Questions about the effect of games on players and on society tend to omit a critical part of the equation: the people who make them. Erik Wolpaw is one such person. Until earlier this year, he worked as a writer for Valve, the company behind the online game distribution platform Steam as well as games such as Half-Life and Portal 2, which Wolpaw co-wrote.

Game designers, Wolpaw explains, tend to think in terms of making their products entertaining and, in many cases, replayable. Their goal, as straightforward as it may sound, is to make games that people want to play. Discussions about keeping players engaged happen, he says, but "not in a mustache-twirling, how-are-we-going-to-get-people-addicted way. There's a fine line between that psychology and good game design." This was true long before the rise of computer gaming. "People will never stop playing chess, because it's a great game. The discussions I hear are more about how can we keep these games interesting to keep playing."

One way to do that, it turns out, is to give people a sense of earned achievement. "What games are good at—what they are designed to do—is simulate being good at something," Wolpaw says.

A military shooter might offer a simulation of being a crack special forces soldier. A racing game might simulate learning to handle a performance sports car. A sci-fi role-playing game might simulate becoming an effective leader of a massive space colonization effort. But what you're really doing is training yourself to effectively identify on-screen visual cues and twitch your thumb at the right moment. You're learning to handle a controller, not a gun or a race car. You're learning to manage a game's hidden stats system, not a space station. A game provides the sensation of mastery without the actual ability.

"It's a simulation of being an expert," Wolpaw says. "It's a way to fulfill a fantasy." That fantasy, ultimately, is one of work, purpose, and social and professional success.

Discussions about the allure of video games are in some sense discussions of the idea that video games are too much fun, which is another way of saying that they are too well-made. The implication is that designers should place limits on themselves and their products.

"It seems like a dangerous path to go down," Wolpaw says, "that if you're just trying to make the best game that you possibly can, to say, well, we need to make it worse, because this might be too good."

I pose the question of whether video games offer actual happiness or just a pale simulacrum to Wolpaw, who describes himself as having grown up obsessed with games, and who turned that obsession into a job. "This is a philosophical question," he says. "They're certainly pleasurable." And then he pauses for a moment, as if to consider the question further. "I have spent a lot of time making games," he says, "but I have also spent more time playing games. And I don't regret it."