This semester, teaching a seminar on the history and meaning of video games has given me a chance to think of how the way people approach playing games can mirror how they approach real-life decisions. It sparked some thoughts about how sometimes the “optimal” way we handle things ends up making us worse off.
Here I’m borrowing a video gaming concept known as min-maxing. The exact definition of the word is shifting, and it has several connotations. The most common is rooted in the distribution of skill points in role-playing games: if someone is going to be a melee fighter, they might maximize their strength while not putting so many points into intelligence, which would benefit a spell-caster more than a brawler. I’m painting this with a broad brush, but the general idea is to optimize your player’s effectiveness by distributing limited stats where they will benefit your specific build the most.
I tend to think of min-maxing in slightly different terms, based on my time getting knocked around on higher difficulty settings in Sid Meier’s Civilization. I can play an enjoyable game at the mid-tier difficulties of king and emperor since I can focus on exploring and building cool stuff (my main joys in Civ) while not obsessing over whether each move was the “right” move— even a few missteps could be overcome. But anything higher than that requires a level of resource micromanagement and optimal decision-making that just isn’t fun for me. While I might win a game by min-maxing, I wouldn’t enjoy it, so I would rather have a good time playing on a lower difficulty, where I can make mistakes and still have fun.
As I conceive of it, min-maxing means focusing predominantly on making the “correct” choice at each juncture, directing resources appropriately, emphasizing only winning (defined narrowly) as the desired outcome.
Applied to games, min-maxing is best explained by the example I cited above (skill point distribution). In real life, I can offer a few examples:
- In a job interview, I focus on presenting myself the “correct” way, highlighting my strengths, minimizing my weaknesses, and asking only questions that make me look like a more desirable candidate. I do not let the interviewers see the “real” me, and I don’t try to get a sense of what the organization is really like.
- At work, I finish my assigned tasks on time and do what is asked of me. I work efficiently but don’t think about the big picture or put much effort into making my workplace a more hospitable place.
- As a student, I put in the minimum effort needed to get the maximum grade. I see the class as a zero-sum game. If I work more than I “have to” to get the grade I want, I lose. When I spend as little time as possible and still get a good grade, I win.
- As an instructor, I design a course that delivers the learning outcomes efficiently. I evaluate students solely on how they perform their assessments. I am busy, so I don’t want to spend more time on the course than I need to. I don’t get to know my students, and I don’t see the course as part of a bigger educational pathway for them.
- When I am in a conflict, I want to find an administrative solution that will force people to give me what I want. If that’s not possible, I want to know the exact words I need to say that will convince the other party that I am right, or at the very least they should do what I want. I am not interested in taking the time to appreciate their perspective or to learn what they want.
As you have probably picked up from those examples (and, hopefully, the headline), I am not a fan (under most circumstances) of min-maxing. In a game, it means stepping out of in-universe role-playing and fixating on how to optimally meet win conditions. In real life, it obligates us to devote all of our efforts to tactics while neglecting overall strategy; we do each small step better but lose track of where we want to go. While it can serve us in the small run, or if we just want to check boxes, there are times when the optimal decision is actually the wrong one because it carries us down a wrong pat.
So, you may be tempted to ask, do you expect me to get ahead by making bad decisions at each step?
Not at all. Instead, I see the alternative to min-maxing as relaxing into an immersive roleplay. Try to win the game, yes, but have fun doing it. Put a few points into a dump stat even if it just unlocks a few dialog options. Spend some time exploring. Don’t worry about unlocking each perk or completing every side quest. Let the game be the game, not a task to be completed.
In real life not min-maxing could mean that, instead of plotting the shortest course to getting to the finish line, we consider what route is going to meet our big-picture goals. If an indirect path makes us that much happier, why not take it?
Being my real self in an interview might lead to me not getting a callback, but if I’m not a fit for the organization, would getting hired be fair for anyone? It would be a case of optimizing myself into misery, most likely. As a student, doing everything I can to soak up the course is, in the long run, going to benefit me far more than a hyper-focus on my final grade. As an instructor, seeing students as complete complex human beings, not just entries on a grade sheet, can help them learn more effectively and make me better at teaching. And in a conflict, being genuinely curious about the other person can not only help you resolve the issue, but it can also lead to a better understanding, the prologue, perhaps, to a better relationship.
It is tempting, in the moment, to make the optimal choice. The paradox is that by doing so, we can end up exactly where we don’t want to be. Self-reflection and thoughtful consideration of our ultimate aims can be an antidote to ruthless min-maxing that really does benefit us.
So until next time, expect the unexpected, stay informed, and I’ll stay informal.
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