In 2020, Kanye West gifted his then-wife Kim Kardashian a hologram of her late father for her 40th birthday. The lifelike hologram delivered the reality TV star a message (written by West) telling her she “Look[ed] beautiful just like when you were a little girl. I watch over you and your sisters and brothers and the kids every day.” Although Kardashian described this as a “memory that will last a lifetime,” reactions online were mixed. Some found the artificial intelligence (AI) technology unsettling, while others criticised the rapper for having the hologram call him “the most, most, most, most, most genius man in the whole world…” Very on-brand for West.

i feel like on days where less news is happening we should be allocated more time to think about that time kanye bought a hologram of kim kardashian’s dead dad and made it say ‘you married the most, most, most, most, most genius man in the whole world, kanye west’

— The author, Séamas O’Reilly (@shockproofbeats) July 5, 2023

Four years later, deepfake technology has advanced significantly, with digital recreations becoming more convincing, and more accessible, than ever before. But, as we enter a world where these digital ghosts are commonplace, we have to consider if this is a healthy way to grieve, or if it’s keeping us trapped in the past.

While technology like this may seem far off, it’s actually already being used. When Marina Smith, co-founder of the National Holocaust Centre and Museum, passed away, her family used the AI tool StoryFile to bring her back in digital form for her own funeral. Created using responses Smith had recorded before her passing, the tool enabled guests to ask her questions about her life and receive video responses as if she were present.

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In China, death has long been a taboo topic. Now, a host of companies want to use generative AI to change how people cope with loss. The rise of services meant to “resurrect” the dead also raise tricky ethical questions: how should people’s likeness and experiences be used, and who should be able to access their digital clones? Reporters: Aowen Cao/NPR & Emily Feng/NPR Producer: @james_hughes_ • James Hughes/NPR

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Similarly, Silicon Intelligence exec Sun Kai built a digital replica of his late mother after she passed away in 2018, allowing him to continue their conversations even after her death. Creating this digital avatar can cost as little as ¥199 (around £22) and needs less than a minute of audio and video of the original person.

The main difference between these two examples—and one of the most pressing ethical concerns surrounding deepfake tech—is consent. When someone is alive, they have the ability to decide how they want to be remembered. But once they pass away, who has the right to recreate them digitally?

In some cases, individuals like Smith have participated in the creation of their digital selves before they died. However, in other cases loved ones make that decision posthumously, raising questions about personal autonomy. Beyond this, if an individual hasn’t participated in the creation of their digital self, it’s impossible to know if it’s an accurate representation of their thoughts or beliefs.

However, tools like this aren’t just unfair to the deceased, they’re also doing a disservice to those grieving. For many, a deepfake avatar of a deceased loved one could offer someone a sense of comfort and help them feel close to those they have lost. The thought of maintaining a connection, even if artificial, can be reassuring. But psychologists warn that such interactions could complicate the grieving process rather than ease it.

A common technique in bereavement therapy involves having an imaginary conversation with the deceased, often introduced late in therapy when the patient is more secure in their loss. This exercise is carefully guided by a professional to help the patient process their emotions in a healthy way and get closure. 

When AI tools allow for spontaneous and ongoing interaction with a digital version of the deceased, there is no psychological oversight. If a person became emotionally dependent on an artificial version of their loved one, it could delay or even prevent emotional healing. 

As these technologies are still so new, there is little research on the potential long-term effects. While there is the potential for some to find closure through AI-assisted conversations when deployed in a healthy and regulated way, others may struggle to move forward, holding onto a digital presence that feels almost real, but is entirely artificial.

These technologies also have the potential to impact how we grieve on a societal level. Our funeral and mourning rituals date back thousands of years, across cultures. From ancient burial sites to memorial services, these practices have helped people honour the dead while finding ways to move forward.

Deepfake technology has the potential to disrupt these traditions. Although it could be argued that these digital ghosts are the next step in our evolving relationship with memory and commemoration—in the same ways photographs, videos and voice recordings have revolutionised the way we remember loved ones—the fundamental difference with deepfakes is that they make it possible to interact with the deceased, creating an illusion of presence.

Having the ability to talk to our deceased loved ones whenever we want could disrupt long-held traditions and not only change the way we say goodbye but permanently impact our broader cultural understanding of death and loss. 

With these technologies continuing to develop, digital resurrection is likely to become more and more widespread. Companies specialising in AI are already exploring ways to refine and enhance these tools, making interactions with digital avatars more seamless and realistic.

However, clear ethical guidelines and regulations are necessary to ensure these recreations are used responsibly, with safeguards in place to prevent exploitations and honour the deceased, rather than distort their legacy.