The Gamified Life

Video games are a worthwhile leisure experience, something that can have positive effects on the players. If it occupies a certain place in a person's life, gaming can enrich a player in many ways. In fact, I think we've only scratched the surface on the positive effects gaming can have on individuals and communities. Even if it's a means of relaxation that allows one to more fully engage with reality after playing the game, that's a plus.

On the other hand, if gaming occupies another place in a person's life, it can substitute for real-world experiences. Even if gaming doesn't cause people to kill other people in real life (or some such horrible real-world behavioral consequence), I still wonder about what gamers would have done with the time they spend gaming, and how the gaming experience shapes their non-gaming, real world interactions and experiences.

My key interest is in how gaming is disconnected (and disconnects the player) from reality. A good game creates a kind of alternate reality with challenges, goals, and hazards and, increasingly, a social structure. All of that, it would seem, makes it easy to feel immersed in the gaming experience, to at least temporarily forget about the world outside the game and to focus exclusively on achievement and survival within the game.

There is an attempt to bridge the gap between the substitute reality of the game world and the real world: gamification. The point of gamification seems to be to incentivize a certain real-world behavior (exercise, civic engagement, etc.) by linking it to a reward.

The motive is laudable: instead of just getting people to spend time getting a high score or achieving status in a world that is disconnected from reality, you get them to do something good in the real world: learn about the world, become more civically engaged, etc. So, let's assume that gamification works: it gets people to engage in whatever behavior you're trying to get them to engage in when they would not have done so otherwise. Great! But here's what I'm wondering about:

How challenging is the game, or the gamified aspect of real-life, relative to the un-gamified aspects of life? The rules of games are tweaked so that they are challenging but not too frustrating. If a game were too frustrating, the player would stop playing (and likely pick up a less-frustrating-but-still-challenging game). But real life doesn't adapt to the individual in this respect. Even a successful gamification of reality is not all encompassing. Sooner or later, gamers must confront the un-gamified world.

Here are a few possible consequences of this discontinuity.

Gamification could create the perception that life isn't fair. The experience of the un-gamified challenges in their lives failing to adapt to their ability levels will seem increasingly unfair to gamers. To someone who has no experience with a gamified reality, the fact that day-to-day existence (work, interactions with loved ones, local politics) is very often frustrating is simply a part of life; whether or not it is "fair" isn't really an issue. This perception would be easy to measure: do you agree/disagree with the statement "often, life is not fair" (or some variation of this).

Gamification could create the desire to play more games, particularly the kind of games that adapt in some way when they become too frustrating for the user. Gamers would then disengage with any aspect of reality that does not adapt, including relationships and civic involvement. They go further and further into the adaptable world of the games.

But here's the weirdest possible consequence I've been thinking about.

What if the majority of certain people's realities become gamified? When they encounter an aspect of their realities that are frustrating or boring, they gamify it. They keep doing this until their entire realities (how often they exercise, what they eat, how they interact with their spouses, work, volunteering, local politics, etc.) are gamified, so that no aspect of their daily lives becomes too frustrating or not rewarding enough. I can imagine a small group of people doing this, but I can't imagine every human doing this (at least not for awhile, but who knows?). The problems will occur when the gamified society meets the un-gamified society.

Life is a kind of game, with challenges and goals and a "score" (money, happiness, status, righteousness, or whichever metric you want to use). But the key difference is that life lacks a "user experience" designer. It is continuously and simultaneously created by things that are often indifferent to the needs and desires of the individual. One of the worst consequences for the gamer who becomes increasingly frustrated with un-gamified life might be a kind of despondence that, left unchecked, causes them to quit the game of life.

This, of course, wouldn't be the fate of most gamers. So what is it that causes some gamers to eschew reality? And when we gamify another aspect of our lives, how does this change the way we view the rough edges of the world outside the game?

The Werther Effect 2.0: Psychogenesis in the Internet Age

One of my favorite films from the last few years starts and concludes with an idea that, aptly, took root in my brain and has been something I think about long after I saw the film for the first time. It is articulated by the main character Dom Cobb: "An idea is like a virus, resilient, highly contagious. The smallest seed of an idea can grow. It can grow to define or destroy you." Soon after seeing this film, I learned about the Werther effect. 

The idea of the Werther Effect is simple and unnerving. When people are informed through news reports or fictional stories of the fact that other people have committed suicide, they are more likely to commit suicide themselves. The message (e.g., a news report of suicide or suicide statistics or a story about someone committing suicide) likely makes the message receiver believe that the act in question is something that people, perhaps people similar to him or her, do. That isn’t to say that it makes the act socially acceptable or condones the act. By conveying that it has happened and that someone else did it, the message makes the act salient to the receiver, introduces it as a possible course of action, and may imply that it is common. Some theorists say that it may just be a simple suggestion-imitation model of behavior. In either case, it is more likely that the message receiver will commit suicide than if they had not heard the message at all (see Etzersdorfer, Voracek,& Sonneck, 2004; Gould, 2001; Hittner, 2005; Phillips 1978, 1979; 1982; Wasserman, 1984 for details, Thorson & Oberg 2003 for a contrary view).

In the top-down world of mass media production, news editors have been encouraged to downplay suicides, making them less likely to inspire readers to commit suicide. But if we assume that the same relation holds between exposure to the message and suicide in the age when exposure is "viral" (i.e., spread through online social networks) and/or search-based (i.e., determined by in-the-moment interests), then how do you curb imitative suicide? The story of someone’s suicide might spread through a group of people who are already preoccupied with the idea or seek out this kind of information. It may spread through people who are trying to offer support. 

This might be part of a more general problem in the age of the internet (where messages reach people through social networks or based on their consistency with people’s pre-existing pre-occupations/preferences). There might be other kinds of behaviors (anorexia, cutting one’s self, abusing drugs) and even other ways of thinking (depressive thought patterns) that are similar to suicide in that they are capable of being directly influenced by messages (i.e., not entirely physiological in origin), they are generally considered to be undesirable (i.e., painful for the individual and community), and are stigmatized (that is, not talked about). This particular kind of stigmatization makes these behaviors and thought patterns different from acts of aggression toward others, which, as a culture, we seem to have no problem discussing. This stigmatization leads, in certain communities, to an attempt to overcome the stigma through communication, through sharing experiences with the behavior or thought pattern and through support, to let people know that they are not alone. This reaction to the silence of the stigma is unquestionably well intentioned and it may have positive effects, but the evidence of suicide contagion makes me wonder if there are unanticipated effects. It may make message receivers who do not yet exhibit the undesirable behavior or thought pattern (or who do exhibit it but to a lesser extent than the extreme examples they hear about) more aware of the negative behavior or thought pattern, believe that it is more common or that what they are experiencing is more serious or more intense than they would have otherwise thought, and believe that it is something that people like them do or, worse yet, something that people are (as in: a permanent, defining characteristic, e.g., a depressed person, an alcoholic, etc.). 

Possible stimuli that may lead to a negative behavior or thought pattern becoming more common include advertisements for drugs or programs treating depression, anxiety, and other psychological conditions; online support groups; social media messages (Facebook and Twitter posts) related to the topic; news stories encountered via major news sites (e.g., NYTimes) or circulated virally via social media (e.g., Twitter). Make no mistake: there is plenty of evidence to suggest that these tools are useful in combating the spread and intensity of suffering and so they should not be discarded unless there is evidence that they do more harm than good. Its unrealistic to think that they ALL do more harm than good, but the evidence of suicide contagion via mass media suggests that it is worth examining whether some of thee messages, under certain circumstances for certain people, may, in fact, backfire. Establishing whether or not any messages designed to curb suffering that is not physiological or physical in origin backfire is the first step. Then, it is essential to understand why this happens, when this happens, and be able to modify the messages so that it doesn't happen anymore: all possible given the wealth of data on Internet use. 

Discussing Inception

After seeing Inception for the 3rd time, I've become almost as interested in the way people discuss this film as I am in the film itself.

I first became interested in the discussion around psychological puzzle or "mindfuck" movies when I wrote a chapter of my thesis on the IMDB discussion of Mulholland Drive. I found that the arguments fell into two distinct categories:

Those who thought the film's creator was trying to create a coherent fictional universe in which cause-and-effect applied vs. those who thought the movie was like an abstract painting. The first group thought that the plot was like a puzzle and that if you understood which parts were "real" for the characters and which parts were dreams, fantasies, or hallucinations, and you understood how the "real" lives of the characters influenced those dreams/fantasies, then you could "understand" the film. The second group thought either that the artist is having a laugh at the audience by making them think that the art is somehow "important" b/c its so inscrutable or that it has real beauty which cannot be analyzed the way a cause-and-effect narrative is typically analyzed.

In a way, the same thing is happening with Inception (based on my observations of a very limited sample of audience reactions: my friends and people on reddit). But I think b/c Inception has all the markings of a traditional Hollywood film as opposed to the art-house pedigree of Mulholland Drive and b/c the film's characters spend so much time explaining how everything fits together, most people debate what the final reality (for the characters) of the film was and/or whether the creator of the film was successful in his attempt to create a coherent fictional reality. Those who loved the film seem to believe that it all fits together and those who didn't like it either felt that it didn't all fit together or that its construction - its attempt to weld together an action film, a psychological puzzle, and an emotional story of loss and acceptance - is clumsy and draws attention to itself as artifice. Here's what I'm interested in: why do people fall into those groups?

Here's my pet theory. People think that some characteristic of the plot's coherence is to blame/praise for why they liked/disliked the film. They argue as if that were the case. But really, its their abilities to emotionally connect with the characters and some pre-existing disposition towards the type of movie they see Inception as (a summer blockbuster, a Christopher Nolan film, a smart film, a trying-to-be-too-clever film) that determines how hard they look for those flaws. This categorization and emotional identification with the situations and characters in the film, in some sense, precede viewers' desire or attempts to piece together what exactly happened in the fictional reality of the film, even though we're not aware that they do. With Inception as with many sci-fi and/or mindfuck movies, there certainly are inconsistencies or blind-spots to find. Those who were pre-disposed to liking the film could acknowledge these, but they would probably say that they don't matter, that its all part of the willing suspension of disbelief, that all stories must leave out some information and that the rules of the genre demand that we overlook some un-reality of the film's world. Those who were pre-disposed to disliking the film would call these "plot holes" and treat them as a kind of empirical evidence that the film is poorly constructed.

So when people have debates over whether the film made sense or what happened in the reality of the film, they're really just reflecting whether or not they identified with the film and whether they typically like the type of film that, before they entered the theater, they had categorized the film as.

I have this hunch b/c I try to imagine if these relatively minor things in the movie that people talk about were altered (the spinning top falling over/not falling over, a bit more explanation here or there, things going a bit differently with the kicks, etc.) and what the people having these arguments might think of that altered movie. I am highly skeptical that their opinions would change. They talk as if these minor changes would alter their opinions of the movie, that their arguments for why this movie was good/bad rests on these features of the film, but this seems ludicrous to me.

Perhaps its easier and safer to talk about one's like or dislike of a movie in this way. To understand how or why one categorizes a film as a certain type is a really hard thing to be aware of. Also, when you talk about what characters or situations you identify with, you can be revealing something very personal about who you are. Any statement against the film could be construed as a statement against someone who identified with the characters, situations, or sentiments in the movie, which would cause a whole lotta friction.

It should be obvious which group I fall into by now. But the more I think about the multi-layered pleasure I get out of this film, the more I think, "why can't I experience this more often with more movies, TV shows, songs, etc.?" We talk about these things as if its the artists' responsibilities to bring us a pleasurable experience, but I think we as audience members have some control over this, more than we think. If I'm arguing this for Inception, I'm arguing this for all art. What if I had gone to see Eclipse instead? My knee-jerk reaction would have been to hate it and to argue why this was a bad film. But I wouldn't have to have done that. I could've acknowledged the fact that I categorized the film as "awful teen chick romance" and understood that, on the face of it, I probably wouldn't have identified with the characters, situations, or sentiments expressed in the movie. But that doesn't mean I couldn't have found something positive in the experience and that I shouldn't have to wait for an artist to cater to my desires or find a fan to convince me of the work's merit. Everyone could love everything, and if loving something is more fun than hating something (I know that hating films, TV shows, people can feel good, but as someone who really loves Inception, I can tell you that loving feels better than hating), why shouldn't we try? I think my arguments for the greatness of some works are arguments for enjoyment in general, arguments against not enjoying yourself at a movie.

Uncertain entertainment

OK. I think I've got a dissertation topic: why we choose media.

I keep thinking that it has something to do with pleasure, but that we're not just hedonically motivated. Or that "pleasure," the end goal of hedonism, mutates and evolves in each of our lives so that to say that we are hedonically motivated tells us very little about why we choose certain experiences over others.

Let's take a concrete example. Today, I listened to a story from Stephen King's short story collection Just After Sunset. Why this story? Because I'd read/listen to other stories by that author and I'd enjoyed them immensely. Not only had I enjoyed them while I was listening to/reading them. I also would periodically recall emotions or ideas from the texts at various times, and that gave me pleasure and helped me cope w/ some rough patches. If we're to map out the decision making process that goes into choosing media, I think we need to take into account pleasure that comes well after actually experiencing the text. Hard to measure, but let's save the question of measurement for another time.

Anyway, based on past experience w/ other King stories, the low cost and availability of the story (free from my local library), my mood (more or less neutral, I just wanted to be transported while doing yard work, and if I got some insight into the human condition, so much the better), and the time available (I have lots, thanks to summer vacation). It was the wrong decision. At least for that one short story, I experienced pretty extreme displeasure. I experienced something that I'm sure many others have experienced: hating a media text but needing, masochistically, to finish the text, needing closure. Why was the text to unpleasurable? Because it conjured up unpleasant connections with my personal history. How could Stephen King know about that? He couldn't. But could I have known? That's an interesting question.

What do we know about a media experience before we spend time and money on it? When we re-watch movies, we know plenty, and sometimes, we experience great pleasure. Most times, we only have a rough idea of what to expect, based on author, genre, preview, or recommendation. We don't want to waste our time, but we want to be surprised. This requires a relinquishment or control, a trust in an author or authors that is paid for with our future attention. In this way, choosing to experience a media text is unlike so many other consumer decisions. I wouldn't want my car to surprise me. I wanted to know exactly what I was in for when I bought it. The same is true for every other consumer decision i can think of. The same isn't true for my experience with people. I wouldn't want to know utterly predictable people. Though they may bow to my every command, they would seem lifeless. So it is with media. We desire some unpredictability, some chance that what we experience may be undesirable.

I guess there's always the chance that one may be introduced to a new kind of pleasure, one that a consumer/user didn't even know they desired until they experienced it. The unknown experiences are fodder for our future desires and dislikes.

After choosing to listen to the King short story and hating it, I listened to a Radiolab podcast, and within the first 5 minutes, I experienced exactly what I wanted to experience. I was transported. I left my body. I also felt better about life and myself, if for a brief time (there, again, is the time issue. Is it better to experience a temporary boost in self-esteem than it is to get something embedded in your brain that will keep cropping up and putting things in perspective at later points in life? In a word, no. That's what makes great works of narrative so great. They stay in your head and pop up when you have various experiences. Hard to assess, but definitely a part of the worth of a mediated experience). I made a bad decision w/ the King, and a good decision w/ the Radiolab. What happened?

Part of it was a lack of information. If the King story came w/ a disclaimer that said, "Elliot Panek, this story will remind you of very specific instances in your life where you have failed, resulting in negative affect," well then I wouldn't have listened. That's a tall order for the media producer, but maybe, just maybe, some sort of information aggregator could keep track of certain things that were bound to trigger negative (or positive) affect for the user, screen the text for those things, and then give the user an idea of what he/she is in for. This would just be an extension, an elaboration of genre and its conventions. Totally doable given the pace of progress in IT.

Neither the media producer not the user wants too much of a chance of displeasure. They wouldn't want you to go elsewhere for media and you don't want to waste your time with displeasure. And yet some risk seems necessary. We seem to need to cede control, to some degree, at some times.

How curious it is that we spend time and money on something that might give us displeasure. Is this an acknowledgement of the quicksilver nature of human desire, or is this a failure of the media market to accurately inform the consumer whether or not the product is suited for a particular context? Obviously, its a large question, one hopefully fitting for a dissertation. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go watch the Celts play the Magic in game 1 of a playoff series. Sports is kind of the apotheosis of the uncertainly entertaining media experience. The Celts could win a quadruple overtime game, yielding a transcendent pleasure for me, or it could be a close loss for the Celts, yielding another evening of ennui. The choice is most certainly not mine.

The Other, The Cultural Divide, and Me

I haven't really thought through the implications of this, and there might be a few horrible wrong turns in this entry, but this blog is a place where I can muse about media, so here goes.

I had a few thoughts about media and Other-ing after canvassing in Sandusky, Ohio on Sunday. The poorer neighborhoods I walked around were the kind of parts of the United States that I have never been to, that I have only experienced through the media. I read about them in the paper or see on TV when the news or fictional stories talk about economic downturn or how these parts are a problem that needs fixing (or how people living here should be pitied). As I walked around, I thought "in many ways, I do not live in the same world that these people live in." Did this mean that I was somehow fundamentally different than they were? Not that I was superior or inferior, but that I was different in some irreconcilable, permanent way.

That's a crucial distinction, between difference and deficience. If there truly is difference, we may look at it as something positive like diversity, or we may look at it as something that prevents communication, trust-building, or close relationships. But what is that difference? Am I mistaken in imagining its type and degree?

First off, as became obvious after talking with a few folks, there were some people who I got along with and agreed with on many topics, and others whom I did not, as would be true with people from the town in which I grew up. But the people I disagree with that are from my socio-economic and cultural sphere and I have some things in common that I feel I don't have in common with folks I disagree with in Sandusky. We have different views of the world, different values of certain ways of thinking, different views of other people and of human nature and their houses, the surroundings, are all so different than where I grew up and where I’ve always lived.

Are these people more different from me than people living in other countries, or people at other times (say, China 1000 years ago)? Are the differences superficial ones? I had to face the fact that I had very little direct experience with people in places like Sandusky. In the absence of direct experience, mediated experience and second-hand information fills in. When people talk of media forming images of people as Other, as fundamentally different, I think they're usually talking about the depictions of those people. And certainly that's one thing that contributed to my conception of such difference. But the big contributor from media, it occurred to me, is the audience that I imagine to be consuming media that I do not like or do not understand.

I see some stuff on TV (primarily Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity, whom I've been watching a lot of lately) and I think, “millions of people watch this. This reflects someone’s desires and values. And they are so different than my desires and values, therefore those millions of people are fundamentally different than I am.” And that’s where this idea of some people being so different than me, irreconcilably different, comes from. Its not so much the depictions of the Other as these bits of media that reflect the desires and values of an Other. In the language used by my friends and colleagues, I hear this. We talk about Bill O'Rielly and Fox News, and in the language that we use, we treat their viewers as inferior or, at the very least, fundamentally different than us. Media scholars have long since refrained from demeaning analyses of debased cultural forms like the soap opera and the romance novel, but we talk about Fox News and their viewers as if they were lower forms of life, like they need to rescued. What if we were able to determine that Fox News viewers have certain demographic qualities in common; say, that they're mostly white, mostly religious, mostly either earn between 0 and 25K or 250K and 1M, mostly have American flags in their front yard, mostly wear Nascar-related memorobilia. Might this lead us to look upon these people, as I found myself looking upon the McCain supporters I saw in Sundusky, as fundamentally different? Might this be a problem?

But I'm not sure that we're really all that different. My cognitive development psych class has me thinking about human similarities. So, die-hard Repubs, people in Africa a thousand years ago, and me, we all have some things in common. In a sense, we all have most thing in common - language acquisition, intuitive grasp fo physics, the basics of psychology, biology. We all desire affection, attention, shelter, food, sleep. Sometimes we compete with one another or threaten one another, and other times we cooperate to achieve common goals. So what do we differ on? Theories about human nature: in what contexts are we competitive or cooperative, nature or nurture, the role of organizations and the individual, how to behave sexually, how best to bring about long term gain for the greatest number of people. Arguably, these differences touch on many aspects of our everyday lives. But still, I feel like we have some things in common. And this is what psychology can speak to.

They are incomplete thoughts.