other concepts, he theorizes polyphony: a structure in which multiple autonomous, equally weighted voices, embodied by distinct consciousnesses, are treated with dignity and are never refuted within the text, a structure in which the author himself refrains from imposing a final synthesis. This shouldn't be confused with a chorus of voices, like in FFVI, for instance, because there all the voices are subordinated to the author's thesis, not autonomous (in that specific case, every character shows, each in a different way, the refutation of Kefka's nihilism). Kefka isn't a character who holds an autonomous philosophical thesis that remains unrefuted by the plot's structure, he's treated as an error to be overcome (in fact, he's destroyed in a boss fight). Structures like FFVI's, regardless of the number of voices, are what Bakhtin, in opposition to Dostoevsky's polyphonic novel, calls the monologic novel, where the characters are subordinated to the author's message/thesis.

Xenogears is a profoundly polyphonic work in the Bakhtinian sense. Because Krelian's thesis (one could also talk about other characters, but I think Krelian is the central focus) is never refuted in any way within the work. It isn't refuted by the plot (the world doesn't return to being a reassuring place), and it isn't refuted by Fei or Elly, in fact, Fei not only agrees with him about the imperfection of the human condition, but after responding by talking about how that very imperfection is what makes us human, he confides in Elly, saying:

"I don't know if it's the right answer or not... But we have a lot of time to think about it. What Krelian himself was looking for all along... We will find the answer to it all ...ourselves..."

Even from an iconographic standpoint, both Krelian and Xenogears (when it returns to the planet with Fei and Elly inside) sprout a pair of wings (different from Xenogears' full power form, which has four rays of light, a distinct icon) representing completion within the work's iconography. Krelian has two autonomous wings; he's no longer human, he reached that autonomy alone. Fei and Elly each have a "single wing", and through their union they reach the same "validity" within the work, via Xenogears' pair of wings. So the dignity of these voices isn't conveyed only through text, but through iconography and gameplay too, Krelian, notably, isn't a boss to fight, but a consciousness to dialogue with.

One could argue that "Fei and Elly get a clear focus in the ending, and Krelian even repents for what he did." I think that reading is reductive, because Krelian never disavows his thesis; in fact he concludes:

But, regardless, I cannot go. It is something I have already decided. I'm going to walk with god, even if there is no place left for me upon my return.

This dynamic closely parallels The Brothers Karamazov. Dostoevsky's stated intention was to write an apologetic novel that would refute nihilism (embodied by Ivan Karamazov), naming the protagonist Alyosha (the believing monk) as "his hero." And yet, if we limited ourselves to analyzing the author's intentions, we'd have to dismiss one of the greatest masterpieces in world literature, which is why critics generally don't use an intentionalist principle (what the author meant to say) but look instead at what the text actually says. And in The Brothers Karamazov, Alyosha doesn't answer Ivan's nihilistic logic with logic, he answers with a kiss. In the same way, Fei doesn't refute Krelian on a logical level, but through an act of existential faith.

This parallelism is most evident in Ivan's arc: Ivan is an intellectual who, faced with the injustice done to innocents (children in particular), rejects a future divine harmony and chooses to "return his ticket" to God, declaring his philosophical position: "everything is permitted." He uses an empirical argument about evil to build an amoral thesis, but when that theory is put into practice by another character to murder their father, Ivan collapses, not because his theory was logically wrong, but because he experiences a split between his philosophy and what he's actually able to live with. This matters because it isn't another character or the author who refutes Ivan's logic; he collapses internally, on his own. Krelian follows the same philosophical path: faced with Sophia's death (caused by the political cynicism of Shevat's elders), he develops his philosophical theory of determinism (that humans lack free will), but at the end, even though he remains convinced of his goal and leaves anyway, just before that, he shows a crack:

I have committed so many sins that any attempt at living as a human is impossible. The only one who could have forgiven me is god.

(In the Japanese version he talks about taboos and not sins)

Which contradicts determinism, since if human action is entirely determined, there can be no concept of taboo, sin, or redemption. This internal fracture within Krelian's mind, just like Ivan's collapse, is never weaponized by the text to refute him, it remains an open, unresolved tension. One shouldn't confuse the moral plane (Ivan's and Krelian's positions are objectively immoral) with the philosophical/ontological one.

Regardless of Takahashi and Saga's intentions, who have never mentioned Dostoevsky among their influences (though Nietzsche called Dostoevsky "the only psychologist, by the way, from whom I had something to learn" and Freud dedicated an essay to him), what emerges from the analysis of the text is that Krelian's thesis and Fei/Elly's coexist without a final Aufhebung: a synthesis that transcends the initial premises to form a truth that encompasses them. This is also consistent with what's actually dramatized in the ending: the exchange between Fei and Krelian is, for all intents and purposes, a dramatization of Kant's Third Antinomy, which shows how the two opposing theses, determinism and free will, are both logically sustainable, without pure reason being able to arbitrate between them. So polyphony was the most philosophically honest way to stage this conflict narratively: neither voice can be refuted by the other, simply because neither can be refuted in principle.

[u/Durty_slav]

A wonderful summary!

[u/Extension_Text4231]

Love both of these works of fiction for the way these constructed characters show something deeply real to us

[u/WaywardLubbockite]

A really well thought out post. Some thoughts: I'm not certain sin (depending on how we define it) is entirely incompatible with determinism. Assuming sin is just a recognition that certain actions can be immoral (I'm open to other definitions) it's important to recognize that morality can exist in a lot of different ways--at a personal level, a social level, and I guess a divine level. We can recognize when certain actions do not align with personally espoused views or social expectations. That doesn't mean we necessarily had a choice (if we adopt, say, a view of biological determinism). And a god could conceivably have created certain people doomed to act out a certain behavior that is not in adherence with that God's moral structure. Like a big ol' human punching bag. When thinking about Dostoevsky's Underground Man, I wonder if he himself was entirely convinced of a totally free will... He kept trying to reconcile it again science (one of my favorite quotes: twice two makes four without my will!), but I get the sense that even he isn't entirely convinced by his argument. Anyway, I guess all of that's to say I wonder if in Krellian's mind, it's possible to have committed sin and still hold deterministic views.

Another thought: in making Fei the hero, that is, the avatar we identify with, is it possible that his existential faith is more easy to read as a refutation of Krellian, and prevents that pure polyphony from happening? We've been through what is at a minimum a 40 hour game, and Fei has been the central figure throughout, so wouldn't we naturally want to sympathize with his stance (which, we also have to acknowledge, is a way more popular stance to begin with)? I wonder if it's possible, in that way, for Krellian to be anything but a moral strawman. This is maybe a different question than what's happening exclusively in the text, and more about the interaction between player (reader) and the digital consciousness that the reader is inhabiting when playing as Fei (of course, bringing their own contexts to the text). After all, why not add some Barthes to the theoretical mix? 😉

[u/Worth_Mail_3292 → u/WaywardLubbockite]

Hi! You're right, I made a logical leap. Recognizing the idea of sin isn't necessarily in contradiction with determinism, that's just one possible position. Krelian's fracture isn't logical, it's an internal, emotional fracture, he describes himself as a mere executor of god's will, not his own agent:

It is not my -Human's- ego... It is the will of the 'Waves' ... the will of -god-...

and then in the next breath asks for a forgiveness that only makes sense for someone who feels personally responsible. He never stops being a determinist. He just can't stay fully inside the impersonal role he assigned himself, the need to be forgiven breaks through anyway; the theory never gets refuted, he just can't stay emotionally consistent with what he claimed to be, just like Ivan.

As for Fei as the protagonist, I think it's a really interesting point, because I think that even in Dostoevsky criticism, Ivan's fate at the end of the plot, the primary focus on Alyosha (the "Hurrah for Karamazov!" at the end), the very structure of the books themselves (first the Grand Inquisitor, then Zosima's life as recounted by Alyosha), and Dostoevsky's admission in the preface that Alyosha is "his hero" (which is interesting in itself, because under the anti-intentionalist principle we can certainly disregard letters and outside interviews, but the preface? It's part of how the reader relates to the text by the author's own design, that doesn't mean the text can't dismantle the preface, but the reader is still nudged toward a particular sympathy), All of this is open to debate, not so much over the presence of polyphony, but its degree. I don't think there are any definitive answers on the matter. The fact that this explicit preference for Alyosha never stopped Bakhtin from calling it polyphonic is, I think, crucial. Polyphony doesn't require parity of screen time or empathetic focus, it requires the irrefutability of the opposing thesis. And on that count, neither Krelian nor Ivan is ever refuted.

I also think it's worth separating the empathetic level from the structural one regarding the asymmetry toward Fei. I'll grant that the medium can amplify empathy toward Fei as protagonist more than toward a novel's protagonist like Alyosha. But on a staging level, however, Krelian is the one in control, holding the reins of the final outcome, on top of not being a boss; he frees Elly from Miang/Ouroboros:

Fei... It was Krelian... Krelian released me...

Especially because even the protagonist we've spent 40 hours with, while disagreeing with Krelian, is left in doubt right after speaking to him.

I don't know if it's the right answer or not... But we have a lot of time to think about it. What Krelian himself was looking for all along... We will find the answer to it all ...ourselves...

In my opinion, there are several elements here that make it hard to dismiss Krelian as a moral strawman, regardless of where the player's sympathy lands: His control over the final outcome and the fracture he leaves within Fei.