Unanswered questions and unspoken words are common in grief: A man who has lost his wife may sit by himself in his home and whisper words he never got to say, and a daughter grieving for her father may play back his voicemails to hear his voice again. For centuries, people have used ritual, memory, and reflection to stay connected with the dead. But what if the dead could respond?
In 2020, Joshua Barbeau confronted this very question. After losing his fiancée, Jessica Pereira, he discovered Project December, a website that allowed him to simulate a conversation with her using her previous text messages. When he typed his first message, Jessica responded. Rationally, he knew that she was gone, but the chatbot mirrored her phrases and tone so accurately that it appeared as if she had returned for a brief period. Joshua’s experience was once uncommon, but it is no longer unique today. In China, AI startups are now allowing bereaved families to not only chat with, but also see and hear digital reconstructions of their loved ones, making grieving an interactive experience.
This technology raises profound ethical, economic, and legal issues. First, rather than offering a sense of closure, these simulations may exacerbate the process of grief by prolonging attachment rather than developing acceptance. Aside from these personal implications, the commercialization of digital resurrection has the potential to grow into a billion-dollar industry, posing economic and legal risks involving data ownership, privacy, and the commodification of mourning.
The popularity of these services in China stems from both technological novelty and cultural tradition. Communicating with the dead has long been part of Chinese ancestral worship. During the annual Qingming Festival in April, millions of people visit gravesites to sweep tombs, burn paper offerings, and “communicate” with their ancestors. These traditions maintain a spiritual connection between generations. However, these interactions have traditionally been one-way—the living talk, while the dead remain silent.
Now, AI deepfake avatars are changing this one-sided ritual into something new: A conversation. What was once a symbolic act of memory hhas evolved into an interactive, hyper-realistic experience. Instead of burning paper offerings, some people are now sending messages to AI-generated avatars of their departed loved ones. Rather than imagining an answer, they actually get one. The once-clear distinction between past and present, memory and reality, is fading. Sima Huapeng, the founder of Silicon Intelligence, sees this shift as a natural trend. He compares AI resurrection to other technological developments like portraiture and photography, which transformed how people remembered the deceased. To him, these digital avatars represent a “new kind of humanism,” extending the ways in which people maintain links with the deceased.
Despite the technological marvels, these practices raise significant concerns. One of the most immediate ethical and legal issues is consent. Most people never envisioned a world where their voice, likeness, and mannerisms could be revived through AI long after their death. Unlike celebrities, who may have estates controlling their digital rights, ordinary individuals lack clear legal protections. If someone never gave permission for their data to be used in this way, should their digital resurrection be allowed at all? And even if family members approve, does the right to use your likeness pass onto your next of kin? This issue becomes even murkier when considering cases where AI recreations are made without any legislative oversight. A 2021 study found that 90 to 95 percent of deepfakes online involved non-consensual pornography, often targeting women. While these abuses typically involve the living, the potential for exploitation of the dead looms large. The absence of regulation has led to controversial cases, such as the AI recreation of the late chef Anthony Bourdain’s voice in a documentary, which caused backlash over the lack of disclosure and consent. While some companies promise to remove a person’s data upon request, there are no standardized legal frameworks ensuring compliance.
In response to these potential threats, governments should set clear, enforceable guidelines that require explicit consent, either before death or through a legally appointed representative. Death does not take away a person’s dignity, and the potential for exploitation—whether commercial, political, or personal—is too great to ignore.
Additionally, AI deepfakes of the deceased have deep psychological implications. Grief is a process that requires acceptance, but AI deepfakes blur the line between past and present, making it harder for people to grapple with the idea of death. Philosopher Erica Stonestreet points out that digital resurrection can create a dissonance between reality and memory. “Your parents are not really there,” she explains. “You’re talking to them, but it’s not really them.” This technology may offer temporary relief, but it prolongs the grieving process, making it harder for people to come to terms with loss.
More importantly, the rise of digital resurrection has significant economic repercussions. What began as a niche service for those willing to explore is quickly becoming a mainstream industry, driven by society’s deep desire to reconnect with the deceased. In China, these services are already available for as little as 50 yuan (about $7), making them affordable to a wide range of consumers. However, this economic growth presents additional legal challenges. The commercialization of mourning turns a very personal and sacred experience to a commodity, with the solution to grief marketed as a purchasable service. Companies may emphasize commercial incentives over critical safeguards such as data privacy, consent, and digital identity ownership. Without strict regulations, tech corporations could exploit sorrow for commercial gain.
Digital resurrection provides a glimpse into a future in which grief and technology intersect in unprecedented ways. As these services become more advanced and accessible, they are expected to gain popularity, particularly in societies that already value ancestor veneration. Without proper regulation, the commercialization of grieving could turn into an industry in which tech companies determine how we commemorate the deceased. Instead of providing comfort, digital resurrection could become an exploitative business. In the near future, we may find ourselves in a world where the dead never truly rest and the living never truly move on