In 2023, I found an Xbox 360 at my local Deseret Industries. The 360 is a console that lurked in the background of my childhood - from the rumors about the red ring of death I heard on the bus in first grade to playing Halo 4 or Modern Warfare or BattleBlock Theater local multiplayer at friends’ houses, even into high school. The console left an impression, but I never owned one until that lucky day at the DI. I had an extensive backlog of games to tackle, but of course the Xbox 360 store would be there to help me fill in the gaps, right?

It was - for about six months. Then in July of 2024, Microsoft took the Xbox 360 store offline. Games with no physical version and no backward compatibility with later Xbox consoles could no longer be purchased. I can’t say I got the short end of the stick here - backwards compatible 360 games can still be purchased and downloaded to a 360 even now. Plus modern remasters make accessible a plethora of games that would otherwise be lost. But the little games - ones that sometimes had a lot of heart and soul poured into them by a few individuals, perhaps people who have since gone their separate ways or left the industry - many of these are now lost to time.

Very recently, Sony announced the discontinuation of PlayStation disc production, the shutdown of its PlayStation 3 and Vita digital stores, and the revoking of purchases of certain films and TV episodes due to licensing lapses. The truism that “once you put it on the Internet, it’s there forever” does not, it would seem, apply to the games an industry titan releases (nor to the digital purchases you make). Some rumors exist that purport Microsoft will soon discontinue discs for XBOX, though as I write this, they haven't announced formal plans. Nintendo is holding the line for now, having launched most of its major games on Switch 2 physically, but it’s no wonder some question how long they’ll last.

This aggressive defense of profits by Sony, this crippling blow against what some view as art, is disquieting to me. Not surprising, and not personally offensive (I only owned the original PlayStation, none since then), but disappointing all the same. What incredible experiences will I miss because I happen to be financially unable to grab a PS3 or Vita before next July? 

Impermanence is a fact of life; things don't last like we'd like them to. To me, art doesn't feel like something that should need to be lost to time, not in our day with our technology; unfortunately, the economy disagrees. If I am deeply emotionally affected by art, whether that art is a book, movie, or game, I want to share it. And the methods for sharing are much more complicated or controlled when physical media are unsupported and old libraries are permanently prevented from easy new additions.

There are some who may suggest, perhaps with a sympathetic and indulging smile, that an individual is born when they’re born, that we’ve all missed countless literary and theater experiences in the past, and that we must experience the culture and art we can access right now. The next generation, they argue, will have their own games, and there’s a point at which it becomes unjustifiably inefficient to keep selling “retro” games that aren’t bona-fide seminal gaming experiences.

That’s a fair argument if games are primarily a pastime (completely valid way to view them, too). But some games simply can’t be replaced - some have heart and soul imbued within them by passionate creators, transcending the machine code and mechanics and level layouts, instilling real emotions. Not every game tries to be art, but the prospect of losing the ones that do is a haunting one.

Allow me to share my personal view on these efforts of the soul that are lost to time - and please forgive me a little speculation on the state of the soul beyond death. I believe that the games, the films, the epics and sonnets and devotion and good deeds and smiles, the very works of men and women that become hidden - whether by the actions of a company or the simple wear of time - will one day be brought to light. Maybe that’s how we’ll all relax after a hard day of family history work during the Millennium, or maybe it’ll come in eternity. I choose to believe that when suffering ends and the world is at peace, maybe then the songs unsung and the stories unheard will be shared once again, in a torrent of majestic creation that we only see glimpses of in mortality.

You can call this coping - I admit it’s a conception of eternity that leans a little toward materialism. But if it helps me accept that I may not get to every game I want to in this life, and keep enjoying the ones I fill my time with, then I’d argue it’s useful and harmless. And while I firmly believe I’ll have work to do in the next life, I also feel we’ll need to relax - and maybe there’ll be time and means to catch up on the backlog too. Do you think they’ll bring back the disc drives?