Framing: Tasks versus Challenges

We think of "game" mostly as a noun (Andrea played a great new _game_ today) or as a verb (Bettina enjoys _gaming_). In both contexts, we think very much of the formal idea of what a game is, or is not -- the kind of Caillois-completeness that James Wallis blogged about last year (see Man, Play and Games for Caillois's full thoughts), or the much-debated "magic circle" of Huizinga (Homo Ludens). Both Huizinga and Caillois think of games as bounded by space and time; activities with a defined, agreed-upon starting and ending point, and play area. Some games push those boundaries, but generally when we agree on what a game is, or is not, we end up with something similar to one of those definitions. 

What about game as an adjective (She knew the challenge would be tough, but Carol was game), or adverb ("I'll do it," Daphne said, gamely)? This is no longer strictly a formal, bounded activity; rather, it's an attitude we can take to all of life. A game person is willing to try new things, even if those things are challenging, and even if they involve a significant risk of failure. The connection with our noun and verb use of "game" is clear: games frequently involve novelty, challenge, and risk of failure; without all those things, there'd be little fun to be had from games. Again, as per Caillois and Huizinga, there is an intentional aspect here too; just as players of games must freely choose to play, the game person is one who freely chooses to do new tasks that are difficult, and freely risks failure.

I already mentioned Csikszentmihalyi's Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience, which collects a couple of decades' worth of research into people's feelings of satisfaction and engagement during the flow state, whether that state happens during work or leisure. Csikszentmihalyi argues that there's not much distinction between work and leisure, in fact, so long as we're in a flow state. So, for example, if your hobby is sailing a yacht (a classic flow activity, so long as you match your sailing ability to the challenge of the conditions, which can be done very easily so long as the conditions don't exceed your abilities; if the conditions are not very challenging you can easily focus on making your sailing ever more precise, eking every last fraction of a knot's speed out of the wind), your state of mind while sailing is very much a "flow" state, and so is probably closer to that of someone whose work regularly takes them into a flow state too (e.g. artists, programmers, etc.) than to that of someone engaged in non-flow-state leisure activities (e.g. watching TV), or in non-flow-state work tasks (actually, almost any work can become interesting, and can become a flow-state activity, according to Csikszentmihalyi, but some particularly boring or unpleasant kinds of work certainly don't lend themselves to flow).

It should be clear already how close that flow state is to the state of someone who is gaming, or, for that matter, to the state of someone who has just gamely thrown herself into a new challenge. A game person has a special kind of confidence: not so much confidence of certain success, but confidence that success is possible and that failure is acceptable. She'll try anything. We admire that quality of gameness, almost universally. In some situations, though, it's especially useful -- perhaps even vital.

Carol Dweck researched the effect of praise on schoolchildren, dividing them into two groups. Both groups were given puzzles to solve, ones that were within their capabilities. One group was praised for their intelligence, afterwards, and the other was praised for their effort. Those praised for their effort ended up exhibiting "game" qualities: when offered a further set of puzzles to do, most chose more difficult ones. Those praised for their intelligence were not so willing to take risks, and predominantly selected puzzles well within their capabilities again. The undermining effect of praise will be familiar territory to those who know the aforementioned Kohn book, but I'm interested here about the way the type of praise given (and Kohn would probably argue that the "good effort" type is more like feedback than praise, anyway -- subtle difference, but crucial) frames the children's attitude towards the puzzles.

A puzzle can be work or play; a task or a challenge. If it is perceived as work, it will be seen as something to get through, to finish off as rapidly as possible, so as to get the extrinsic reward (praise, or pay, or just the end of the task and the ability to get on with something more fun). If it is perceived as play, it is intrinsically rewarding, like any other fun challenge; acquiring new skills, as mentioned in a comment on the previous post here, is an intrinsic reward too. There should be no reason we can't make learning fun, if we just frame the tasks as challenges, and the work as play. That doesn't necessarily mean gamifying everything; in fact, when badly done, gamification may keep the focus on extrinsic rather than intrinsic rewards, just replacing one set of demotivators (grades or marks) for another set (experience points or levels).

This all fits well with the work of James Paul Gee (What Video Games Have to Teach Us About Learning and Literacy, et al), who writes of digital games granting us permission to fail. Failure is accepted and acceptable, in a well-made videogame; the consequences are not severe. It's not so acceptable in most schools, and is more severely punished. We can encourage a game attitude by ensuring that we give permission to fail, because permission to fail means permission to take risks, to try something new; permission to learn, in fact, rather than to only ever accept tasks that are within our capabilities.

Outside of education, what can this mean for us when we design games purely to be fun? Well, challenges are still more fun than tasks. Any time when you, as a designer, feel the need to offer an extrinsic reward for players, because the tasks they do are so boring, it's perhaps time to think about reframing the tasks as challenges -- in other words, make them fun, rather than work.

Intrinsic and Extrinsic Reward

At the heart of my research is the issue of extrinsic versus intrinsic reward, in gameplay and game design. Intrinsic rewards, in gaming, generally constitute the experience of playing the game itself; the flow state one ends up in (see Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience by Csikzentmihalyi for an introduction to the concept of flow), in which external cares are forgotten.

Extrinsic rewards might, in a non-digital game, include such things as an improved ranking on a leaderboard, a prize for winning a tournament, the praise of observers, etc. Digital games, borrowing from tabletop roleplaying games (Dungeons and Dragons, et al), have for some time used experience points (XP), "gold pieces", magic items, and other in-game rewards. It seems most likely that the brain treats these latter, in-game rewards in much the same way as it treats out-of-game extrinsic rewards. That is, most players crave in-game extrinsic rewards such as gold and XP just like most humans crave money and consumer goods. The convergence of the in-game economy with the real world economy has been well documented (see this Guardian article on the Chinese government trying to ban the process, for example); if a currency's worth depends on what one can buy with it rather than the worth of the materials involved in making the coins, currency made of pixels and data is surely as viable as currency made from non-precious metal.

A potential disconnect arises, because focusing on extrinsic rewards, as a player or in other spheres of life (worker, student, etc.), tends to reduce the intrinsic reward of the activity itself. This reduction of intrinsic reward (fun, satisfaction) can reduce the amount of time the player spends in a flow state, as well as reducing their creativity (see Punished by Rewards: The Trouble with Gold Stars, Incentive Plans, A's, Praise, and Other Bribes by Alfie Kohn for a good overview of the vast quantity of research on this subject).

So -- in simple terms -- does the focus on XP, gold, and so on, make games like World of Warcraft less fun than they otherwise would be? Or, as McGonigal argues (Reality Is Broken: Why Games Make Us Better and How They Can Change the World), does the regular trickle of gold and XP function predominantly as an informational mechanism, giving players constant feedback on their process, which would enhance their enjoyment of the game (intrinsic reward)? More research is needed. Hopefully said research will let us design better games, as well as helping us to better understand the appeal of different types of game.