Digital Life after Death: Grief Tech or Digital Necromancy?
We are closer than ever to digitally replicating versions of our deceased loved ones with AI...but should we?
Tim Keller wrote a short but profoundly helpful book, On Death, a few years before he passed. In it, he captures the tension of the subject with typical poignancy, describing the reality of death as the “Great Interruption.”
Keller argues that our contemporary culture “is the worst in history at preparing its members for the only inevitability—death. When this limited meaning horizon comes together with the advance of medicine, it leaves many people paralyzed with anxiety and fear when confronted with a dying person” (p. 12). He agrees with Geoffrey Gorer’s classic essay, The Pornography of Death, in which the author suggests that the latter has replaced the former as the new “unmentionable.”
If Keller and Gorer are correct—and I believe they are—what does that mean for society?
Enter “Grief Tech.”
In 2016, aware that his father would soon die from lung cancer, James Vlahos created an AI-powered chatbot replica of him called “Dadbot.” The technology was “able to revive his father’s stories via text messages, audio, images, and video, creating an interactive experience that emulated the unique nuances of an individual.”
After creating Dadbot, Vlahos started a company called HereAfter AI:
This idea isn’t new. In China, undertakers have incorporated AI into their services to allow people to communicate with their deceased loved ones. And that’s just one example; in a Forbes article published in April, Federico Guerrini points to several examples of similar initiatives springing into existence.
Our societal desire is to sweep the uncomfortable, unmentionable realities of death under the rug, and artificial intelligence is another tool to help us do just that. Attempting to create digital facsimiles of our loved ones enables us to soften the painful realities of the grief process.
But is it healthy?
As Christians, what do we do with this? Is so-called “Grief Tech” a useful coping mechanism, or as one writer called it, “digital necromancy?”
I don’t believe the answer is straightforward. As with most complex issues, nuance is critical.
On the one hand, this sort of technology is an advanced form of videography, taking a moment in history and enabling us to enjoy the sense—if not the explicit reality—of those wonderful, God-given relationships again.
It could be a hugely helpful tool to deal with the practical realities of transitioning into widowhood. For example, in my marriage (were I to pass first), I like the idea of a personalized ChatGPT-styled LLM for my wife that has within it all of the practical and administrative information that I’m responsible for in our household.
Imagine if Sharaya could ask, “Where is the information for our mortgage?” or “How did you cook your famously underrated shepherd’s pie?” Okay, the second question might be wishful thinking, but you get the idea. In return, I could wonder how Sharaya cooked everything else or where she’s stored pretty much anything of value that we own. Some security concerns would have to be assuaged (e.g., sharing passwords and sensitive information, etc.), but I could see some real benefits if handled with caution.
On the other hand, there are ethical challenges. Would creating an AI replica be honouring of the unique identity and dignity of a deceased loved one made in God’s image? Could we be at risk of idolizing our loved ones or inhibiting the grief process and the healing that eventually (and sometimes, begrudgingly) accompanies it? By trying to bypass the realities of death or force them under that unmentionable rug, are we diminishing the importance of discussions about eternity, heaven, and hell?
Clearly, there are valid uses and equally valid concerns worth engaging with. Because the concept of “Grief Tech” is so new, I’m not sure I have many concrete opinions yet. What do you think?