Digital Realms
What if death just didn’t happen anymore?
Think for a moment about how, someday, your thoughts, memories, and personality could all be shifted into some digital entity where you can carry on existence even after your body has died and rotted away. ‘Digital immortality’ was a science fiction pipe dream not too long ago, and now it is very on the brink of emerging as a real scientific field all because of AI, brain-computer interfaces, and neuroimaging. And so, with such a possibility comes a deep human question: even if we CAN live forever through AI, should we?
Digital immortality presupposes the possibility of saving or copying human consciousness through technology. In one of their big science fiction stories, humans would finally upload their minds to a computer, and the late, great, and often not-so-great Canadian comedic actor Leslie Nielsen appears as the computer’s voice. Projects like Neuralink create interfaces between the human brain and digital devices. Humanists are made of flesh and, hence, will grieve at their loss, yet they are asymptomatic and, therefore, best suited to working with ‘grief bots.’ Consequently, it is not uncommon for people who interact with these counselor bots to end up in prolonged, deep conversations with them. Endowed with an impersonation of a real person, it can soothe and greatly comfort a depression-stricken individual.
Only in 2020 did the South Korean documentary Meeting You attract global interest when it introduced the virtual simulation of a dead daughter to a mother’s character. The child’s voice and images were technically re-created through AI and VR tech so the mother could ‘see’ and ‘speak’ to her again. Emotionally influential and ethically controversial—that’s how one would describe such instances, indicating both the emotional power and the moral tension inherent in the digital resurrection.
The technology is in its infancy, but momentum is there. Brain scans are getting more precise. AI language models learn to mimic style and tone. Cloud computing can store vast personal data—it’s enormous. The building blocks for digital immortality are falling into place.
The appeal of digital immortality is obvious. To many people, death is the ultimate tragedy: the separation of connection, wisdom, and identity. Imagine never saying goodbye to someone you love; families will never have to forget again. All that perfect clarity needs only to be maintained. Alzheimer’s patients might have their minds restored digitally. Thinkers, artists, and scientists could keep contributing long after their bodies could not do so.
According to a 2023 Pew Research Center survey of tech optimists, nearly 46% believe advanced AI may one day preserve aspects of human consciousness. Thus, digital immortality is the final gift of technology: to beat time. Society would preserve cultural heritage in ways never before imagined. One could live hundreds of lives in one. Pain and loss, fear of death, could all be made a continuum of creativity and hope.
All pretend to have a right to a life free of death, but all dreams bear a monster in their midst. The primary problem is one of identification. If an individual’s thoughts are put into a machine, what, or whom, has it become? Is it just an advanced replica—a model without a ‘soul’? Surely, it can not be just plain information.
Finally, the most ethical question is: Who owns your digital self? If your consciousness exists on a server owned by a corporation, are you free, or are you just a made product? What happens if your ‘digital self’ is deleted, hacked, or modified?
Even if it is anything to do with inequality—if life is going to be exhorted and only the wealthier will be able to spend hundreds of thousands of pounds to be immortal while others lag behind, is there going to be a new breed of never-dying elites, unfading and unholding power?
Lastly is the cost to the mind. The fact that men die likely makes life meaningful. Would an individual become indifferent, passive, bored, or despondent if he did not have to die? Philosopher Bernard Williams gained fame for his argument in the essay The Makropulos Case that a life without end would eventually become dreary and meaningless. The richness of human experience, he believes, lies in its being finite. Will the absence of death leave a space for the recognition of beauty, love, and urgency?
The aim should not be to live forever but to be remembered forever. Instead of attempting to avoid death altogether, we could likely use technology to sustain parts of ourselves—our voice, our tales, our feelings. Thus, we can accept the humanness of death yet still reach out further than that.
This idea coincides with the concept of “legacy AI” systems retaining a person’s personality and preferences for all future interactions, without claiming to be a full continuation of the self. Digital archives, AI memoirs, or virtual legacies could provide a respectful compromise, not eternal life but meaningful continuity; thus, technologies that could support healing, education, and inspiration without replacing the natural cycle of life and death.
Digital immortality challenges the very foundation of what it means to be human. It promises continuity but threatens identity. It offers hope but raises profound moral dilemmas. While the technology continues to evolve, we must remember that not everything possible is necessarily desirable.
Perhaps the most vital question is not whether we can live forever through AI but whether we should. And in that reflection, we might rediscover what makes our finite, fragile, and fleeting lives so deeply meaningful.
By: Geonhwi Cho
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