Stray Gods’ Pantheon Yearns For Reformation

This column is a reprint from Unwinnable Monthly #189. If you like what you see, grab the magazine for less than ten dollars, or subscribe and get all future magazines for half price.

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Finding digital grace.

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Spoilers For Stray Gods Ahead

Okay so we have to unpack a few things before we get into this one. As previous readers will recall, I’m Protestant. Odds are high that if you’ve heard that term used, it’s not been in the warmest light, because boy… Martin Luther (the German priest, not the American civil rights activist) did not predict the centuries-long shitstorm he was kicking up when he wrote his Ninety-Five Theses.

You see, there was a time when Catholicism just was Christianity to most of the Western world, save for a few disparate sects. That was until Martin started to question things. Then a splintering broke that foundation to its core, known as the Protestant Reformation, and it was a lot. We don’t have the time to go into all the denominations, but the domino effect of the Reformation is still being felt to this day. Because at the end of the day, the Reformation was about stepping back and realizing the time had come to ask hard questions.

How does this relate to a game about Greek gods as hot hipsters? Glad you asked, reader! Because, whether intentional or not, Stray Gods is about a similar period of turmoil and tremendous deliberation. The murder victim at the heart of its mystery is functionally her pantheon’s Martin, and in the wake of solving her murder, the protagonist, singer/songwriter Grace, is faced with the immense question of reformation within a non-Christian context.

It’s not what they’d put on the back of the box for Stray Gods but David Gaider’s team nails the subject regardless, for the most part. Grace stumbles into the world of The Chorus, a secret society of Greek gods and goddesses living in New York. They’ve existed for millennia, but something is wrong. Their magic, their very souls… are dying.

The old ways of The Chorus aren’t working anymore. In fact, the murder of Calliope only happens because of Athena’s desperation to maintain the old ways. And yeah, I hate to say it but it’s pretty obvious from early on that it’s Athena. I appreciate the writing overall, but the mystery is not why you play, or replay, Stray Gods – it’s how you can alter the Chorus.

See, when the goddess muse Calliope dies in Grace’s arms, her soul transfers and merges with Grace’s. Grace gets all her abilities but is also suspected of trying to kill Calliope for her powers. After begging for mercy, Grace is given a mere week to prove her innocence. No pressure!

In this whirlwind week, Grace has to grapple with centuries deep trauma wounds grappling with some seriously heavy topics, including:

• Persephone’s trauma from Hades’ abuse and the isolation she received from her fellow gods for killing Hades permanently.
• Apollo’s guilt over his prophecy that drove Athena to murder.
• Aphrodite’s suicidal tendencies due to PTSD from being tortured during World War II. Her only temporary escape is by transferring her soul to a new body, spared of her memories for a time.
• Medusa’s whole horrific state due to Athena cursing her all those years ago. And now not even Athena can seemingly undo it at this point.

Grace’s gift of magical songs serves as a salve to each conflict. I appreciate that she can’t perfectly resolve things, but she can explore potential avenues to heal. And while the murder mystery is as rigor-ed as Calliope’s corpse, these subplots are highly variable. They’re like Deus Ex: Human Revolution’s dialogue boss fights on steroids.

All of this is conveyed beautifully through interactive musical sequences, with Grace trying to divine a way to help heal these despondent gods. Again, no pressure! Which is all the more painful when she realizes all of this could’ve been avoided if Athena would just listen to those around her.

Despite not being the deepest character of the cast, Athena fascinates me. She is the definition of a kindly on the outside, bitter on the inside, church lady. She offers Grace a cookie when they first meet. She has a pet animal. She acts like the outrageous conviction of needing to kill Grace for potentially being the murderer as a regrettable but necessary evil. She doesn’t want to do it, but gosh, it’s the only right thing to do. All because she’s afraid of change and losing control.

To be fair to Athena, the last time one of her pantheon broke ranks? Ares helped give rise to World War II and fascism. Many of her people suffered and were lost for good. Hephaestus is implied to be permanently kept locked away by the US government to develop new weapons, all in service of ensuring they saved Aphrodite from the Nazis. Athena’s fear is rooted in real concerns, but her actions thereafter go from cautious to self-serving to cruel malevolence. Her found family’s metaphysical essence is dying, their literal spirituality is dying and needs revival. Yet she’d rather let it all burn than risk a change.

And when it all comes to light? Then the change finally happens. The consequences of Grace’s decisions unfold. Life goes forward, with the Chorus taking steps towards something different. Something better, hopefully. It’s messy, uncertain, and your first act in reforming the Chorus is literally whether to be merciful, cold, or violent. As satisfying as it would be to punch her or exile her for what she did… is that what Calliope would’ve wanted? Is that how you want to start things fresh? Or do you choose to be better?

It’s a very prescient question. Grace has the benefit of being a fictional character. Her story can be rewound to choose a different option, explore different outcomes. We don’t. We all have one life to live. It can be cut short in the blink of an eye, just for believing in being decent to one another. But we can’t stop trying to make this world better.

The horrific things that have happened over the centuries, supposedly in the name of God, terrify me and rend at my heart. They run counter to so much of what I’ve come to know and believe.

I believe in a God who loves, who can see the potential in all of us, and who wants us to choose to do good for its own sake rather than for any moral dessert. To make the hard choice to love despite everything, like Jesus.

Because that’s what Grace does in her journey. These stray gods are, to quote a Paramore song “such fragile, broken things” just like us. Yet she sees the good in them, the chance to heal. She’s not trying to change The Chorus out of political ambition or hubris. She’s simply trying to survive, yet naturally empathetic. She helps others the best she can, and apologizes when she falls short. She’s human, but she acts with… well… grace. Genuine grace. Not some mutual exchange or scheme, but grace for others who are hurting. It’s not easy, and at times not satisfyingly conclusive, but that’s the point. Healing isn’t linear. It’s not a progress bar, it’s a process.

To be fair, you can play Grace with a more wrathful energy, but it rarely results in an ideal outcome, if you ask me. If anything, it most prominently echoes the mistakes Athena made, and as such, it’s best used sparingly. By contrast, literally the most powerful thing Grace can do, that fundamentally alters the entire finale, is to sacrifice her own godhood so that her best friend Freddie resurrects from a mortal wound and becomes the next muse instead. And even this potential outcome is questioned. Is Grace being selfish or selfless? Is Freddie’s agency truly being considered?

And that’s good! It makes you really think. There’s no one size fits all “I’m a good person” option players can opt for. Because that’s not how this works, especially in religion. If we could just snap our fingers and choose the right option, we wouldn’t even be drawn to guidelines of faith, now, would we? Except knowing that right option, at the end of the day, with absolute certainty, is an impossibility. So, you have to try, believe, and hope it’s the right call.

Instead, Stray Gods teaches that it’s almost always better to weave a more delicate, considerate variation of tones across each interaction and song. Reformation is messy. It’s hard. It’s growth, on a grand scale. And like any growth, it’s an ever-evolving situation. Sometimes you look back and realize the person you are today would make very different choices than the you of the past. Now expand that to the scale of religions on a whole. It’s a lot.

Fundamentally it’s, at its best, an act of healing. It’s a step towards something better. And if there’s one thing the world needs more now, it’s healing. I don’t pretend to know how we get there. We’re in such a disheartening place. But if there’s one thing that reformations, whether Martin’s or Grace’s, can teach us, it’s that the only thing we can’t do is give up on trying to make things better – even if only for those around us. Even if just for a moment in song.

P.S. – Also there’s an entire comedy DLC starring Orpheus if you need something on a lighter note.

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Elijah Beahm is an author for Lost in Cult that Unwinnable graciously lets ramble about progressive religion and obscure media. When not consulting on indie games, he can be found on BlueSky and YouTube. He is still waiting for Dead Space 4.