Eric A. Clayton
When I was in grade school, I won a contest — a Pokémon contest, the only thing that mattered at the time — and I received my very own surfing Pikachu as a prize.
It’s not like a real creature or anything like that. It’s not a stuffed animal, it’s not a magnet, it’s not an action figure. You basically got a pile of pixels, downloadable content, before any of that existed.
This was before people could download content.
Back then, all I had to do was rely on the postal service: I’d pop my copy of Pokémon Yellow in the mailbox, send it off to Nintendo HQ, and wait weeks and weeks for a moderately improved version of the game to be sent back.
But when I got the cartridge back and inserted it into my Game Boy, I was in for a surprise: Pikachu, the lightning Pokémon, suddenly had water powers. Amazing. There was even a little scene with a surfboard.
What a competition. What a world.
“Catch ’em all!” is the classic Pokémon slogan. And nearly two decades later, the number of Pokémon available to catch has only increased. Dramatically.
But is that really the case? Do we really need to catch everyone?
As the saying goes, “If you want to be the best that anyone has ever been, catching Pokémon is the real test, training Pokémon is the goal” (Pokémon here is a reference to the lyrics of the original Pokémon theme song).
Here’s the problem: You might say, “Eric, what you’re talking about is a video game series about collecting monsters that fit in your pocket. That’s the definition of fantasy. And it has nothing to do with spiritual life.”
And I say, “Please take my Pokédex.”
The premise of the game is that you must catch all of the Pokemon to be successful, but you can only actually take six with you on your journey (at least when I played), and the aim of the game is to collect more Pokemon than you could realistically use – the goal is to collect way too many.
And then they sit and collect Poke Dust.
A Pokémon Master seems to be someone who is so good at getting so much stuff that they don’t know what to do with it. A Pokémon Master is someone who is obsessed with the quest to find a sense of accomplishment, positivity, and happiness somewhere down the line.
After all, if there’s anything Nintendo has taught us, it’s that there will always be Pokemon to collect.
I’m reading The Ways of Love (1991) by the late Indian Jesuit Anthony de Mello, who has nothing kind to say about pokemon, the unnatural urge to catch them all. Tying our happiness and self-worth to such ridiculous societal norms is not helpful to our mental health.
Attachment distracts us from the fact that God already has what we need within us, it’s up to us to let go of what gets in the way.
Regarding the never-ending self-imposed quest for happiness, de Mello writes that it “provides only a momentary excitement, a pleasure that at first grows stronger and stronger, the loss of which turns to pain, and the retention of which turns to boredom” (163).
He’s not just talking about Pokémon. He’s talking about relationships, jobs, titles, wealth, prestige, everything — the things we value so much, the things we spend so much energy and time chasing because we think they’ll make us happy. The problem, de Mello says, is that we put the pressures of our own identity onto other things — other people.
Instead of looking within, we look outside. We compare, judge, and criticize ourselves and others. Is it any wonder we are always looking for the next “best” thing?
Surfing Pikachu was a ton of fun, but I have no idea where Pokemon Yellow is right now. The quest to be a Pokemon Master is a lie. You don’t have to catch every single Pokemon to be the best version of yourself. You don’t have to chase the Pokemon in your life – the power, the privilege, the possessions.
The truth is, those Pokemon have nothing to do with who we really are, it doesn’t matter how many Pokemon we’ve caught, we have to look inside ourselves and find the best version of ourselves.
God is already working in you to give you joy.
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Eric A. Clayton is the award-winning author of Cannonball Moments: Telling Your Story, Deepening Your Faith (Loyola Press) and Vice Director of Public Affairs for the Canadian and US Jesuit Conferences. His essays on spirituality, parenting and pop culture have appeared in America Magazine, National Catholic Reporter, US Catholic, Busted Halo, and more, and he is a regular contributor to Give Us This Day, IgnatianSpirituality.com, and Dork Side of the Force, where he blogs about Star Wars. His fiction has been published by Black Hare Press, World of Myth Magazine, and more. He lives in Baltimore, MD with his wife, two young daughters, and their cat, Sebastian. Subscribe to his Substack “Story Scraps” here.
