About the game in general
Play is always an activity. Even when it presupposes high levels of abstract ability, it simultaneously demands the externalization of meaning through a series of acts—movements. The movement itself is a purposeful, meaning-making act—something that remains true even for those who cheat. In other words, in a game it is impossible to say one thing and do another. On the other hand, for a player to be deemed competent, they must have internalized the rules governing permissible moves to such a degree that these rules have become second nature. Or, to put it differently, they must have automated them so that no reflective activity is required at the level of these moves. From the above, and if we accept that play structures and behaviors express cultural values and norms, the profound depth at which dominant values can be inscribed within the subject through play becomes clear.
Naturally, there are several other aspects of human behavior that share similar characteristics. A simple example would be driving on public roads. However, the activity of play possesses certain distinctive features that clearly set it apart from other comparable activities. From an anthropological and cultural perspective, the works of Huizinga and Caillois1 are considered classic studies on play, its functions, and its meanings. Thus, according to their analyses, for an activity to be characterized as play, it must:
a) be free, without any coercive participation,
b) occur within a clearly defined and separated space and time from those of ordinary life,
c) be distinctly non-productive, without aiming at obtaining any benefit,
d) be governed by conventionally constructed yet universally respected rules,
e) necessarily incorporate the element of uncertainty regarding its outcome, and
f) be make-believe, demanding from the player a special awareness of non-reality.
Especially for Huizinga, it is precisely this combination of free non-productivity and conventional rules that gives play a powerful force as a cultural catalyst, elements of which can be found in fields as diverse as philosophy, art, and knowledge; even in law and war.
A useful classification of games we owe once again to Caillois. Caillois proceeds to classify them not according to the means used (e.g. body/mind), but on the basis of their function and purpose. Thus he distinguishes games into a) games of competition, e.g. sports, b) games of chance, e.g. dice, roulette etc., c) games of simulation, e.g. carnivals, d) games of vertigo, e.g. amusement parks. All these categories of play can be found within a society at any given moment. Their distribution and frequency of appearance, however, can provide an image of the respective cultural priorities and dominant values. According to Caillois, during the evolution of culture, whenever a transition is observed from “primitive” societies (or societies of the “pandemonium,” as he calls them) to more organized and hierarchical societies of high labor division (the “accounting societies”), a corresponding change is also observed in the type of games that dominate. The center of gravity shifts from the more “anarchic” games of simulation—vertigo to the more bounded and quantified games of competition—chance. As he himself puts it:
“…Every time a culture manages to emerge from primordial chaos, we observe a noticeable retreat of the forces of vertigo and pretense. Then they are stripped of their ancient priority, pushed to the periphery of public life, confined to ever more humble and occasional roles, if not clandestine and guilty ones, or finally imprisoned within the restricted and regulated realm of games and fiction, where they offer people the same eternal satisfactions—now tamed and destined merely to distract them from their boredom or to give them respite from their toil, no longer with madness and no longer with delirium.”
And it became a video game
The governmental societies of the 21st century undoubtedly also belong to those that Caillois calls “accountant societies.” We have the feeling, however, that such a distinction, formulated in this way, in its generality, leaves out many aspects of a process that has been unfolding in recent decades and could be characterized as the algorithmic mechanization of play. The reorganization of play, this time on algorithmic models, when and where it occurs, introduces a new element. This is the element we will examine here.
… A little later, Bushnell and Dabney conducted another experiment in a pizzeria. While the customers were trying out the game, they sat at a distance to gauge the audience’s reactions. At first the players couldn’t make heads or tails of this technology or how it was supposed to work. Dabney recalls, “They would say things like ‘So, you have to do it like this. Otherwise the rocket will get mad at you.'”
Most players struggled to operate a machine that combined an astonishingly realistic simulation of Newtonian mechanics with the counter-intuitive controls of push buttons.
Computer Space and the Dawn of the Arcade Video Game.
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Today’s average player would probably have no trouble with such a simulation. At the time, however, very few people on the planet had used their fingers to manipulate an electronic image…. “People learned to play video games gradually,” Bushnell recalls.
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Dabney also remembers the impression it caused. “They were completely blown away. Here was something that had truly flooded their brains. Out of nowhere, you have an image on the TV that you can control. It was something completely new to them.”
The excerpt above is a snapshot of the birth of the quintessential government games—modern electronic games. In 1971, Bushnell and Dabney, two engineers from California, released Computer Space, the first commercially available electronic game. In an inspired move, before the public unveiling, they decided to “plant” a few prototypes in public spaces to gauge the reactions of an unsuspecting audience. Their own goal, of course, was to assess the appeal of their product. Because, it should be noted here, the commercial motive was dominant from the outset in their case. Beyond their own intentions, however, their “experiment” retrospectively acquires special historical significance as it captures, from the users’ side, the moment of transition toward a new paradigm in the experience of play.
Computer Space was never what you would call a major commercial success, and the company that produced it closed down a few years later. Just one year later, however, in 1972, the two designers decided to go their own way and founded the legendary Atari. Its first game, Pong—an electronic version of table tennis (ping-pong)—was such a hit that it is now often referred to as the first electronic game. From that point on, electronic games evolved into a full-fledged industry, and today it may be hard to grasp the extent to which they pushed the entire computer industry forward and, in particular, the transition to the era of personal computers. At the hardware level, video-game-console manufacturers became some of the biggest (if not the biggest) customers for integrated circuits. And why was this important? Unlike traditional circuits assembled on perforated boards, integrated circuits can pack millions of electronic components onto a silicon surface of just a few square centimeters. The initial creation of their master die can be expensive, but once that is done they can be mass-produced. These are the so-called chips, without which it is doubtful that personal computers would ever have appeared. As for software, games once again constituted the largest software market for personal computers in their early stages.
“Customers who walked into a computer store in 1979 saw shelves full of software packages, display cases with software packages, and glass holders with software packages. Most of these were games. Many of them were space-themed games, e.g. Space, Space II, Star Trek. … Companies such as Muse, Sirius, Broderbund, and On-Line Systems made big profits from games.”
Paul Freiberger, Michael Swaine Fire in the Valley: the making of the personal computer.
For many years starting from the 1970s, “video game” essentially meant a console, controllers, and a handful of players gathered around a screen. The internet and ever faster connection technologies brought with them MMOGs (massive multi-player online games), in which thousands of players can participate simultaneously. Motion-sensor technologies now let gamers move in physical space, translating their motions into actions within the game’s virtual universe (Wii, Kinect). For gamers everywhere (and not only them), the next stop appears to be the commercial (after experimental) release of virtual-reality headsets, such as the well-known Oculus Rift. In terms of economic scale, the video-game industry has now reached a point where the production cost of a single title may be measured in millions of dollars and sales in hundreds of millions, surpassing the equivalent figures for a blockbuster movie2. The total video-game market is estimated to turn over roughly 100 billion dollars.
Did you play your game today?
Just like gambling, sports and countless other games, video games could not avoid becoming the focus of a critical assessment of their social and psychological function. The most “convenient” criticism levelled at them concerns their content and the extent to which it promotes and reproduces dominant ideological models and behavioural norms. We will not deal with that aspect of criticism here. Without overlooking whatever exceptions exist, for us it is obvious that an entertainment industry, such as the one video games have evolved into, could not operate any other way. It is enough to consider the mere rarity (absence?) of war games in which the player is given the opportunity to take on the role of a soldier from, say… just at random… Iran.
Where criticism becomes most difficult is when the discussion turns to the effects games may have on the player’s psychological functions and cognitive abilities. The stereotype that gradually took hold portrays the gamer as narrow-minded, with limited perceptual skills and even fewer social abilities. Against this stereotype, in recent years—and even more intensively over the past decade—a series of scientific studies has emerged that not only fail to support it, but reach the exact opposite conclusions. Setting aside any suspicions of a scientist-gamer complex, it is worth taking a closer look at such arguments. Below is an excerpt from an article titled This is your brain on video games. Gaming sharpens thinking, social skills and perception:
…To understand why games can be beneficial for the mind, we must first discard the cliché that they improve hand-eye coordination and the ability to fire virtual weapons. In more than 70 percent of cases, electronic games contain no more blood than a round of Risk, and their popularity stems from the fact that they present challenges to players’ mental abilities. The Sims, one of the best-selling franchises, requires no kind of hand-eye coordination or quick reflexes. The player manages a household made up of characters, each with a distinct personality and particular motives, each going through recurring cycles of satisfying short-term needs (e.g., companionship or food), each immersed in a network of relationships with other characters. The game is a continuous exercise in balance. Even a violent game like Grand Theft Auto involves networks of characters that the player must map and control, gathering clues and spotting patterns.
This is Your Brain on Video Games
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Gee argues that players explore virtual worlds in the same way the brain processes multiple, intertwined streams of information in the real world. “Basically, the way we think consists of running perceptual simulations inside our heads that prepare us for actions we are about to take. By modeling these simulations, electronic games externalize the way the mind works.”
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A striking example of a game tangibly improving professional skills comes from James Rosser, director of the Advanced Medical Technology Institute at Beth Israel Medical Center in New York. He found that laparoscopic surgeons who played games for more than three hours a week made 37 percent fewer mistakes than colleagues who did not, thanks to improved hand-eye coordination and better depth perception. Harvard Business School Press published a November 2006 book by John Beck, who examined three groups of office workers: hard-core gamers, occasional players, and non-players. His findings contradict every prejudice about the impact of games. It turned out that those who play games are clearly more social, have greater self-confidence, and are more comfortable solving problems creatively. No evidence was found of diminished ability to focus attention compared with those who did not play. “It was no surprise that gamers were more competitive and thought more strategically, but the social and leadership skills they displayed definitely do not fit the stereotype of the loner holed up in his basement,” says Beck.
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It seems reasonable, and we have no reason to doubt it (although such studies are always questionable in terms of their methodology). Of course, gamers develop certain perceptual and cognitive abilities. Just as we have no doubt that a footballer can run 100 metres faster than most of his fans, or that a weightlifter will not have much trouble lifting a tin of oil (on the other hand, we seriously doubt whether we would get funding if we submitted a research proposal to test these “hypotheses” of ours). In any case, behind questions of this sort lies a much more fundamental one, in our view, that is not even raised for discussion. A question that has to do with the broader cultural (and ultimately political) framework that suggests that certain human abilities should be valued as superior. And, in turn, how these are subsequently projected as universal and ahistorical characteristics of the human “mind” in general.
Let’s return for a moment to Computer Space. This ancestor of all today’s electronic games did indeed introduce an innovation. However, there is also a less obvious thread that connects it to the previous stage. What we didn’t mention above is that Computer Space was an arcade game, one of those found in public places where the player inserted coins to start a new round. And this was not its own innovation. Arcade games of this sort already existed; they were merely mechanical, like the (supposedly) well-known tabletop football games3. The common element between mechanical and electronic arcade games is the fact that both operate on a logic in which the machine stands at the center of the game. We will return to this issue below.
Within this unified logic of mechanical and electronic games, however, the latter differ radically in one respect. Their logic is algorithmic, which has certain consequences4. A prerequisite for their operation is the analysis and fragmentation of “input data” into small, interchangeable and comparable elements. The power of the algorithm comes from its ability to combine these elements at great hierarchical depth through the repeated application of fixed and unambiguous rules5. And why should this matter? For at least two reasons. First, the complexity of the machine—and consequently of the game—can reach levels that were previously unthinkable for ordinary games (excluding motorized sports, which in any case lay beyond the reach of the majority). Second, this complexity, however deep it goes, is always deterministic, hierarchical and analytical, and therefore it can always be manipulated. When these two consequences converge, a different experience of play emerges. On the one hand, unlike what happened before (even with mechanical arcades), the player never has the game in its full totality under supervision. In a way, the player becomes an appendage of the virtual environment constructed by the machine. Equally important is the fact that the player’s relationship to this environment is one of technical manipulation of a complex but always finite set of rules. As we mentioned in the introduction, every game is governed by conventional rules. Yet these rules merely form the background of the game, which must be respected and are never its center. In electronic games, above this first level of rules lies a second one that determines not only the limits of the game but also the way it is played. In this case, the uncertainty of the outcome—another characteristic of play—also arises from the high, yet deterministic, complexity. If the player possessed sufficient “processing power” and “memory,” even this would disappear. This observation may seem scholastic and open the door to philosophical discussions about the “true” nature of uncertainty. What concerns us here is that, within the experience of play, the logic of manipulation becomes dominant.
Let us take here the example of so-called role-playing games (RPG). In their traditional, tabletop form (pen and paper) they are one of the most open-ended game genres (that we are aware of, at least). Each player assumes a role within a fictional world and the range of possible actions is virtually unlimited. He simply states (or, for the hardcore, enacts) to the other players what his character does, and it rests on the storytelling and improvisational skills of the Game Master (a special role, something like the game’s director) to keep the session from becoming either boring or utterly surreal. The difference from their digital counterparts is more than obvious. Even those praised for their depth (e.g. The Elder Scrolls, Fallout) never escape the logic of closed, pre-written storylines, no matter how numerous or overlapping they may be6.
In such a context, there is no reason why the abilities of “creative problem-solving” (in which we always know in advance that there is a solution, however complex, yet always “technical”) and “focusing attention” (to the point of “myopia” from other perspectives) cannot be cultivated. We only need to remember the following. When the algorithmic logic of the machine is projected onto the entire experience of play, it would be more accurate, instead of speaking of electronic games in general, to speak specifically of governmental games. Governmental, in the way Wiener himself used the term.
And this is where a few more questions enter the whole discussion about the suitability of video games for learning purposes. If we accept that they indeed have “beneficial” effects, one easily thinks that there are many other kinds of games that could serve the same function. Even a “simple” game, such as hide-and-seek, surely sharpens skills—e.g., orientation—just as much, if not more. So why all the fuss about video games? And something else. Why now? Why is the “pedagogical” value of games being recognized now, while for so many years the poor kids (or even adults) learned at their desks and with the switch? Is it simply an innocent and natural, within the framework of science, advance in our understanding of learning mechanisms?
We present another extensive excerpt from the article This is your brain on video games, which might clear up such questions for you.
…The U.S. Army has long claimed that game-based learning can prepare soldiers for the complex, lightning-fast decision-making that occurs during combat. Since 2002, it has continuously released new versions of its own game, called America’s Army, which allows prospective recruits to play a wide range of missions—from basic training to Special Forces operations. According to the game’s designers at West Point, the goal of America’s Army is “to give players an idea of what it’s like to train as real soldiers in the U.S. Army.” More than four and a half million registered users have completed the game’s basic training.
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A series of studies has revealed that the gaming experience triggers dopamine release in the brain—a finding that makes sense, given dopamine’s critical role in the brain’s handling of reward and exploration. Jaak Panksepp, a neuroscientist at Northwestern University’s Falk Center for Molecular Therapeutics, describes the dopamine system as the brain’s “seeking” circuit, which drives us to explore our environment for new reward opportunities. The world of games is packed with objects that map directly onto well-defined rewards: more life, access to new levels, new gear, new spells. The most critical part of interface design in any game revolves around ways to inform players about potential rewards and how badly they need them.
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If you build a system that offers well-defined rewards attainable through exploration of an environment, you will see human brains become magnetically drawn to those systems, even if the characters are virtual and the quests simulated.
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What kinds of cognitive skills should we expect from the Pokémon generation? Not surprisingly, Gee has a list ready. “They’ll be good at thinking in terms of systems, they’ll be strong at exploring, they’ll be able to reframe goals on the fly based on experience, they won’t judge human intelligence only by how fast or efficient someone is, and they’ll think in non-linear ways. In today’s world of complex—and dangerous—systems, that is, if nothing else, a very good way to think.”
Gee’s observations reminded me of an experience I had a few years ago, when I showed my seven-year-old nephew SimCity 2000, the best-selling urban-planning simulator that lets you build a virtual metropolis.
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Within twenty minutes, my nephew had internalized a basic principle of urban economics: areas zoned for specific purposes can flounder if taxes in that area are too high. Of course, sit that same seven-year-old in an urban-studies class and he’d be asleep in ten seconds. …something in the world of games reached out and grabbed him. He was learning in spite of himself.
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This excerpt is so eloquent regarding the purposes of this entire gamification of learning process that we could simply leave it without any further comment7. So, the army is interested in such stories and is even among the pioneers. And some scientists, for the joy of disinterested knowledge (as usual…), rummage through brains to find the neurotransmitters that induce the feeling of reward during play. And the seven-year-old kid learns without realizing it, without even being aware. And all this should not raise any suspicions. We are the Pokemon generation and we are fine, we should say. The fact that government games, as defined above, have a structural compatibility with what is described by the proponents of gamification should already be obvious. “Well-defined rewards” and “environment exploration” are jobs that algorithmic machines can do excellently. By combining the enjoyment that games in general can offer with a reorganization of the game based on the logic of strategic manipulation, golden opportunities open up for the gentle and imperceptible internalization of control. And this time, in a personalized, customized to your needs form. And who knows? In a few years, a parent’s question “did you do your homework today??” may have been replaced by “did you play your game today?”…
There is one more issue, however, that we left pending earlier, and this concerns the centrality occupied by the machine itself. Even the simplest gaming console is the product of an extremely complex labor process. Not to mention the huge “farms” of servers on which massively multiplayer online games run. Whenever the production process—whether related to games or not—reaches such levels of complexity and its technical outcomes become of central importance, the questions of who and how controls this process take on a different weight. We will not deny that video games can be enjoyable. Even at their best moments, however, with the machine at the center and its control out of the players’ hands, it is hard to deny that an additional layer of mediation is added to the enjoyment of the game. Something that could be described as a “deskilling” of the player. Not with respect to a specific game, but with respect to the very experience of play itself.
Throw your XBOX away! Time for your Empathy Box!!
In the more traditional sports, the process of algorithmic mechanization, although it has lagged behind, is already taking its first steps. From the technologically ultra-advanced add-ons that champions may wear in the future to the Big Data of sports that will be collected during training so that even the slightest movement can be analyzed. In its most “extreme” version, something like RoboCup (a football championship in which the teams are made up of robots) does not even need humans8. Still, we will not disagree that all this is interesting and has its own flavor. Nevertheless, an urgent question arises: in these games, is anyone actually playing?
Philip Dick’s obsession with questions of identity is well-known to anyone who has read one of his books. In his famous novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, the dominant form of religiosity that remains within the ruins of a post-apocalyptic world finds expression through a “magical” box, the Empathy Box9. Those who connect to it can automatically share their feelings with other users, and also experience the passions of a central worshipped figure. On the other hand, the extremely lifelike androids can be distinguished from “real” humans only through a psychological test that measures their level of empathy. If the androids “suffer” from a lack of empathy, then how different are they from humans who need their “box”? What would be more accurate to say? That the androids came to resemble humans? Or perhaps that this also happened the other way around? Did humans “adapt” to become androids?
In a similar way, the question can also be posed about the game. Have machines finally learned to play? Or perhaps…;
Separatix
cyborg #03 – 06/2015
- Johan Huizinga, Man and Play: Homo Ludens and Roger Caillois, Games and People. ↩︎
- We note here in passing the following. Out of all software production sectors, the one for games is regarded as among the toughest in terms of working conditions, with exhausting hours and constant high pressure. We are certain that many game developers chose this field because they too were once on the other side, enjoying their favorite games as players. ↩︎
- In addition to the purely mechanical ones, there were also electromechanical games of this kind, some of which were particularly impressive, even by today’s standards. It’s worth searching and watching videos of MISSILE by the well-known arcade game manufacturer SEGA. It was released in 1969… ↩︎
- Computer Space itself had been built entirely with electronic components, without the help of software. It resembled its predecessors a great deal and at the same time not at all. Without the player having absolute priority over the machine, he was still in “conversation” with it. It was a truly transitional machine, within which the conditions for everything that followed were already present, though not yet fully surfaced. ↩︎
- More about the algorithm can be found in the Game Over presentation from the 2014 festival, Algorithm: the mechanization of thought. ↩︎
Could it have been different? Perhaps. It’s not so hard to imagine electronic RPGs that provide, as an open platform, the graphics and the conventional rules of the game, on top of which the Game Master can unfold whatever scenarios they wish. The fact that such platforms don’t exist (?) and that evolution took the path it did, says something in itself. On the other hand, regardless of RPGs, perhaps it isn’t a coincidence that some of the video games that endure over time and that players return to again and again are those that follow a more traditional logic, where the player acts and the machine reacts, and not the other way around. At this point, it might be worth mentioning as exceptions (paying tribute!) the little gems by designer Benoit Sokal (see e.g. Amerzone and Syberia). Of course, these fall under the so-called adventure genre, and we would rather describe them as interactive works of art.
↩︎- For a more detailed presentation, we refer to the previous issue of Cyborg, Hey teacher, leave our brains alone. ↩︎
- Τhe topic of “physical” games is large in itself, and we may return to it in the future. ↩︎
- Don’t rack your brains. You won’t find this thematic line in Blade Runner. ↩︎