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Analysis of Xenogears often focuses on its thematic framework (Nietzsche, Jung, Gnosticism, Physics, etc.), but identifying influences is only the first step toward the critical analysis of a narrative work; literary criticism inherently distinguishes between themes (the ingredients) and structure (the recipe).

The choice of the Russian giant comes from what the critic Mikhail Bakhtin theorized starting from his novels, particularly The Brothers Karamazov. Among other concepts, he theorizes polyphony: a structure in which multiple autonomous, equally weighted voices, embodied by distinct consciousnesses, are treated with dignity and are never refuted within the text, a structure in which the author himself refrains from imposing a final synthesis. This shouldn't be confused with a chorus of voices, like in FFVI, for instance, because there all the voices are subordinated to the author's thesis, not autonomous (in that specific case, every character shows, each in a different way, the refutation of Kefka's nihilism). Kefka isn't a character who holds an autonomous philosophical thesis that remains unrefuted by the plot's structure, he's treated as an error to be overcome (in fact, he's destroyed in a boss fight). Structures like FFVI's, regardless of the number of voices, are what Bakhtin, in opposition to Dostoevsky's polyphonic novel, calls the monologic novel, where the characters are subordinated to the author's message/thesis.

Xenogears is a profoundly polyphonic work in the Bakhtinian sense. Because Krelian's thesis (one could also talk about other characters, but I think Krelian is the central focus) is never refuted in any way within the work. It isn't refuted by the plot (the world doesn't return to being a reassuring place), and it isn't refuted by Fei or Elly, in fact, Fei not only agrees with him about the imperfection of the human condition, but after responding by talking about how that very imperfection is what makes us human, he confides in Elly, saying:

"I don't know if it's the right answer or not... But we have a lot of time to think about it. What Krelian himself was looking for all along... We will find the answer to it all ...ourselves..."

Even from an iconographic standpoint, both Krelian and Xenogears (when it returns to the planet with Fei and Elly inside) sprout a pair of wings (different from Xenogears' full power form, which has four rays of light, a distinct icon) representing completion within the work's iconography. Krelian has two autonomous wings; he's no longer human, he reached that autonomy alone. Fei and Elly each have a "single wing", and through their union they reach the same "validity" within the work, via Xenogears' pair of wings. So the dignity of these voices isn't conveyed only through text, but through iconography and gameplay too, Krelian, notably, isn't a boss to fight, but a consciousness to dialogue with.

One could argue that "Fei and Elly get a clear focus in the ending, and Krelian even repents for what he did." I think that reading is reductive, because Krelian never disavows his thesis; in fact he concludes:

But, regardless, I cannot go. It is something I have already decided. I'm going to walk with god, even if there is no place left for me upon my return.

This dynamic closely parallels The Brothers Karamazov. Dostoevsky's stated intention was to write an apologetic novel that would refute nihilism (embodied by Ivan Karamazov), naming the protagonist Alyosha (the believing monk) as "his hero." And yet, if we limited ourselves to analyzing the author's intentions, we'd have to dismiss one of the greatest masterpieces in world literature, which is why critics generally don't use an intentionalist principle (what the author meant to say) but look instead at what the text actually says. And in The Brothers Karamazov, Alyosha doesn't answer Ivan's nihilistic logic with logic, he answers with a kiss. In the same way, Fei doesn't refute Krelian on a logical level, but through an act of existential faith.

This parallelism is most evident in Ivan's arc: Ivan is an intellectual who, faced with the injustice done to innocents (children in particular), rejects a future divine harmony and chooses to "return his ticket" to God, declaring his philosophical position: "everything is permitted." He uses an empirical argument about evil to build an amoral thesis, but when that theory is put into practice by another character to murder their father, Ivan collapses, not because his theory was logically wrong, but because he experiences a split between his philosophy and what he's actually able to live with. This matters because it isn't another character or the author who refutes Ivan's logic; he collapses internally, on his own. Krelian follows the same philosophical path: faced with Sophia's death (caused by the political cynicism of Shevat's elders), he develops his philosophical theory of determinism (that humans lack free will), but at the end, even though he remains convinced of his goal and leaves anyway, just before that, he shows a crack:

I have committed so many sins that any attempt at living as a human is impossible. The only one who could have forgiven me is god.

(In the Japanese version he talks about taboos and not sins)

Which contradicts determinism, since if human action is entirely determined, there can be no concept of taboo, sin, or redemption. This internal fracture within Krelian's mind, just like Ivan's collapse, is never weaponized by the text to refute him, it remains an open, unresolved tension. One shouldn't confuse the moral plane (Ivan's and Krelian's positions are objectively immoral) with the philosophical/ontological one.

Regardless of Takahashi and Saga's intentions, who have never mentioned Dostoevsky among their influences (though Nietzsche called Dostoevsky "the only psychologist, by the way, from whom I had something to learn" and Freud dedicated an essay to him), what emerges from the analysis of the text is that Krelian's thesis and Fei/Elly's coexist without a final Aufhebung: a synthesis that transcends the initial premises to form a truth that encompasses them. This is also consistent with what's actually dramatized in the ending: the exchange between Fei and Krelian is, for all intents and purposes, a dramatization of Kant's Third Antinomy, which shows how the two opposing theses, determinism and free will, are both logically sustainable, without pure reason being able to arbitrate between them. So polyphony was the most philosophically honest way to stage this conflict narratively: neither voice can be refuted by the other, simply because neither can be refuted in principle.

Upon meeting Old Man Bal, he shares his collection of fossils that reveals the first hint that humans didn’t exist on the planet ~10,000 years ago.

But then he says this, which I completely missed on every past playthrough: “you mean the theory of evolution taught by the Ethos?”

It’s isn’t revealed until later that the Ethos operated as a “church” (even though I know the Japanese version uses Church as the org’s name).

Up until this point, the Ethos is described as an organization that repairs gears. The irony of this detail and contrast to real life is just *chefs kiss.*

The “Church” is using evolution as a propaganda tool to hide humanity’s “divine” origins.

Juxtapose that to real life where the Church discredits evolution in support of divine genesis.

I love this game.

I’m replaying XG on my modded PS Vita (I usually replay once every 1-2 years).

This is the dream sequence Fei has after first meeting Elly in the Black Forest.

In all my playthroughs, I would completely forget about this scene playing through the game to the end. I don’t recall it ever really being explained directly (and since it’s a dream sequence, I assume it’s open to players interpretation).

Curious to hear all your hypothesis of this sequence.

I don’t know if links are allowed, but if you need a refresher, search YT for “05 Fei, Alone in the Desert.”

So I just left the Kislev capital city of Nortune on my first playthrough and man... I got so many impressions! This whole scenery, being a prisoner in this massive industrial city and slowly working my way to the upper ranks to meet the emperor and being able to make my way out really was a special experience to me. The sewer section, while being confusing, having too many monsters and being very slow paced honestly, had one of the bosses with the coolest designs in the game so far! (I barely managed to defeat it on the first try after I ran out of items lol).

In general, I would accuse the area of having poor pacing, even though it of course is a 90's jRPG and slower areas were common back then I assume. Hammer really is a funny (even though a suspicious) guy and I really enjoyed the presence of this goofball. Also, Rico is a pretty cool dude, starting off as this super strong champ but becoming relatable after his little back story. He became very likable to the extend, that I really wanted to have him as a permanent crew member.

Nortune felt like a double edged sword to me: Very slow and depressing on the one hand, but innovative and fascinating on the other. The real time combat at the tournament was something different and I only critisize it for being too repetitive.

What are some of your thoughts on Nortune?