Let me start with some examples of virtual
versions of real-world activities.
First, consider “Cooking Mama”, a video game in which
one follows procedures to “cook” various dishes. My daughter enjoyed this game
when she was younger, and incidentally learned a few things about what
ingredients go into what. That’s fine. But I would hate for anyone to regard
this as cooking practice. Chopping pretend carrots is very different from
chopping real ones. Safer, of course, but chopping real carrots gives a child
practice in dealing with the physical world--in handling a knife, he judges how
to position food for safe chopping, how much pressure to use, and how to keep
his fingers out of the way. Similarly, while a child can’t get burned sauteeing
virtual onions, neither will he learn how to judge doneness by sight and smell,
nor discover that it matters how much oil is in the pan and how high the heat
is.
Second,
consider computer art programs, which have gotten very good at imitating
the appearance of paint, charcoal, and other media. Digital art is a medium in its own right,
with its own unique possibilities, and worth doing for itself. But it uses
skills different from those required when applying actual pigment to a surface.
Using a paint-tip in an art program does not require a child to judge whether
there is enough—or far too much—paint on the brush. You cannot break a stick of
virtual charcoal by pressing too hard. And while art programs include
techniques not available with physical media such as paint, they also restrict
the child in other ways. She cannot mess
around, applying paint with toothpicks,
sponges, or other objects at hand, discovering new effects in the process. Of
course, she also can’t get paint all over her clothes, the table, and the
bathroom sink.
My third example is pets, which is what
prompted this post. When my daughter was young, Webkinz were popular, and
Tamagotchi, and there seemed to be many games that let you “keep” a virtual
pet. We also had real pets, and I kept noticing the differences between a
virtual pet and a real one. Real pets are messy—sometimes very messy!—and the
consequences of neglecting them more serious. Real pets are also much less
predictable, and this is both good and bad. Good when they do clever, funny
things that we never expected, like meowing when someone sneezes. Bad when they
decide to go outside the litter box, or lick the frosting off the gingerbread
house. Our real pets had personalities and quirks that slowly revealed themselves—one cat
bold and forever searching the floor for crumbs, the other timid and prone to
chewing on things, whether pencils, fingers, or plastic bags. Virtual
pets are tidier, cheaper, and don’t scratch, but they aren't nearly as interesting.
Having considered some of the ways in which
virtual activities differ from their originals, why do I think it matters?
I think it matters because we all need
practice in basic skills in dealing with the physical world. We never know when
we will need them. As adults, we sometimes need to pour a glass of juice
without spilling. We sometimes need to stick things together (tape isn’t always
the answer!). Knives are useful for all sorts of things. We may need to help a
friend paint a room without dripping paint off our brush.
It also matters because any simulation is a
simplification of the real world, and we need to learn to deal with complexity.
Even if we follow a cake recipe strictly, we need to be prepared to deal with real
world factors that don’t show up in the recipe. Some ovens run hot. Different
cake pans may lead to more or less browning. The baking powder might be old.
In the case of pets, there is additional
difference between virtual and real. Real pet care has consequences for a
creature other than oneself. In Sherry
Turkle’s book Reclaiming Conversation,
she touches briefly on robot companions and pets, as well as A.I. therapists—on
virtual relationships, you might say. Her concern seems mainly that conversation
with computers may take the place of conversation with actual people, resulting
in less practice in conversation skills (and so less conversation between
people). Pets don’t talk, so conversation skills isn’t what I’m concerned
about. But there is a relationship between
a real pet and a person. Pets have their own needs, their own preferences, and
part of taking care of them is respecting that. They are also vulnerable—we put
them in situations where they cannot take care of themselves. The guinea pigs
can’t get their own water and greens. The dogs can’t go hunting. Taking care of
a pet is exercising responsibility and practicing some kinds of relationship
skills.**
I started this by asking whether there is
any danger of virtual versions of activities taking the place of their real-world
originals. People are spending a lot more time with computers, but that
doesn’t necessarily mean the real-world activities are being replaced. There also seems to
be a trend toward making activities simpler, easier, and with less clean-up—packaging
art activities with pre-cut bits and easy instructions, offering meals that are half-way prepared to
save time and effort—but even simplified, those are still real-world activities. I don’t know. I
guess time will tell.
Till next post.
**I’m not suggesting every kid needs a pet,
any more than every kid needs to practice painting or cooking. Besides that,
the idea of giving a kid a pet to teach them responsibility leaves out the fact
that parents need to step in as well, lest the pet suffer. Nor is this the
reason people have pets—pets are fun! Pets are (sometimes) cuddly!
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