Summary
Open-world games aren’t just about freedom of movement. Some of them offer a different kind of freedom—the chance to explore ways of thinking, moral dilemmas, and the big questions that keep philosophers up at night. Whether it’s through theconsequences of player actions, the nature of the world itself, or the stories they tell, these games bring philosophy to life in ways a classroom never could.
From existential dread to the weight of choice, here are the best open-world games that make players grapple with different philosophies.
Vvardenfell is a place where facts are malleable, history is rewritten, and gods might just be lying through their teeth.Morrowinddoesn’t simply hand players a world and tell them how things work—it asks them to decide what to believe. The Tribunal claim to be gods, but the Dissident Priests say otherwise. The Imperials bring “civilization,” but their presence reeks of colonialism. Even the main quest revolves around prophecy, but is it destiny or just a carefully orchestrated illusion?
This uncertainty extends to the gameplay itself. While laterElder Scrollsgames made morality more black-and-white,Morrowindthrives in shades of gray. There’s no karma system to track good and evil, no glowing markers to tell players who’s right. It’s up to them to navigate the shifting sands of politics, religion, and personal ambition.
And that’s what makesMorrowindtimeless. It doesn’t just let players explore a world—it makes them question it.
At first glance,NieR: Automatalooks like a story about androids fighting to reclaim Earth from invading machines. But beneath the bullet-hell combat and slick swordplay, it’s a game that keeps prodding at the biggest questions: What does it mean to be human? Can a machine have a soul? And if the only thing separating us from them is a few lines of code, then where do we draw the line?
The game constantly forces players to confront these ideas. The machine lifeforms—meant to be nothing more than mindless enemies—start imitating human behaviors, forming societies, reading philosophy, and even worshipping false gods. Meanwhile, the android protagonists, designed to follow orders without question, slowly unravel as they’re forced to confront their own emotions and mortality. The result is an existential crisis wrapped in a post-apocalyptichack-and-slashadventure.
It’s not just the story that pushes these questions, either. The game itself plays with the idea of identity—characters lose memories, switch bodies, and even rewrite their own programming. And then there’s the final ending, which asks players to make a choice so deeply personal that it goes beyond the game itself.
6The Talos Principle 2
Cogito, Ergo Puzzle
IfPortalwas about solving puzzles with physics,The Talos Principle 2is about solving them with philosophy. It throws players into a world where humanity is long gone, replaced by self-aware machines who now wrestle with the same existential dilemmas that once plagued their creators. What does it mean to be alive? If an artificial being can think, feel, and question its own existence, does it deserve the same rights as a human?
But it’s not just a game that tells players about these ideas—it makes them engage with them.The puzzlesthemselves become a kind of metaphor for philosophical inquiry, forcing players to experiment, adapt, and challenge their own assumptions. And throughout it all, characters constantly debate the nature of consciousness, free will, and the ethics of artificial life.
What setsThe Talos Principle 2apart is that it doesn’t offer easy answers. Instead, it encourages players to think critically, not just about the game’s world but about their own. In the end, it’s less about solving puzzles and more about solving the biggest question of all—what does it mean to exist?
There aren’t many games where delivering a package feels like an act of hope, butDeath Strandingsomehow makes it work. Set in a world where society has literally fallen apart, it forces players to think about what it means to be connected. The world is vast and empty, filled with dangers both natural and supernatural, but every bridge built, every road paved, and every cargo delivered is a step toward something bigger—a world that might be worth saving.
Unlikemost open-world games,Death Strandingdoesn’t treat isolation as a backdrop; it makes it the entire experience. Sam Porter Bridges isn’t just a deliveryman; he’s a lifeline, carrying not just supplies but the weight of humanity’s survival. And through the game’s unique online mechanics, players slowly realize they’re not alone. The things they build—ladders, ziplines, shelters—can be used by others, and in turn, they’ll rely on the anonymous kindness of strangers to make it through.
The game doesn’t just ask players to rebuild the world. It makes them feel the loneliness, the struggle, and the small but powerful impact of human connection. In a time when isolation has become more real than ever, especially after the COVID-19 pandemic,Death Strandinghits differently.
At first,Shadow of the Colossusfeels like a classic tale of good versus evil. A lone warrior sets out to slay towering beasts in the name of love. But as the journey unfolds, something unsettling starts to creep in. The Colossi aren’t aggressive—they’re simply existing. Some don’t even fight back until attacked. The more of them that fall, the less triumphant it all feels.
The game never outright tells players they’re doing something wrong, but it doesn’t have to. The silence of the world, the haunting music, the way Wander’s appearance slowly deteriorates—it all points toward a truth players don’t want to admit. This isn’t a noble quest. It’s a tragedy in slow motion.
Few games make players question their own actions as subtly asShadow of the Colossus. It doesn’t offer a morality system or alternate endings. There’s no choice but to push forward. And that’s what makes it so powerful. By the time the final Colossus falls, the question isn’t whether the journey was worth it—it’s whether it should have happened at all.
Some games tell players they’re the hero of a grand adventure.Outer Wildsjust hands them a spaceship, points at the stars, and says, “Figure it out.” There’s no combat, no upgrades, just a solar system full of mysteries and a time loop that resets every 22 minutes. But within that loop, players aren’t just uncovering the secrets of an ancient civilization—they’re grappling with the inevitability of death, the pursuit of knowledge, and what it means to accept the end of everything.
Unlike most time-loop games,Outer Wildsdoesn’t treat the cycle as an obstacle to overcome. It’s the point. Players will fail, they’ll die, and they’ll watch planets crumble into a black hole over and over again. And yet, with each loop, they learn. They grow. They see beauty in the fleeting moments.
The game’s final revelation isn’t just about what happened to the lost civilization—it’s about coming to terms with the fact that everything ends. But maybe, just maybe, that doesn’t mean it was all for nothing.
Most RPGs let players shape their characters through stats, gear, and skills.Disco Elysiumlets them do it through ideology. Every conversation, every thought, and every drunken philosophical debate pushes the protagonist further down a path of self-discovery—or self-destruction.
The game throws players into the role of a washed-up detective who doesn’t just have memory loss—he has no sense of self. And as he stumbles through the broken streets of Revachol, the choices he makes aren’t just about solving a murder. They’re about defining who he is, what he believes, and whether there’s still a shred of hope left in a world that’s already burned.
What makesDisco Elysiumunique is that it doesn’t force a single ideology on players. They can be a staunch communist, a raging capitalist, a nihilist, or something else entirely. And the game reacts accordingly, twisting itsnarrative basedon the detective’s evolving beliefs.
Arthur Morgan is a man running out of time. The frontier is closing, the outlaw life is crumbling, and his days are numbered. But more than anything,Red Dead Redemption 2is about change—the slow, inevitable kind that no amount of bullets or bravado can stop.
Unlike most open-world games,Red Dead Redemption 2doesn’t just let players explore. It makes them feel the weight of the world’s transformation. Towns grow, the gang fractures, and Arthur himself is forced to reckon with his past and what little future he has left. And through it all, players are given choices—not about changing the world, but about deciding what kind of man Arthur will be in the face of it.
The game’s philosophy isn’t just about the Wild West. It’s about the nature of redemption itself. And as Arthur’s story unfolds, one thing becomes clear—sometimes, change isn’t something you fight. It’s something you face.
