In the seemingly innocuous world of the Mushroom Kingdom, where economic inflation has apparently run rampant given the sheer volume of gold coins scattered about, we find our protagonist, Mario. This chap, a plumber by trade yet seemingly engaged in an endless crusade against a variety of creatures most of us would rather invite over for tea than stomp on, serves as our unwitting guide through the morass of late-stage capitalism and existential crisis.
Mario: A Bourgeois Hero
Mario’s insatiable lust for coin and the ability to buy his way out of mortality with said coinage is eerily reminiscent of something Karl Marx would have a strongly objected to, should he not be too busy rolling in his grave. “In the Mushroom Kingdom, as in our world,” Marx might have postulated, “our hero is trapped in a cycle of endless labor for the acquisition of wealth, symbolizing the ultimate commodification of life itself.” One imagines Marx and Mario might have had quite the spirited debate over a pint, discussing the alienation of the worker from their own existence, assuming Marx could get past the initial shock of sentient fungi.
The Ethics of Stomping: A Kantian Perspective
Immanuel Kant, furrowing his brow in disapproval at Mario’s rather callous treatment of the local populace, might ponder, “Is it truly ethical to reduce these sentient beings to mere obstacles in the quest for personal gain?” Mario, caught mid-jump aimed to crush a Goomba, might pause and think, “Perhaps there’s a different way?” before gravity makes the decision for him.
Nietzsche and the Will to Power-Ups
Friedrich Nietzsche, observing Mario’s relentless pursuit of mushrooms, stars, and flowers to gain powers, might chuckle at the irony, seeing in it the embodiment of the will to power. Yet, he’d likely note, this pursuit is as futile as it is relentless, a never-ending cycle of desire that parallels our own existential treadmill. Nietzsche, with his fervent critique of the herd mentality and his celebration of individual will, might find Mario’s obsession with power-ups a delicious irony to dissect. “Behold the Übermensch,” Nietzsche could jest, watching Mario sprout yet another set of raccoon ears, “ascendant not through the force of will, but through the consumption of flora.” Here, Nietzsche’s laughter would be the sound of one hand clapping, a solitary amusement at the sight of humanity’s proxy leaping towards his next power-up, mistaking it for self-actualization. This is the will to power reduced to a game mechanic, a commentary so biting it could only be digested with a generous helping of sarcasm.
Foucault’s Mushroom Kingdom: Power, Surveillance, Warp Pipes
Michel Foucault would likely be fascinated by the Mushroom Kingdom’s panopticon-esque structure, with its warp pipes and castles serving as mechanisms of control and surveillance. “Each pipe, each castle, serves as a node in a vast network of surveillance, a universe where Mario is both jailer and jailed as he navigates a world where his every move is watched, analyzed, and potentially monetized,” Foucault would muse, adjusting his turtle shell glasses. This kingdom is a construct where freedom is an illusion, choreographed by an unseen hand. It is a thought that would tickle Foucault pink, if philosophers were prone to such expressions of mirth.
The Absurd Hero: Camus’ Take on Mario
Albert Camus, a man who found profound depth in the absurdity of existence, might view Mario with a sense of camaraderie. “Ah, Mario, my brother in arms,” Camus could say, sharing a knowing glance with the plumber, “yours is the ultimate revolt against the absurd.” Mario’s tireless quest, his defiance in the face of an endless cycle of capture and rescue, is a Sisyphean saga wrapped in the cheerful aesthetics of a video game. Yet, Camus would argue, it is in this very absurdity that Mario finds his freedom, his joy, his raison d’être. “One must imagine Mario happy,” Camus would conclude, “for in his boundless optimism, he embraces the absurd and thus becomes master of his fate.”
Luigi, Kierkegaard, and the Shadow of the Eternal Second
In the verdant shadows of the Mushroom Kingdom, we find Luigi, the eternal understudy, a character mired in existential angst and perpetual second billing. Søren Kierkegaard, if he were inclined to take an interest in digital phantasms, might see Luigi as a prime example of the individual struggling against the crowd, a solitary figure wrestling with the despair of the infinite. “To dare is to lose one’s footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself,” Kierkegaard might counsel Luigi, suggesting that his true leap of faith is not into another spectral-infested mansion but into embracing his own narrative, independent of his brother’s shadow. It is as though he chose to write a symphony while his brother is Mozart… foolish yes, but unquestionably brave. Luigi, pondering this, might just find solace in the thought that in another universe, he is the hero. Or at least, he has his own DLC.
Adorno on Princess Peach’s Recurrent Captivity
Adorno would be at odds with the entire premise of Mario’s quest. The cyclical rescue of Princess Peach isn’t just a narrative convenience; it’s a damning indictment of consumer culture’s demand for the familiar. The Mushroom Kingdom is a factory of repetitive heroism, selling us the same story with the zeal of a used car salesman peddling a lemon. It’s “Groundhog Day” with castles, a capitalist dream of perpetual consumption and predictable satisfaction.
Conclusion: The Mushroom Kingdom as a Microcosm
As we conclude our philosophical sojourn through the Mushroom Kingdom, we’re left with the unsettling realization that Mario and Luigi are not just avatars navigating a digital realm but reflections of our own existential journeys. Their world, governed by the whims of an unseen player, is a caricature of our reality, where the quest for meaning often leads us down pipes of our own making, into battles with our own Bowser-sized demons.
Yet, in this reflection, there’s a glimmer of absurd joy, a reminder that life, much like a game, is a series of challenges, victories, and inevitable setbacks, all imbued with the meaning we choose to give them. And perhaps, amid the chaos and the absurdity, there’s a lesson to be learned from Mario and Luigi: that sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is jump.
TheGrayJedi 