Getting By With A Little Help From (Vygotsky &) Friends
by Nina Navazio
Who Was Vygotsky?
Lev Vygotsky was a psychologist, born in 1896 in Russia. He was home schooled and went to University by “mere ballot through a ‘Jewish Lottery’” (more info on Wikipedia).
Although his interests ranged more towards the humanities and social sciences, he was in medical school for a semester before transferring to law school. Similar to his schooling, Vygotsky’s theories and opinions changed over time, but his most well-known theory in modern education is the Zone of Proximal Development.
The Zone of Proximal Development, or ZPD, is one circle in an entirely circular Venn diagram of development. It’s often explained using a picture similar to this one:
There are essentially three “zones” for development. The first “zone” is the smallest and is what learners can already do in the area they’re developing in. The second is larger and is what learners can do when helped or aided by a “more knowledgeable other”, or someone who already has experience in the field — this is the “Zone of Proximal Development”. The ZPD is finally surrounded by the largest circle, a moat considered to be what learners cannot do. In its most simple form, this common diagram aims to visualize the “brick wall” students hit when learning something new and why more knowledgeable others are necessary to show them the way.
If this seems far too simplified, that’s because it is.
Vygotsky’s theories have been taught over and over again for so many years that they’ve become one of the staple theories in educational education, meaning they get taught and taught and taught even more. The diagram above does not do enough to illustrate the nuances embedded in Vygotsky’s Zone of Proximal Development. Seth Chaiklin’s paper, “The zone of proximal development in Vygotsky’s analysis of learning and instruction” (see here) goes into more depth about Vygotsky’s theories, specifically ZPD. Chaiklin’s paper is well paraphrased by David Didau (see here), but basically there are a few things to consider when looking at the simplified version of Vygotsky’s theory.
First of all, there’s a distinction between development and learning. It’s too semantic to get into here, but for more reading please see Didau’s post and suggested readings. Basically, Vygotsky named it the zone of proximal development, not the zone of proximal learning. This goes against the common misconception that a more knowledgeable other can bring a student from point A to point B in a lesson; instead, the theory seems to suggest that it instead helps students develop in a certain area, which could then help them get from point A to B. But the zone itself is not where students do that kind of A to B learning.
The second thing to consider when looking at Vygotsky’s simplified ZPD is tat there are 3 main assumptions that come with it. Those assumptions are well described by Didau as follows:
1. The generality assumption: that there is a ZPD for learning every different kind of subject matter
2. The assistance assumption: that learning is dependent on support from an expert
2. The potential assumption: that teaching in the ZPD will result in easy or effortless learning.
The first major assumption is that there’s a zone of learning for every subject. Evidently the ZPD is appealing because it makes sense — but it’s not always relevant or possible. This leads into the second assumption, that students always depend on a teacher or expert in the room to learn. If we’ve learned anything from all these Zoom Universities in quarantine, it’s that students don’t absolutely need an expert in the room to learn something new. And the final assumption brings it all together — the ZPD isn’t some kind of magical zone where students suddenly come to understand a topic. Instead, it’s a zone where they have the potential to advance their knowledge, and advancing knowledge is never easy or effortless.
Looking at each of these assumptions and the choice of “development” as opposed to “learning”, it’s easy to see how the ZPD gets boiled down and misconstrued. However, by comparing and contrasting games and their execution of the ZPD, we can see which designs are more effective.
The simplest part of a game that reflects Vygotsky’s ZPD is the beginning tutorial that almost every game has. The irony in simplifying the ZPD to just the tutorials when I just explained how simplifying ZPD is a detriment to the theory is not lost on me. But, for the sake of brevity and discussion, let’s consider the tutorial aspects of games to be operating similar to Vygotsky’s Zone of Proximal Development.
Let’s look at these games, specifically their use of a More Knowledgeable Other, considering of development vs. learning, and if they go with or against and of the assumptions.
The games we’ll consider here are: thatgamecompany’s Journey, Bethesda’s Fallout 4, Cyan Inc.’s Obduction, and finally Galactic Cafe’s The Stanley Parable.If you are unfamiliar with any of the games, there are full, no-commentary walkthroughs of each game at the end of their section (both the walkthrough videos and my post contain spoilers).
Terms
Zone of Proximal Development (ZPD) — The “middle circle” of learning; in between what a learner can already do and what they cannot do; the area for potential in a subject matter. Once they pass through one zone of proximal development, they can enter another to continue to develop.
More Knowledgeable / Capable Other — An expert to help a learner through their zone of proximal development, usually seen as a teacher in a classroom or a tutorial in a video game.
Assumptions about the theory of ZPD (from David Didau (see here))
- The generality assumption —there is a ZPD for learning every different kind of subject matter
- The assistance assumption — learning is dependent on support from an expert
- The potential assumption — teaching in the ZPD will result in easy or effortless learning
JOURNEY | “Thank You For Showing Me”
In this puzzle-solver, players are randomly assigned to play as a pair with another human being and tasked to make it through the desolate deserts and other habitats on their titular journey.
Starting off strong, ZPD is practically a game mechanic in Journey. Without any signposts guiding the way, we instead rely on intrinsic motivation and previous knowledge about gaming that tells us, “Go forwards to find the goal.”
This mixture of intrinsic motivation and lack of guidance puts us right in the ZPD of the game. We know generally what games have asked of us before and we know what we’re capable of, but it’s unclear what this game is asking of us.
When another player joins our game (known as a companion), it’s easy to overlay the metaphor of the More Knowledgeable Other onto them. It’s someone else to help us in our game.
But then we realize there’s absolutely no dialogue or reading in the game, and this leads us to a very unique predicament: since we can’t talk to our companion, how do we know if they know what to do? In the most simple instances, if we don’t know what to do we have to assume our companion does, or that we can at least figure it out together. But we don’t know what our companion’s experience level is.
This collaboration and trust in each other is a great contrast against the standard-taught ZPD: in this instance, it’s unclear who the More Knowledgeable Other is because we can believe our companion is more knowledgeable while at the same time they believe we are more knowledgeable. Regardless, the game goes on and we (eventually) reach the end.
And once we reach the end, we can play again and relive the ZPD but from the other side: after we know all the tricks and layouts of the levels, we have the knowledge we wished we had on our first play through. Then upon playing again, we get paired up with someone entirely new and we can share that knowledge. In learning and collaborating with our companions, we ourselves become the more knowledgeable other.
In this way, the game is the tutorial and the tutorial is the game. The main mechanic in the game is having a companion, so by being showed around by our companion and subsequently showing others around in future journeys, the game becomes much more about the connections we make and less about actual gameplay. This goes against the last two assumptions: learning is not dependent on support from an expert (since we don’t know if our companion is an expert or not), and going through the ZPD is not always easy — there are certainly confusing, scary, and difficult parts of the game, but we persevere nonetheless.
FALLOUT 4 | “Just Start Already”
Bethesda, known for their open-world single-player RPGs, would be the assumed master of the ZPD. With so many games that include countless customization and gameplay mechanics that change with every new title, tutorials in Bethesda titles should be the cream of the crop.
Unfortunately, they’re not. To hightlight this, let’s dive into the tutorial for Fallout 4. In a quick summary, Fallout 4 is an open-world, single-player RPG that takes place many years after nuclear bombs are dropped on our town. We must survive in this new wasteland and choose our adventures.
When the game boots up, there’s an exposition cut scene that fades into character creation. So far, so good — character creation is relatively straight forward, with a bit of UI at the bottom to let us know what we can do to customize our features. Afterwards, we’re let loose — or, at least, it feels like we are. But we aren’t actually. This is where Fallout 4 falls prey to the assistance assumption: the game assumes we can’t learn the mechanics without a more knowledgeable other. So we are contained within our house, waiting for the events of the game to almost happen to us. There are no goals, no tasks. The only thing we can do is walk around the house and practically yell, “Just start already!”
The pacing here is especially lackluster; we can only interact with items and listen to the TV. Our child Shaun starts crying and we see that our house robot takes care of it. Then suddenly, opportunity knocks.
There’s a man at the door, and he’s here to address a “matter of utmost urgency, I assure you.” Great! we think, The game’s about to start! This man’s pitch sounds a lot like exposition, but if that’s what it takes to start the game, then that’s what it takes.
And then there’s yet another pitfall: instead of letting us play the game, we have to do another session of character creation, this time for our skills and abilities. Once that is done, the man at the door ominously congratulates us on being “prepared for the future.” Hopes of finally getting to play the game soar.
But then the door closes, and our hopes with it. We’re again locked in our family home, unable to leave. We have to tend to our baby and have a small conversation with our spouse while asking ourselves, is this the whole game?. Then the tender moment is interrupted by a news broadcast describing nuclear blasts nearby. Then a run sequence, then a bit more exposition and cut scenes…
It’s about 15 minutes until we get our Pip-Boy, a vital tool in the Fallout franchise, and are finally independent in the world of Fallout.
Although there’s definitely something to be said about the exposition this game lays down in the first half an hour of gameplay, it definitely feels more heavy handed than it needs to be. There’s no reason to lock players in their own homes just to get them to complete character creation and give a little bit of exposition. Especially with all the connotations that comes with being a part of the Fallout franchise, players are expecting the open-world experience. That experience includes being able to skip the tutorial at the beginning if they already know what to do, or at least adjust to their knowledge levels. Instead, Fallout 4 assumes every player is starting from scratch, and drags all players through the same set up process.
What’s especially motivating is the fake-out after fake-out, leading us on to think that we can play the game when — nope! — we’re locked in somewhere else, whether it be our house or the vault. Instead of being an enjoyable Zone of Proximal Development with someone guiding us along the way to show us the ropes, the tutorial in Fallout 4 instead becomes a cell where we look out the windows asking, “When will we get to play?”
OBDUCTION / MYST | “I Don’t Know What To Do”
Obduction, from the creators of Myst, is very similar to standard Myst games but with modern graphics and open-world WASD movement. Unfortunately, it makes the same mistakes Myst made.
Myst is famously a puzzle-solving game, with intricate and sometimes frustratingly obscure riddles and puzzles. Although more difficult puzzles would be tolerable if they were skippable, both Myst and Obduction force a linear story — complete one puzzle to move on to the next.
But yet another pitfall for Obduction is the complete lack of a tutorial. Unlike Journey, in which the game is the tutorial (and the tutorial is the game), and unlike Fallout 4 which holds us captive in the tutorial until it decides to let us play, Obduction basically forgets the player is there.
The first scene is a campground where we learn a very small amount of information about the world we’re in — we only learn that these strange balls of light “approached” some named people, but we don’t know why, how, or even who those people are or how they know each other or who is talking to us.
We are quickly transported to a desert-like biome and expected to find our way on our own. No maps nor signposts to be found, not even a HUD.
Then, something that seems like it’ll be a More Knowledgeable Other appears up ahead: a sign that reads “Welcome to Hunrath” with a button that, when pressed, plays a hologram of someone who claims to be the mayor of Hunrath.
The mayor empathizes with us, saying that we’re “most probably a bit confused and disoriented,” and promises that we “aren’t the first ones to go through this experience.” We’re told to follow a path to a white house with a white picket fence which is easy enough to find. This first hologram is promising; this Other understands the confusion we’re in and what kind of information we’ll need to thrive in this world.
There’s another hologram waiting for us at the white picket fence house, but it leaves us even more confused that before:
Hi. Um… I’m Farley. I guess if you’re seeing this then I wasn’t able-[static] [incoherent]… just in case … Welcome, but it’s really not safe… here. To be blunt, we’re getting ready for a battle. I don’t know what you’ll find. I just thought I should... Just be cautious with who you trust. C.W. might be here. Just be careful. I’ve got to go. See you soon. And… Don’t panic. As jarring as this experience is, you really will find Hunrath to be a decent place.
This is not a welcome sign as a player. We don’t know what this game is yet. And being told not to trust people only minutes into the game sows distrust in us from the start — why should we even trust Farley when she says not to trust everyone? Should we have trusted the mayor? Instead of providing scaffolding and instruction to the player, someone to walk with us or a hologram we can trust to help us solve the puzzles we know are coming, we’re instead left hanging, wondering what to do next since Farley didn’t give us any instructions.
This is incredibly de-motivating during game play. Since we aren’t sure what we’re supposed to do, we can spend a frustratingly large amount of time trying to figure out what the game wants us to know. Although this kind of exploration could be incorporated into gameplay, it’s not. There is no real reason to look around the environment because the puzzles need to be solved linearly. We also walk so slowly it’s irritating to wander around only to find out we have to walk all the way back to where we were to continue the game.
Because of the slow walkspeed, lack of a map, and just generally withheld knowledge, this game grinds to a halt. Without a more knowledgeable other in the game, I had to resort to a friend helping me and an online tutorial. This is the same pitfalls the original Myst games fall in to: some of the puzzles are so intricate and the storyline is so linear that one step off the well-trodden path leads to complete confusion and at its most extreme annoyance and closing of the game.
Although some puzzles in this game really shine, it’s difficult to find the motivation to learn how the game is played on your own. It’s difficult to grasp what the game expects us to be able to do and what we’re expected to learn and develop throughout gameplay. What should we be looking for to find a puzzle? What kinds of things should we be taking note of for hints? What are common mechanics in the game and what are their corresponding key presses? All of these questions remain unanswered until the player learns it themselves during an already taxingly difficult game from a historically difficult series of games (Myst).
Learning isn’t always easy, as per assumption 3, and learning isn’t always dependent on a more knowledgeable other, as per assumption 2; but Obduction is a case study in how detrimental it is to gameplay when there’s absolutely no tutorial in a game that asks quite a lot of the player.
THE STANLEY PARABLE | “I Don’t Need To Know What To Do”
If you’ve come this far, welcome. After the three previous game analysis, you may be asking, so then, is a tutorial always necessary? Absolutely not. Enter: The Stanley Parable.
The game is best summarized in its Steam description:
The Stanley Parable is a first person exploration game. You will play as Stanley, and you will not play as Stanley. You will follow a story, you will not follow a story. You will have a choice, you will have no choice. The game will end, the game will never end.
The Stanley Parable is a game where we play as Stanley, exploring the world around us. Though, similar to how the tutorial in Journey is part of the mechanics, the lack of tutorial in The Stanley Parable is part its mechanics.
This game debunks the first two ZPD assumptions, the generality assumption and the assistance assumption.
For starters, the lack of tutorial in The Stanley Parable is precisely part of the gameplay. The whole enjoyment of playing as Stanley is finding out little secrets throughout the game, defying the narrator, and making your own story. If there was a tutorial on how to play the game, it could skew player’s experiences — they might not understand that the core mechanic of The Stanley Parable is to ignore the narrator and break the rules. This would be counter-intuitive to teach in a tutorial because what kind of tutorial would teach you to not pay attention to it? Thus this breaks down the first assumption by illustrating there isn’t always a ZPD for a field of development.
The second assumption, the assistance assumption, is broken down by merely playing the game. As we play we eventually realize that the game never explicitly told us how to play the game, yet we’re playing it anyway. It turns out we didn’t need that paradoxical tutorial after all.
As we play, we learn the dos and don’ts, without anyone explicitly saying anything except the narrator (who often says something for comedic purposes). We learn quickly on our own not to trust the narrator all that much, a stark contrast against Obduction in which we are explicitly told to “Just be cautious with who you trust.”
This game also flourishes against the contrast of Fallout 4’s tutorial. Instead of locking the player in somewhere to give them exposition and character creation, The Stanley Parable spends about a minute and a half giving a quick over view of the story, and then immediately lets us play. Right when the narrator says “[Stanley] got up from his desk and stepped out of his office,” we are able to do so (if we so choose). No fake-outs; we immediately start playing the game. And with no tutorial in sight, we learn on our own, without an Other.
TL;DR | WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?
In the end, Vygotsky’s Zone of Proximal Development is an easy enough theory to understand on its own: we learn better with more experienced help. But in practice, it’s almost never that simple.
The three assumptions highlight the problems with that watered-down version of Vygotsky’s theories: there isn’t a ZPD for every subject, learning isn’t dependent on an Other, and teaching in the ZPD isn’t always easy or effortless.
Looking into the four games Journey, Fallout 4, Obduction, and The Stanley Parable, it’s easy to compare their use or lack of a tutorial at the beginning to the ZPD:
In Journey, the ZPD is part of the game as the story revolves around our experience with a more (or less!) capable other.
In Fallout 4, we see the downsides to a suffocatingly stiff tutorial.
In Obduction, we see the other side of that coin: the downsides to the lack of a tutorial and an Other to show us the ropes.
And finally in The Stanley Parable, we see the strength in the lack of a tutorial, and the satisfaction in learning for ourselves, without an Other.
Overall, Vygotsky’s ZPD is more nuanced than the simple picture of the three zones of development. There are many more facets to its use in the classroom as well as in video games and other media, but by comparing and contrasting various games and their interaction with player’s ZPDs, we can start to get a grasp on what makes dust dust and magic magic.
