The Spirituality of Tetris

The T-Block Ascends

Tetris is a merciless game. One second you’ve got a clean matrix, with each and every tetromino falling neatly into place. In the very next, a single piece with no place to fit can set off a domino’s fall of calamity that is impossible from which to come back. The only thing guaranteed in the game, inevitably, is failure.

Unless, somehow, you can take failure off the board. Not through victory, for there is no ultimate victory in Tetris. Rather, the goal is to make “failure” cease to exist. And for that to occur, the player’s relationship with the game must change entirely.

The artificial intelligence which controls the game’s pieces --- their shape, speed and sequence --- understands how to do one thing, and one thing alone: to feed. Specifically, it feeds the player geometric shapes composed of exactly 4 square blocks, and it does so at an ever-increasing rate of speed. That is the only thing it knows how to do, but it does it with ruthless efficiency.

The player’s job, in response, is to find a place for these shapes so they line up cleanly toward the bottom of the gamefield and subsequently disappear. As the artificial intelligence begins to deliver tetrominoes at a faster and faster rate, the temptation for most players is to curse the AI; to wish it would just “slow the f*** down already!”

But this is a mistake. Such an attitude will only lead to frustration and failure.

Instead, rather than berating the AI, than hating it, you must embrace it. You must change your relationship with the AI so that it is no longer adversarial, but cooperative. When your goal and the game’s goal are in concert, fixations on difficulty fall away, and your experience with the game will not only improve; it will transform.

***

The first time I ever experienced this state of “tetris bliss” was in 2004, during my sophomore year of college. On a lazy afternoon I walked into my roommate’s bedroom and sat down on his La-Z-Boy. He was studying, so I pulled out my phone, opened up the Tetris app, and started a game.

At this point in my life I was a Tetris novice, meaning game speeds of 7 and 8 were a challenge for me. But not that day. Somehow, someway, I entered into a Zen state of mind, and the pace of the pieces seemed to slow down. Maybe it was the comfort of the  La-Z-Boy. Maybe it was because I was a sophomore in college and real life still seemed far away. The only thing I know for certain is that my streak finally ended when my roommate said, “Dude, get the hell out of my room.”

Ever since that moment, though, I have found myself returning to the game of Tetris repeatedly. I have taken breaks from it, sometimes years-long ones. But it has always reentered my life somehow. There is a magnetism about the game that keeps pulling me back. And lately, as I find myself playing Tetris Effect nearly every night, I’ve begun to wonder what exactly that pull is.

***

Spirituality is a big word. Not in length or complexity, necessarily. But in terms of sheer weight. Or depth. Or meaning. To some people, it’s an intimidating word. To others, it's inspiring. And to others, it’s just foolishness.

However you may feel about the term, here is a good, simple definition: 

“Spirituality is a broad concept with room for many perspectives. In general, it includes a sense of connection to something bigger than ourselves, and it typically involves a search for meaning in life.”

That sums up the essence of the word pretty nicely. I would add, though, that spirituality is, for many people, something that is valued not just to help find meaning in life, but to simply get oneself through life. It can provide ballast when we find ourselves on rocky waters. It can redirect us when we’re lost. And it is with this particular element of the spiritual experience that Tetris intersects.

***

At first glance, Tetris is a game seemingly concerned with perfection. Specifically, with the alignment of the tetrominoes so they interlock perfectly. It is deeply satisfying to go on a rally in which each piece naturally links up with the pieces that preceded it. Not only do the points pile up, but everything just feels whole.

However, these moments of perfection are fleeting. In reality, Tetris players rarely find themselves in such fortuitous circumstances. Much more commonly, the game’s AI doesn’t accommodate the player’s wish for a clean board. Rather than providing the I-block you need to complete your nicely prepared tetris, it drops three Z-blocks in a row, throwing you for a loop. Instead of giving you the J-, L- or T-block you need to keep your board nice and tidy, it jams an O-block down your throat at the exact wrong time. Tetris almost never plays out like an elegant jigsaw puzzle, in which everything fits just so. A much more accurate comparison would be a house continuing to light itself on fire while you’re trying to build it.

And it is here, in this building/burning house, that the precepts of spirituality become so useful. 

One of the central pillars of spiritual growth is the notion of acceptance; of receiving the circumstances we’re in, no matter how difficult, not with frustration and resentment, but with poise and grace. I can think of few games to which this concept is more well-suited than Tetris. Certainly, it is easy, and perhaps even justifiable, to get upset when the game’s AI sends you a series of 6 or 7 pieces that simply don’t fit well together. And it’s easy to get annoyed when you’ve lined up the matrix perfectly for a right-side clear, but an I-block never arrives. But it’s also pointless and self-defeating to get upset when these instances occur. No good comes from indulging in such negative emotions.

Acceptance, then, is what is needed. To forestall the frustration and bitterness that can arise through an unfortunate series of tetrominoes coming their way, or the game speed kicking up a notch at the exact wrong moment, players need to accept that things are inevitably going to turn south. At some point, sooner rather than later, the A.I. will deny you that much needed I-block. It will deliver you a J-block when it’s the only piece you had to avoid. And at these moments, rather than getting annoyed, players need to take what comes with impartiality. One doesn’t need to be happy about receiving an ill-fitting piece, but one doesn’t have to get mad either.

This equanimity will allow the player to walk through doors that frustration would otherwise slam shut. Sure, that Z-block will land awkwardly right now. But the T-block behind it will then slide in perfectly. Yes, an I-block would have meant tetris right now, but the J-block you receive instead can do half as good without causing catastrophe. In short, acceptance allows you to maintain perspective; to see your moves and options clearly, instead of with the narrowness that anger inexorably causes.

When I am able to adopt this frame of mind, which usually comes about subconsciously (and certainly doesn’t happen all the time), there is no doubt that I play my best Tetris. This ability to accept whatever comes simply makes me a better player, if only temporarily. But even more importantly, when I get into this mindset, I no longer care about how well I’m playing at all. My performance, in that moment, doesn’t matter to me. And that is a beautiful thing, and when playing Tetris transforms into a truly magical experience. Because not only have I stopped worrying about how good I am at Tetris, I have stopped worrying about anything at all. My job. My relationships. My salary. Everything. But not because they have disappeared. No; this isn’t escapist. Rather, I am filled with a belief that things are going to be okay. Just as that poorly-timed T-block is not the end of the game, my real-life problems are not the end of the world.

Ultimately, the AI in Tetris is not an antagonist. It is a teacher. No matter what its pupils do, or how they feel, it will keep on delivering blocks, into infinity, without a care in the world. It is up to us, then, as it students, to return the favor. To accept each block serenely, and do the best we can with it. And if things go poorly, to accept that, too. 

And lastly, at the very end, we must step away from the game, but hold on to the lesson. Because Tetris and life aren’t so different --- a series of problems and opportunities in equal measure. And if we can learn to accept an unfortunate Z-block flying toward us at 14-speed, we can learn to handle anything.