Why Do We Play Games?

Humans play games because real life is too ambiguous to deliver fast, legible rewards—so people build structured challenges that make goals, rules, and feedback clearer. Bernard Suits’ definition frames the core oddity: a game is a voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles. That “unnecessary” part matters, because it turns uncertainty into something manageable, letting players pursue psychological payoff without the fog that surrounds everyday decisions.

A useful way to sort what counts as a game comes from computer game designer Chris Crawford. Crawford draws a line between toys, puzzles, and challenges: toys are interactive and fun but lack objectives; puzzles are objective-driven with no other agents; competitions involve other agents but forbid interference; full games allow interaction and interference between agents. Under that framework, life itself can be treated as a game—interactive, goal-oriented, and full of other agents—yet the rules are complicated, goals are often indeterminate, and feedback is delayed or unclear. In life, it can take years to learn whether a job choice was right, whether a relationship move helped, or whether a conversation landed well. Games, by contrast, compress time and clarify causality.

That compression helps explain why sports and games can feel especially rewarding. The video connects play to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: when basic safety and survival needs are threatened, higher motivations like exploration and confidence matter less. Play tends to flourish when lower-tier needs are met. But even when play isn’t strictly “necessary” for brain development, it appears to support learning and growth. Evidence from animal studies—such as juvenile rats deprived of play—suggests play may influence brain development, including structures like the cerebellum, though the case isn’t airtight because other interventions can produce similar outcomes (a concept called equifinality).

The discussion then pivots to why games are so good at delivering the rewards life withholds. In many games, the next move is knowable: Bomberman power-ups have consistent effects, poker hands have clear rankings, and team sports often use visible roles and color-coded coordination. Life rarely offers that certainty. Games therefore let people experience competence, belonging, and respect with fewer unknowns. Even spectatorship can satisfy needs through BIRG-ing—basking in reflected glory—where fans treat a team’s success as their own, and CORF-ing—cutting off reflected failure—where distance from a team’s disgrace protects self-image.

The payoff comes with a warning: when games substitute for real-life problem-solving, they can slide into procrastination or addiction. Still, the underlying claim is optimistic. People play because they can pursue higher needs—social connection, mastery, identity—more reliably in man-made systems than in the sprawling, slow-feedback game of everyday life. The transcript closes by noting the cultural quirks of “soccer” versus “football,” tracing “soccer” to British wordplay (the Oxford habit of adding “-er”) and tying the sport’s naming to the formalization of association football in 1863.