Is Finishing a Game Just Another To-Do List Item?

In a world where AI plays our games

Over the past week, I’ve been trying to figure out how I feel about the new Sony patent sweeping headlines—a proposed AI “Ghost” that can literally take the controller from your hands and finish a segment of a game if you get stuck.

On one hand, I am unabashedly pro-accessibility in gaming. The better we can make access to good stories and art, the more on board I am.

On the other hand, in the AI exhaustion of everything ever adding new components in technology that are “AI-powered

” — whatever that actually means — and this feels at first blush like an overstep on the agency of the player.

Less concerning myself with Sony’s role in this, I am more apt to consider my own involvement in using this tool or not.

As a lifelong gamer grown into an exhausted parent, I’ve realized I have a dangerous habit of treating my favorite hobby like a to-do list.

I clear backlogs.
I grind for XP.
I talk about beating a game as if it were an opponent I needed to subdue so I could move on to the next task.

If we accept the conviction that video games are art, full stop, then beating a game is a strange, almost violent concept.

You don’t conquer a Caravaggio.
You don’t finish a poem just to check it off a list.
Art is meant to be sat with; it’s meant to move something deep in us.

When we let an AI ghost play for us, are we only skipping a frustrating jumping puzzle or a difficult boss, or are we skipping the intentional engagement that comes with the struggle? I worry we are trading a soul-level experience for the dopamine hit of a completed objective.

The irritation of being a parent who just wants to see the story is real.

Our time is scarce, and we are worthy of care and rest. But if the goal is just to reach the end, are we actually playing, or are we just consuming?

Underneath this patent is a simple, uncomfortable question:
Is the emotional wake a game leaves in you worth the time it takes to feel it?

I suspect that the moments I spent being hopelessly, frustratingly stuck are actually the moments where the art was doing its heaviest work—forcing me to pay deep attention to a world that wasn’t designed to be efficient.

Maybe finishing a game doesn’t matter as much as we think.
Maybe being stuck is just evidence that we are still here, still feeling, and still alive in the art.