Video Games in a Fundamentalist Religion

If you’ve read anything on my silly little blog, you may have noticed some brief, fleeting references to my deeply religious past. While I now fully embrace the label of agnostic atheist, the religion of Jehovah’s Witnesses was an integral part of my life until halfway through my 30th year. I left a little over a year ago from the publication of this article. If you're unfamiliar with the faith (or, more accurately, the cult), it’s easy to assume the impact stopped at “you went to church on Sundays.” But this religion digs its fingers into nearly every corner of your life. Its leaders feel entitled to granular control over your identity, lifestyle, and even your thoughts. This extends to the entertainment and media that you are “allowed” to enjoy while being a member of the group.

Since this is a video game-themed blog, I want to focus on how video games shaped me within the stranglehold of that religion. For a long time, games were the only place I could experience any kind of real autonomy. They became both a sanctuary and a testing ground—somewhere I could wrestle with ideas of morality, choice, and consequence with a lessened burden of a spiritual overlord looming over my every decision. In many ways, they were my first quiet act of rebellion. The boundaries I pushed in those digital worlds helped me begin to push back on the mental chains that religion had fastened around me. That process eventually led to my full break from it. I swear, as much as I go into the negatives of spending so much of my life in this religion, I’m not trying to throw myself a pity party or claim that this was some kind of constant, unbearable abuse. There was both good and bad aspects of growing up in that environment, and I know that my experiences are not unique. I know that to people who haven’t lived under the influence of a high-control group, some of this might seem trivial or overly dramatic. But that’s exactly why I want to bring more attention to it. The harm these groups cause often hides in the mundane—in the little things they control, the tiny shames they implant, the everyday joys they turn into sources of guilt. It’s easy to overlook or dismiss that harm when it doesn’t involve headlines or scandals. But the cumulative effect is profound. I’m sharing this not to wallow, but to help others see that the control is real, and it matters. When you're in it, the danger of harmless things feels real, and it's a difficult system to break out of by design. And maybe, if someone else is quietly struggling under similar pressure, they’ll recognize a piece of themselves here and realize they’re not alone. I just want to present as factual an experience as I can remember about being a young person who loved video games in a fundamentalist religion. I’m not going to go into detail about my reasons for leaving or my current beliefs at this time, since this article is already too long as it is and that would be a lot of off-theme tangents.

And hey, bonus: this gives me an excuse to test out the site’s new tooltip feature. Click or tap on highlighted words for definitions—because all the weird-ass JW lingo could use a little explanation for people not raised in the cult.

Gaming within the Cult

I was born into a family already several generations deep into the religion, and was baptized when I was 15 years old. My mother was especially strict when it came to video games. She regarded them with profound suspicion and general disapproval. At best, she saw them as time-wasters. At worst, she frequently denigrated them as worldly, corrupting influences, detrimental to both mental development and moral character. Any outburst of childish exuberance or momentary lapse in emotional control was invariably blamed on these electronic diversions, regardless of whether the chosen games were violent, educational, or entirely benign. It didn’t seem to matter whether the gaming session had occurred moments before the incident or days prior; video games were the ever-convenient scapegoat. Our family never purchased a console of our own until the Dreamcast went on deep discount shortly after its discontinuation. Time spent gaming was tightly rationed, sometimes to just an hour a week. My brother and I had to ask permission every time we wanted to play, and if we so much as booted up a console without asking, we’d lose access for a week or more. Ironically, my mom now spends hours playing exploitative, farming-themed skinner boxes on her tablet—but I digress. Like many still in the cult, she continues to lap up their unique flavor of conservative propaganda and sees little contradiction in her behavior.

Growing up as an undiagnosed neurodivergent kid made the mental load of this religion even more punishing. Jehovah’s Witnesses require all members to participate in what's called the Field Ministry. Back when they tracked every member’s service time on paper slips, 10 hours a month was the unspoken minimum if you wanted to be seen as “spiritual” and “in good standing.” If you were really devoted, you could become a pioneer and commit to the equivalent of 70 hours per month (recently reduced to 50). This is in addition to the other expectations that come with being a Witness. You are expected to attend and comment at multiple meetings per week, attend conventions and assemblies and the Memorial, and be seen participating in activities like Kingdom Hall maintenance and construction projects.

I hated—absolutely despised—bothering people at their homes with a message I barely believed myself. But you’re constantly told this work brings joy. If it doesn’t, the fault is with you. Why don’t you want to save people? Why aren’t you doing more? You could always be doing more. “Spiritual complacency” was framed as a threat to not just your life, but to the lives of everyone else who could have a chance to come to know Jehovah if you were out there preaching more. After all, Armageddon is just around the corner, right? Don’t you want to survive it? Don’t you want other people to survive it?

That kind of thinking poisons your ability to enjoy anything. Should I be playing this game when I could be consuming “Spiritual Food”? I only logged 5 hours in the ministry this month, but I played 4 hours of Batman: Arkham Asylum yesterday? Clearly, I’m a selfish, worthless person. Jehovah's probably going to wipe me out with the rest of the “bad people” at Armageddon.

Despite the poisoning that touched every facet of my leisure time, I still found joy and escapism through gaming. As a Witness, your choices of “appropriate” games are incredibly narrow and limited. If you observe the group’s propaganda, the only explicit examples of good, wholesome games they ever show are racing games. Racing seems to be an abstract enough and non-violent form of competition that they can conservatively, indirectly endorse it. Anything involving violence was actively condemned. In their videos, they will use vague examples of generic military shooters as examples of “inappropriate” games. They generally won’t even show platformers, since they historically have open-ended themes that may or may not include cartoony ghosts, or cartoon violence involving characters squashing enemies to death by jumping on them. Even that is too controversial to expose their intended audience too.

Gaming as a Witness basically becomes like trying to drink during Prohibition. You had to know your friends very well before revealing your favorite movies or games to them. A single misplaced comment could lead to judgment, gossip, or even a visit from the elders if the wrong person overheard. Finding someone else in the congregation who played something even mildly controversial—like Zelda or Titanfall—felt like discovering a fellow rebel in a repressive regime. There was a quiet solidarity in those friendships, a mutual understanding that we both enjoyed something beautiful that the religion tried to paint as evil. But it was always tinged with risk. At any moment, someone could “express concern,” and suddenly you're being pulled into a back room to explain why you were playing Uncharted or talking about Halo. It created an atmosphere of constant self-censorship, even in areas that should have brought joy and connection. You couldn’t simply enjoy a game—you had to weigh its perceived morality, scriptural compatibility, and whether liking it might be seen as evidence of spiritual weakness. So much of the culture involves denying yourself experiences on the sole basis that it might stumble others should they ever find out about it. Even if you’re comfortable with it, someone else might not be; so you are expected to restrain yourself and accommodate the consciences of the most oversensitive gossips in the congregation.

Violence vs. Sexuality: A Backwards Morality

JW teachings don’t just control your actions—they colonize your thoughts. I, like so many others, learned to self-police before anyone else had to step in. My worst critic became my own overly-sensitive conscience. The worst punishment wasn’t being caught. It was the guilt of believing you had personally disappointed the Creator of the Universe. Even something as innocent as lingering for a few seconds on an episode of Yu-Gi-Oh! could cause a spiral of shame. I developed what I now know to be the type of religious OCD called “scrupulosity”. I would get stuck in these shame cycles of feeling awful about something I did, saw, or said, and the only way to reliably lift that burden was to confess my “sins” to someone I viewed as “spiritually mature”. Usually this was my dad for the more benign stuff. But the “serious” things, like anything overtly pornagraphic, would generally require confessing in invasive, lurid detail to at least 2 Elders. They would ask extremely detailed questions to get you to describe exactly what you viewed, how long you viewed it for, and if it was “abhorrent”. I found myself in such meetings multiple times throughout my early 20’s, since they would villainize you if you “concealed” your sins and warned that God will reveal them eventually anyway if you don’t come forward and confess. You might as well show that you are “repentant” by coming forward as soon as possible. The confusion around the nebulous and vague descriptions of what was minor vs. major sins compounded my scrupulosity, making it nearly impossible to rationalize my perceived mistakes without bouncing it off of other people. I had no privacy, nothing I felt I could keep to myself out of fear of “hiding” my sins. I had no remaining pride, so humiliating myself with overly detailed confessions was routine and normalized to me.

There was always the looming threat of soft-shunning if people found out you'd played something “violent,” “unclean,” or “demonic.” Even many T-rated games were vilified. The amount of vetting and scrutiny given to every little choice in entertainment was truly insane. In my local area, Uncharted was considered controversial for its gun-based gameplay and allusions to mythology. I played the entire trilogy on PS3 in partial secret, sneaking sessions when I was alone in the house to avoid letting my parents see the violent content. In recent years, even talk of Fortnite was enough to get elders buzzing about some teenagers in the congregation. Any media that was rated M, TV-MA, or R was completely off the table for most believers. Some would refuse to even watch anything above a PG rating. Coarse language was more tolerated in my specific social groups (some active Witnesses swear like sailors in the right context, surprisingly), but other stuff consistently raised more warning flags for them. The strange tier list of moral corruption in a JW’s eyes tends to go as follows:

Language < Violence < Sexual Content < Spiritistism

It’s always baffled me how—especially in Western religious circles—sexuality is condemned more quickly and harshly than violence. It seems completely backward to me that depictions of human conflict, suffering, and brutality are easier for people to stomach than a consensual sex scene. Sexuality is a fundamental part of the human experience—one that can foster joy, vulnerability, and deep connection when approached responsibly. Violence, by contrast, is almost always a symptom of unresolved conflict or societal dysfunction, and I don’t think its practice deserves any kind of glorification. Yet somehow, many leap to defend the Bible’s countless violent episodes while clutching their pearls over a movie that shows a boob. Sexual repression runs deep in fundamentalist religions, and the JWs are extremely big proprietors of it. When you get a chance, you should check out the baffling leaked videos that came to be known as “Pillowgate”. These were internal videos intended to show to new workers at Bethel, and it really demonstrates the level of sexual repression, homophobia, and misogyny that this group normalizes. It’s also incredibly hilarious in its own appalling, embarrassing way.

Violence in games is a nuanced topic, and honestly one that deserves its own discussion. The idea that games directly cause real-world violence is propaganda, plain and simple. But I do think our attraction to virtual violence reflects something deeper about humanity’s relationship with power, conflict, and even catharsis. That said, I’ve played some of the most violent games out there, and somehow I haven’t become desensitized, unempathetic, or homicidal. Weird, right?

Halo was the de facto poster child of “violent games” within the organization. I vividly remember attending a recruitment meeting for Bethel, where Guy Pierce—one of the Governing Body members at the time—detailed an “incident” involving Halo LAN parties. Everyone involved was told to “take their violent games and go home.” Witnesses are some of the most gossipy snitches you’ll ever encounter. The culture revolves around shame, control, and protecting yourself from “bad associations.” I don't know of anyone who was ever disfellowshipped for playing Halo, but the threat of consequences was always there. Soft-shunning was a real and ever-present social danger; letting it slip that you regularly engaged with such things could see you labeled as “bad association”. I knew of many people who enjoyed Halo and Call of Duty on the down-low, but playing something like Dead Space, Resident Evil, or Gears of War would draw near-universal condemnation if others found out about it.

Occult Panic and Phasmophobia

But sex and violence aren’t the only red flags in JW culture—anything with “occult” themes was a no-go. Ghosts, demons, witches, zombies—anything even remotely supernatural was considered spiritually dangerous. People have even been disfellowshipped for using Tarot cards or Ouija boards a single time. According to JW beliefs, consuming that kind of media could invite literal demons into your home, and directly using occult items, like Tarot cards, is considered directly communicating with demons. No joke. My parents and brother are still absolutely terrified of demonic encounters. There are countless unverifiable “friend-of-a-friend” stories of JW families having demonic objects that allegedly invoked supernatural encounters. To a rational person, these tales are easily explainable as a mix of confirmation bias, sleep paralysis, anxiety-induced hallucinations, and the power of suggestion—especially in an environment where people are taught to see the demonic around every corner. Once you believe your toaster might be possessed because you bought it from a wicken at a garage sale, every electrical flicker and burnt piece of toast becomes “evidence” of demonic oppression.

Even something as goofy and harmless as a Boo in a Mario game could be controversial. I was allowed to play Mario games that had ghosts as a temporary gimmick, but Luigi’s Mansion? Can’t touch that shit with a 10 foot pole. I didn’t touch that series until I was nearly 30, and I credit it as a moment in which I questioned the religion’s policies and found that it *gasp* didn’t lead to “ruin”. Star Wars could be frowned upon for its depiction of the Force, which some saw as mysticism. Anything involving depictions of cavemen could be considered controversial, since it was seen as “evolutionist propaganda”. Some Witnesses even avoided media with talking animals because it evoked the serpent that “spoke” to Eve in Genesis. (Yes, really.) If you liked The Legend of Zelda games, you had to keep that on the down low if you didn’t want to get talked to by the elders and guilted into getting rid of them. Committees were formed over dealing with kids trading Yu-Gi-Oh or Pokemon cards, which were considered examples of occult magic and demonic creatures. The Smurfs were widely considered demonic in past decades—urban legends circulated about possessed dolls and demonic activity linked to them.

Zombies and vampires were generally an odd topic as well. Even if a specific franchise portrayed them as “natural”—something with a sci-fi explanation, such as being reanimated by a pathogen—the very notion of undead creatures was frowned upon on the basis of it being derivative of occult portrayals of the undead. Some people would take offense to media like I Am Legend or World War Z. Something like The Evil Dead—which revolves around traditional necromancy—is almost certainly gonna get you sent to the back room. Within the JW community, members often face subtle or overt pressure to avoid anything that might be perceived as "worldly" or spiritually questionable. But what is considered "acceptable" can vary drastically based on local elders, family influence, or the congregation’s tone. Something like World War Z might be controversial because it goes for a realistic, scary, violent tone. But something like Minecraft is generally seen as harmless, cartoony, and abstract, even though some of the primary enemies are zombies and reanimated skeletons.

Among the particularly conservative, even portrayals of extraterrestrial life—aliens—can be seen as spiritually inappropriate or suspicious. Jehovah’s Witnesses believe that Earth is the only planet where God created physical, intelligent life. The only other intelligent beings they acknowledge are angels (both loyal and rebellious, aka demons). Because of this narrow framework, the idea of intelligent alien life doesn’t fit their theology. As a result, many conclude that UFO sightings, alien abduction stories, or even sci-fi portrayals of alien civilizations are either false, “worldly distractions,” or in more extreme views, literal demonic deceptions. This is very much a niche viewpoint among the group; the majority of people I knew tended to be fine with things like Star Trek, Star Wars, and Stargate. In a rare official comment on a specific popular film at the time, the Watchtower released a somewhat hilariously cringe article that really wanted to hammer home the point that E.T. was no substitute for Jesus.

For some, even superheroes were seen as highly suspect. JW theology takes the majority of the Bible very literally, including Genesis. While they are not Young-Earth Creationists (they believe that the "days" of creation in chapters 1 and 2 could refer to indefinite epochs of time), pretty much everything after the creation account is taken as literal history. As such, they think that the Nephilim (giant hybrid offspring produced by humans breeding with rebellious angels. Later on, they believe that these rebellious angels became what they know as demons) existed on the earth before being wiped out by the global flood. Some members extrapolate the alleged existence of these half-divine giants to being the inspiration behind various cultural legends and deities, such as the Greek Pantheon of Gods. Some individuals will continue drawing the evolution of such myths to the depictions of modern fictional beings who wield "godlike" abilities: superheroes. Therefore, in some Witness families, superhero comics, films, and games may be considered off-limits because they are seen—by transit of property—as being modern glorifications of false gods, which were in turn inspired by the offspring of literal demons. Even if the characters are not explicitly linked to mythological origins (e.g., Thor, Wonder Woman, Shazam), characters like Superman or Spider-Man could still draw scrutiny simply because of their superhuman, "godlike" nature that supposedly evokes the reputation of the powerful Nephilim. Basically, if you tug on any cultural thread hard enough, some Witness somewhere will find something to be offended about.

Curiously, there was often a strong Western bias in which portrayals of magic or spiritism were tacitly tolerated. Some Witnesses had no problem enjoying classic Disney films like Cinderella—despite the presence of a fairy godmother, spells, and enchanted animals—but would harshly condemn films like Mulan, Turning Red, or Coco for their perceived spiritual danger. The difference often came down to cultural familiarity. Magic rooted in Eurocentric fairy tales felt “harmless,” while anything tied to Eastern or Indigenous traditions was branded occult or demonic. I suspect this inconsistency stems less from doctrine and more from unacknowledged cultural bias—possibly even a strain of subtle xenophobia cloaked as spiritual concern.

Horror theming in general tended to be frowned upon—even when it wasn’t overtly violent or “spiritistic”—simply for being too dark or emotionally heavy. Witnesses live in a state of toxic positivity, where anything that isn’t cheerful, sanitized, or “upbuilding” is treated with suspicion. The nuance-lacking lens through which they view media makes macabre or emotionally bleak stories deeply uncomfortable. A film like A Quiet Place—which contains no occult references and minimal gore—could still stir controversy in the congregation just for its atmosphere and themes of fear, loss, and survival. Similarly, a game like What Remains of Edith Finch—a quiet, reflective narrative about death and family legacy—might be viewed as too somber or unsettling, even though it contains no violence or supernatural danger. Just the emotional tone alone could be enough to brand it “not spiritually upbuilding.”

The point I want to stress is that in this environment, some people could find spiritual danger in almost anything—and instead of encouraging personal discernment or emotional resilience, the burden was always placed on everyone else to preemptively avoid causing discomfort. You weren’t allowed to say, “This doesn’t bother me, and I can engage with it thoughtfully.” Instead, you were expected to assume that someone, somewhere might stumble, and therefore you had to be the one to censor yourself. The community standard was set by the most fearful or offended person in the room. There was no space for nuance, personal responsibility, or emotional maturity—only avoidance, suppression, and conformity.

A believing JW genuinely believes that involving yourself with spiritistic things would be like lighting a beacon to invite literal demons to come and harass you. As much as I know someone like my mom would love the mechanical core of Balatro, I know she would never touch it since due to involving tarot cards and astrological themes. I often feel saddened for the people still in the religion missing out on some harmless sources of joy due to fear and superstition.

To a JW parent, catching their kid playing something like Doom or Elden Ring wasn’t just about rebellion. It was a spiritual “emergency”—one that might jeopardize their child's prospects of surviving and reaching paradise. That black-and-white, life-and-death thinking infected everything. It stunted my ability to trust my own judgement. I developed deep internalized shame, a compulsion to confess every little “sin,” and a chronic fear that my mind and heart were fundamentally broken. In many ways, this religion is a nightmare to grow up in. I feel such pity towards the generations of kids currently being coerced into living it, and I still have a lot of mental and emotional baggage to deal with going forward (I still shudder at the chime of a Ring doorbell).

The Fallout—and Why I Still Speak Out

Obviously, their views on video games are among the least damaging aspects of this religion’s control. Jehovah’s Witnesses are responsible for far more serious harm: from an ongoing child abuse crisis, to systemic coverups, to policies that lead people to die rather than accept life-saving medical treatment. These are not unfortunate byproducts—they are the inevitable outcomes of a system designed to place obedience above all else, even human life. I still have some contact with my parents (for now), but all of my former friends and most of my family have nothing to do with me since I made my decision to leave.

Religious control—and especially cult control—has become something of a personal research obsession since leaving. Not because I particularly enjoy the topic, but because I have so much to unpack and unlearn. I carry a responsibility to understand it, to name it, and to push back against its reach when I can. If people are still being hurt, still being manipulated, still losing their families over ideological control, then silence feels like complicity.

That being said, I credit video games with helping me develop some of the cognitive and emotional tools that I needed to eventually break free. Games gave me space to become immersed in different worlds, inhabit other personalities, test boundaries, make choices, and even fail—without the crushing moral weight of disappointing an all-seeing deity. They helped me nurture curiosity, independence, and agency in ways the religion never allowed.

I’m certain that I am now viewed as a cautionary tale by those still inside—someone who let pride and “independent thinking” corrupt them. A bitter apostate who let “selfish desires” overcome my desire to follow God. In their worldview, questioning authority and valuing your own autonomy is equated with rebellion, and rebellion is equated with Satan. To them, freedom is just another word for being lost and separated from God. But from where I stand now, that kind of framing doesn’t scare me anymore. If reclaiming my mind and autonomy makes me a villain in their story, I’m okay with that. Because I finally get to be the one writing my own. If I were still trying to be a believer, I honestly don’t know if I’d still be alive. I no longer live with constant shame, or guilt for not doing more, or the dread of Armageddon always looming. I don’t live for some nonsensical fantasy future anymore—I live now. And in doing so, I realized just how much I was taking this life for granted. Acknowledging the universe for what it is—vast, complicated, chaotic, scary, beautiful, and breathtaking—changed my perspective from top to bottom. I care more deeply, not less. I love more openly, not less. I’ve built relationships that aren’t held together by guilt, manipulation, or fear. I’m a better, happier, and more authentic version of myself than I ever could have been as a Witness. I’ve found space to think clearly and properly grapple with uncomfortable thoughts. I have the freedom to change my mind on anything based on new evidence instead of being forced to stubbornly double down in spite of it. I’ve found self-worth that isn’t contingent on being seen as “spiritually strong.” I’ve found joy in curiosity, peace in being able to admit that I don’t have all of the answers, and love that doesn’t come with terms and conditions.

As controversial an opinion as it can be, I believe religion and dogma, in all of its currently existing forms, are societal cancers built on myths, primitive ideas, and lies and are perpetuated due to their effectiveness at controlling populations. I truly feel that we must outgrow them as a species if we want a future worth surviving in. I hate that this religion stole my family from me, and I would like nothing more than to see it collapse under the weight of its own lies and abuse. If I can play a part in dismantling it—even a small one—I’ll consider that a victory.

My family and friends didn’t love me enough to fight to keep me in their lives. But I still love them enough to fight for their freedom.

Anyway, enough of the pity party. These are some of the games I’ve pinpointed at personal milestones in my cognitive and emotional development, along with the reasons they were “bad” or “spiritually harmful” under Witness beliefs.

The Apostate's Playlist: Games That Marked Personal Milestones