Why we play video games

One of my friends has long said that there are two types of fun: Type one fun is when it’s fun in the moment, but gives no resulting glow; activities such as partying with friends, or eating a delicious meal fall into this category. Type two fun is challenging in the moment, but satisfying to look back on; navigating a challenging hike, or diving off the ten-meter platform are this type of fun. Most good types of fun involve a mix of both: basketball is fun in the moment and looking back, so is traveling. My friend would then finish with: “Dota? Dota is neither of those sorts of fun. It’s stressful and toxic while it’s happening, and I have nothing but regret looking back at a long bender. Dota is not fun.” Yet, we play Dota.

I’ve written about video games in the past, and the terrible hold they have on young men in modern society. I come to the conclusion that video games are not inherently bad, but are very often abused. My relationship with the game isn’t entirely healthy either. I’ve stopped playing many times in the past, but have always come back to it. One doesn’t quit video games when they really sink their teeth in; it’s only short breaks. It’s been ten years since I started playing this game, and I don’t see myself stopping anytime. I’ve had periods where I averaged tens of hours a week, sometimes all in one day. I’ve had long breaks of months, even years. Where I stand now is between me and the game, and somewhere between those two.

So why do I play Dota? That would be like asking why I like games at all, because Dota is the perfect game. A balance of skill, luck, and nine other players, across an infinite combination of items and playable characters. The thrill of a good decision, the elation of a win, and the joy in crushing others. I believe the Brazilians call it o jogo bonito, the beautiful game. But the game itself is high-stress and completely attention absorbing. Every bad decision and loss comes as a crushing kick in the stomach, not in the least because there is always still a chance of winning: the remaining nine players in the game can do any number of things to influence the outcome. Simultaneously, part of the reason that a win is so satisfying, is in knowing that there are five players on the other side of the screen that have lost, and are in the depths of despair, queueing up for another game.

Is Dota fun? I don’t know. It definitely isn’t either of the two categories of fun. They are not mutually exclusive, and I further posit that they are also not collectively exhaustive. Dota is a third kind of fun that encompasses both type one and type two, but in reverse: it presents itself as type two during the experience, but ends as type one after the experience has ended. While the game occurs, it masquerades as productive, fun: it’s stressful, challenging, and involves playing nicely with others. The issue is that there are no meaningful results from Dota. It’s commonly argued that video games teach problem solving, teamwork, and critical thinking, but this is realistically not the case. As anyone who is vaguely serious about multiplayer video games knows, there is not an ounce of non-essential communication that goes on aside from vulgarities and cheers.

Science says that brain chemicals are the answer. A common explanation is that dopamine is released when something fun happens. A better evolutionary explanation is that the brain rewards itself engaging in competition and pursuing activities that seem to be constructive, because they are important to survival and the continuation of the species. The key here is that dopamine is released not when the mate won or the meat eaten, but during the chase or the hunt. This new understanding of dopamine also aligns better with evolutionary biology: it’s important to reward effort, since continued effort is beneficial, and the prize itself can be the reward. This naturally leads to the conclusion that Dota is enjoyed primarily because of the anticipation, the dopamine hit released not when the game is won, but from starting the game, and during the gameplay itself. It’s thrill of the game, the flashing lights and the illusion of progression that makes video games so enticing.

Why do I address video games exclusively? It’s true that all games have the attraction of masquerading as productive, and provide a steady drip of dopamine. An undeniable part of their appeal is also beating the other players. Why is a morning of tennis or an afternoon of chess viewed as better than video games? In the case of physical activity, there are obvious health benefits. But what of chess or board games? For serious players of either, not much socialization occurs during gameplay, and the thrill of winning is just as strong.

I believe the answer to this question is largely societal and classist: after the Golden Age of video games in America, they were quickly relegated to a low rung of the countercultural social ladder. The kids who played video games were the ones who were picked last for dodgeball, couldn’t afford a bike, and didn’t get invited to parties. Some degree of social aptitude salient to success, and in the past, it was the lack of friends that drove kids to find solace in video games. Video games didn’t make kids antisocial, antisocial kids played video games. Thus, it was easy to point to the golf player whose rich family paid for college as a shining example of success, and the poor shunned loser as someone corrupted by the evils of video games. The association formed then is still pervasive now, even as video games have become mainstream.

This is not to downplay the addicting nature of video games: though more harmless than substances or gambling, the spread of video games as technology improved only shows how addicting they can be, compared to other forms of competition. The enormously profitable gaming industry hinges on the ability of its developers to keep the players coming back, the dopamine drip running. Tiny changes can be tested across vast swaths of people with instant feedback, and the whole ecosystem encompassing streamers, loot boxes, and betting have not made things better. Still, I believe that video games are not inherently hurtful: video games don’t make people addicted, addicts become addicted. And there are worse things to be addicted to.

I originally titled this piece An Ode to Dota, but it seems as though I have to rename it. I love Dota 2. I love the balance and the dynamics, the thrill and the anticipation. Are thirty-hour weeks good for me? Certainly not. But are a couple hours a week acceptable, if not detrimental to my sleep or other health habits? Why not? In any case, I certainly hope I’m not speaking too soon when I say I’ve mastered my relationship with the game. A demanding schedule and a very old computer help too. A little bit of anything never hurt anyone.