I've been thinking a lot about death lately. Not in a morbid way, but in the way you do when technology forces you to confront something fundamental about being human. Here at FreeAstroScience, where we unpack complex scientific developments for curious minds, I want to share something that's been keeping me awake at night: we're witnessing the birth of digital necromancy, and I'm not sure we're ready for what it means.
Picture this: Rod Stewart's recent concert in Charlotte, North Carolina, where AI-generated images of deceased rock legends like Ozzy Osbourne, Michael Jackson, and Tina Turner appeared on stage . Some fans called it beautiful. Others found it deeply disturbing. Both reactions, I think, reveal something profound about where we stand as a species at this technological crossroads.
Let me challenge you with three uncomfortable truths that most people aren't discussing about this digital resurrection trend. First, we're commodifying the most intimate human experience—grief—and packaging it as a technological solution. Second, we're creating dependencies on artificial relationships that may prevent us from processing loss naturally. Third, we're witnessing the ultimate expression of our cultural denial of death itself.
But here's what's really happening, and why it matters more than you might think.
The Digital Afterlife Is Already Here
When Alexis Ohanian, Reddit's co-founder, posted an AI animation of his late mother hugging him as a child, he wrote: "Damn, I wasn't ready for how this would feel. We didn't have a camcorder, so there's no video of me with my mom... This is how she hugged me. I've rewatched it 50 times" .
That raw emotion captures something essential about our moment in history. We're the first generation with enough digital remains—texts, emails, photos, voice messages—to create what feels like genuine resurrection . As London-based cyberpsychologist Elaine Kasket explains, "It's vastly more technologically possible now because of large language models such as ChatGPT being easily available to the general public" .
The numbers tell a stark story. In China, creating a digital avatar costs as little as 20 yuan (£2.20), but the market was worth 12 billion yuan (£1.2bn) in 2022 and was expected to quadruple by 2025 . A 2023 YouGov poll found that 14% of respondents would find comfort in interacting with a digital version of a deceased loved one—with younger people showing even more openness to the idea .
We're not talking about science fiction anymore. We're talking about a fundamental shift in how humanity processes death.
The Ancient Hunger for Connection
Michael Cholbi, philosophy professor at the University of Edinburgh, reminds us that "Human beings have been trying to relate to the dead ever since there were humans" . We've created monuments, preserved locks of hair, reread letters. The impulse isn't new—but the technology changes everything.
Louise Richardson from York University explains that bereaved people have always sought to "maintain a sense of connection and closeness" with deceased loved ones . The difference with deathbots? "They can get in the way of recognising and accommodating what has been lost, because you can interact with a deathbot in an ongoing way" .
Think about that for a moment. Traditional grief objects—photographs, letters, personal belongings—remind us of loss while helping us process it. But interactive AI avatars create an illusion of ongoing relationship. They let us ask questions and receive responses, making it feel like the person isn't really gone.
This isn't necessarily healing. It might be the opposite.
The Deception at the Heart of Digital Resurrection
Nathan Mladin, author of "AI and the Afterlife," cuts to the core of the problem: "Digital necromancy is a deceptive experience. You think you're talking to a person when you're actually talking to a machine. Bereaved people can become dependent on a bot, rather than accepting and healing" .
Here's what troubles me most: these digital recreations often present "sanitised, rosy" versions of people . Someone creating a deathbot of their grandmother might exclude her flaws or difficult characteristics. The result isn't a person—it's a idealised fiction that bears little resemblance to the complex human being who actually lived.
We're not just creating digital ghosts. We're creating digital lies.
The consent issue makes this even more troubling. As Kasket points out, "A person who's dead has no opportunity to consent, no right of reply and no control" . Some people are already including clauses in their wills specifically stating they don't want their digital material used after death .
When Grief Becomes a Business Model
The commercialisation of death isn't new, but AI amplifies the risks. Advanced interactive avatars can cost thousands of pounds . In China, funeral operator Fu Shou Yuan International Group claims it's "possible for the dead to 'come back to life' in the virtual world" for about 50,000 yuan per person .
Cholbi warns about "a long history of mis-selling and upselling in the funeral business" , suggesting that grief-tech companies might exploit vulnerable people. When you're mourning, rational decision-making becomes difficult. The promise of digital resurrection can seem like a lifeline, even when it might actually prevent healing.
Beyond Personal Grief: Cultural Implications
The technology extends beyond individual mourning. The UK's National Holocaust Centre launched a project in 2016 to create interactive avatars of Holocaust survivors, preserving their testimonies for future generations . ABBA's digital concert show "ABBA Voyage" makes about £1.6m weekly, demonstrating entertainment applications .
But Mladin sees something deeper at work. He suggests digital resurrection reflects how "traditional religious belief fading, but those deeper longings for transcendence, for life after death, for the permanence of love are redirected towards technological solutions" .
"This is an expression of peak modernity," he says, "a belief that technology will conquer death and will give us life everlasting" .
The Pathologising of Normal Human Experience
Here's what keeps me up at night: we're treating grief as a technical problem requiring a technological solution. Kasket warns about "the way various services selling these kinds of things are pathologising grief" .
"If we lose the ability to cope with grief, or convince ourselves that we're unable to deal with it, we are rendered truly psychologically brittle," she explains. "It is not a pathology or a disease or a problem for technology to solve. Grief and loss are part of normal human experience" .
This strikes me as the heart of the matter. Grief isn't a bug in the human experience that needs fixing—it's a feature that connects us to our deepest humanity. When we try to technological our way around it, we might be losing something essential about what makes us human.
What Lies Ahead
Cholbi suspects there's significant "AI hype" around deathbots . While he acknowledges potential therapeutic applications, he doubts people will sustain relationships with the dead through technology for long periods. "At some point, I think most of us reconcile ourselves with the fact of death" .
But what if we don't? What if we create a society where digital ghosts become preferable to processing loss? What happens to our emotional resilience, our ability to form new relationships, our acceptance of mortality itself?
As I write this from my desk here in Europe, where we've seen too much death and loss in recent years, I find myself thinking about what we're really seeking when we reach for these digital resurrections. Are we trying to heal, or are we trying to avoid the fundamental reality of being human?
The technology will continue evolving—that's certain. But perhaps the more important question isn't whether we can bring back the dead digitally, but whether we should. And if we do, what part of ourselves might we lose in the process?
Grief teaches us about love's permanence even in the face of loss. It connects us to every human who has ever lived and mourned. When we try to shortcut that experience with technology, we might be trading our deepest humanity for the illusion of control over death itself.
What do you think? Are we witnessing technological progress or technological regression disguised as innovation? The conversation is just beginning, and the stakes couldn't be higher.
Keep questioning, keep thinking, and remember—here at FreeAstroScience, we believe the most important questions are often the most uncomfortable ones.
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