Success

 And succor?

Following my treatise on what it is to lose in games, I thought it only right that I try and touch on the inverse scenario; what it is to win and the relation that special moment has to the way that we as players experiencing gaming. There's quite a bit of nuance in this topic, perhaps just as much as there is with losing; and by objectively analysing the higher concepts of success and how it effects ideas of 'enjoyment' and 'satisfaction', perhaps some deeper understanding into certain genres that play around with these ideals may be granted. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself, first we should identify that which further differentiates the medium of gaming from other interactive mediums, the ability to succeed or complete the interaction with the piece of art.

Winning is a novel concept, typically defined as resolving the conflict presented by the game, the actual specifics of what 'success' is can vary depending on the game in question and even the player behind the controls. For some the very act of finishing a level is a 'win', or defeating a tough enemy; for others those are only positive touchstones on the road to total victory; completing the game. But then there's the question of what 'completion' even is. How many people actually finish every single activity in open world games? Very few I'm sure, so then is 'completion' simply finishing the core narrative questlines? Do side quests count as well? What about branching RPG games where you can reach a totally different ending depending on choices made by the player, such as in Outer Worlds where a low intelligence stat character can smash their face onto a ship control panel and launch that vehicle into the sun, bringing the narrative to an end halfway through a traditional campaign? Is that a victory? The parameters and measurements most typically are left solely to the discretion of the player in these instances.

'Completion' of a game or a full narrative is not necessarily the height of the experience as one might expect by the natural adulation you'd afford a 'victory'. It may seem a little cliché to say, but the moment you 'complete' a game is typically quickly followed by the moment you put it down and stop enjoying it through active engagement. You may have fond memories of that victorious moment to look back on, but the pedigree of that memory is forged more by the struggles and failures which predated the end rather than the moment itself. What tastes more sweet, the vegetable that you pick out of the ground or the ripe fruit you have to climb a tall tree in order to reach? And yes, that analogy is loaded with prejudice and manipulation but the thought experiment it provides is valid; strife builds accomplishment. A concept which I think might be best understood by... say it with me... Soulslike games.

Soulslike games as a genre are built on the understanding that difficulty is most pure when it can be attributed to the strengths of the player and failure that is down to anything other than player error feels like a robbery. (That doesn't stop Dark Souls from throwing in the odd random death drop, but they never rely on that cheap shot too heavily.) In many ways, beyond the lore and the themes and emotional resonance the narrative is attempting to portray, the raw experience of overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds is the fibre at the beating heart of the Soulslike genre. Which is probably why the commonly held refrain from those who aren't as big fans of these styles of games, that they are lesser without some sort of 'easy mode', is so vehemently pushed back upon by those that do. Yes, inclusion is important and accessibility should absolutely be more widely adopted as industry standards, but Soulslike games are most chiefly informed by their carefully designed difficulty. Stripping away those layers to allow someone to experience the story is like hollowing out a peach so it's easier to swallow; you've removed the substance- what remains is hardly worth sharing.

But I digress, because success does not all always need to be the overwhelming wash of relief at the end of a hard-fought adventure- it can be little stabs of sunlight from the little victories along the way. That moment when you crack a Pokémon egg and get a shiny you've been grinding several hours for, or solve an annoying logic puzzle that's been stumping you for just as long. Everytime you hit that resolution button and are struck by those waves of buzzing endorphins, I consider that a 'victory' moment in gaming. However as with any chemical infusion, the more used to receiving that endorphin hit you are- the less effective that drag becomes. Perhaps that is why some of the tougher games, where victory seems all but illusive, strike the hardest when you've finally pushed through the immovable wall.

Yet even with everything we've talking about so far, I've somehow managed to still keep to largely traditional games and their understanding of success. What about Minecraft? What about Stardew Valley? What does success look like in those endless styles of games that are designed to be experienced theoretically forever? In my mind, this is when we get back to the, decently cliched, idea that 'the journey is better than the destination.' Success and achievement can be rewarded in milestones of progress, such as finishing a large build in the ongoing construction of your base, or saving up enough for that house upgrade you've spent several seasons eyeing. Sometimes the parameters aren't even suggested by the game itself through clear presentation hooks, and sometimes it's beyond what the developers even intended for the game in question.

Success can be a powerful incentive and reward when handled correctly, and sometimes it needs to be managed in a sense of balance. Keep the prize of a victory too elusive and you'll starve the players out of anticipation and straight to simple frustration. Of course, the threshold for what is 'too much' can differ wildly from player to player, so an understanding of your audience is an essential aspect of this recipe. And though the 'ultimate' success, completing the game and moving on- can bring with it a moment of sadness as you leave behind the experience- without that pathos I don't think any journey is truly complete. Like a full course meal missing it's desert, that finale isn't just a sweet treat, it's often a palette cleanser and reset designed to cap-off and compliment the entire dinner. I've been at that point of refusing to finish an adventure you just can't put down- but at the end of the day aren't you just denying yourself the fullest experience of that adventure in your trepidation?

The reasons why we play are many and varied, from searching for relaxation to waging against competition to experiencing accomplishment to basically yearning to be entertained. As esoteric and ethereal as the particulars of art can be, the chemistry is often as down to earth as one could imagine; breaking down these elements, what it is that makes someone feel victorious, and how to bring about those sensations, can absolutely be the key to understanding some of the highest concepts of game design. Of course, those very same questions are asked and toyed around with by professional psychologists who come up with ways to exploit the brain to empower mobile games and GACHA systems; so there's dark clouds amidst every silver lining. With great power comes a great number of corrupt influences ready to take advantage of it, I suppose.