If I said you could make a learning game with addictive gameplay that keeps learners engaged for hours at a time, how would you feel? Does it pique your interest? It’s undeniably appealing, maybe even a little thrilling—the idea that your learning material could be as compelling a bid for attention as the digital distraction de jour! If you feel it’s too good to be true, is there still a quiet part of you that wishes it was?
We live in a time and culture that moralizes productivity and commodifies attention spans.
It is pervasive, toxic, and undeniably alluring. I will readily admit to thinking, “If I spent as much time learning how to sew as I do playing video games, I would be a couture-level sewist by now,” and believing that would somehow make me a better person than the one who just logged her hundredth hour in Blue Prince. Let’s promise to interrogate whether this impulse truly comes from a good place on our own time, okay?
But if we have good intentions, what’s the problem?
When we say something mundane is addictive, we trivialize a stigmatized disease and the struggle of those who live with it. The gamification techniques we employ to add external motivation to learning can be used in predatory ways that lead to genuine addiction. Calling games “addictive” glosses over that fact and implicitly approves of the malicious design techniques industries employ to keep people clicking, swiping, and ultimately paying for their products.
It’s careless hyperbole, and we owe it to ourselves to stop using it because we don’t actually want our learning to be addictive!
If you’ve used the term, I doubt you did so with ill intent. I think people use “addictive” in a misguided attempt to describe games that players enjoy so much they want to return to them of their own volition. However, compulsion is not a more intense word for desire or motivation—it is an irresistible urge to do something that outstrips one’s desires and ability to stop. Of course, we want learners to engage with the material more than once and feel rewarded for their efforts. But we want our players to then leave the game behind to use that knowledge in the real world; we want them to be changed for the better.
With that in mind, let’s reexamine our expectations.
We need to be honest when we make learning games. They will not be engaging in the same way Fortnite is. They won’t be as addictive as slot machines or sports betting. They can’t be if their reason for being, their “why,” is different. Their “why” is to keep players spending money. They directly benefit when a player’s answer to “Why do you play?” is “I can’t stop.”
Sure, we can use some of the same methods to add external motivation to our games, but trying to replicate the “addictive” formula severs the learning game from what should be its “why.” And that is a shame because knowing “why” something is worth learning is the most powerful form of intrinsic motivation there is.
I encourage you to explore: try different methods, tools, and mediums to find the most effective way to communicate your “why” to your learners. Don’t chase a false goal. Play demos of the games we offer in The Training Arcade® and think about how the gameplay could highlight what’s inherently interesting about your material.
If you add gamification to your training, ask yourself how it is serving your learning goals. And if it isn’t, try something else! The Training Arcade is a great place to start. You can add your training content to 12 pre-built game templates (and build as many games as you want, so you too can have fun and fail forward as you learn about them).
So, remember: “addictive” isn’t the goal; using responsibly designed games to achieve behavior-shifting learning objectives with a clear conscience is. That sounds pretty nice to me.
Want to try The Training Arcade? Start your free trial here.
