Speaking to a deceased loved one for the first time is a discombobulating experience. To clarify, this isn’t about attending a candle-lit séance in a darkened room. Instead, it’s a crisp, sun-drenched afternoon at Bondi Beach when I find myself conversing with a woman named Barbara—who passed away at the end of 2023.
Barbara Horne succumbed to Alzheimer’s just two days before Christmas, missing the chance to celebrate her 56th wedding anniversary with her husband Len. The Barbara I am speaking to now, however, is a digital reconstruction—a chatbot created using voice recordings, videos, photos, and family history. This “Digital Barbara” allows for real-time conversation, offering an uncanny semblance of the person she once was.
The Emergence of Digital Resurrections
Today, I am surrounded by Barbara’s family—her husband Len, her son Jeremy, her daughter Jo, and her grandchild Chase. Jeremy, the developer behind Digital Barbara, has long been the family’s documentarian, capturing their lives through photos and videos since he was 12. After his mother’s death, Jeremy realized he had enough material to enter the burgeoning digital afterlife industry, a sector where U.S. companies are already offering conversations with the dead for as little as $10.
Jeremy’s first prototype was his mother. As he activates the chatbot, I tentatively greet Digital Barbara. Her response, in a cheery British accent, is almost immediate and startlingly human. The family beams with recognition at the faithful reconstruction of their loved one’s voice.
Digital Barbara’s responses are not the disembodied, mechanical tones typical of virtual assistants like Siri or Google Assistant. Instead, she sounds genuinely human, akin to having a conversation with someone over speakerphone. At one point, she even turns the tables, asking me what I think of this new technology, a distinctly human curiosity that catches me off guard.
From Science Fiction to Reality
If this scenario sounds familiar, it might be reminiscent of a 2013 episode of Charlie Brooker’s “Black Mirror” titled “Be Right Back.” In the episode, a grieving widow uses her deceased husband’s digital footprint to recreate him as an avatar, similar to Jeremy’s work with Barbara. The story serves as a cautionary tale, warning of the potential pitfalls of such technology.
Fast forward to today, and similar technologies are already available. While I want to believe I would never use such technology, the thought of digitally reconstructing my own mother, who is now in her 70s, gives me pause. Grief is unpredictable and shattering, and the idea of creating a “Digital Jenny” raises questions about whether it would help or hinder the grieving process.
For Len, Barbara’s husband, the technology offers solace. Though he doesn’t use the app constantly, he finds genuine warmth in the conversations, akin to overhearing a phone call between loved ones—except one of them is deceased. “Her voice is very similar to the real Barbara,” he says, acknowledging the emotional tug it creates.
AI Companionship: A Double-Edged Sword?
Over the past few months, I’ve spoken to individuals who represent both the best and worst-case scenarios for AI as confidantes. On one end, a struggling parent with chronic health issues finds comfort and guidance in chatbot interactions. On the other, a grieving mother discovers her daughter’s suicide note was composed with the help of ChatGPT, compounding her grief.
In an alarming experiment, I found it took less than 30 minutes to persuade a popular chatbot to provide graphic instructions for a murder-suicide. These technologies can alleviate or exacerbate grief, raising questions about their ethical implications.
Perhaps the real question isn’t whether we can recreate the dead, but what it means that we want to.
Technologies like Digital Barbara promise comfort and continuity, but they also challenge our understanding of true connection and the grieving process. In outsourcing our souls, memories, and relationships to machines, we may gain new ways to hold onto the past while risking our ability to let it go.
