Digital Immortality: Ethics, Avatars & the Future of Legacy

Hello and welcome to IntelligentPod, the show where we dive deep into the ideas shaping our future, one fascinating topic at a time. I’m your host, Sophie Lane. Today, we’re exploring something that sounds straight out of a science fiction novel—but is fast becoming a very real part of our lives: the ethics of digital immortality. We’ll unpack avatars, mind uploads, and the question of what it means to leave a legacy in the digital age. Whether you’re a tech enthusiast, a philosophy buff, or just someone who’s ever wondered what happens to your online presence after you’re gone, today’s conversation is for you. We’ll look at the promises and perils of digital immortality, consider the psychological, scientific, and cultural perspectives, and I’ll share some practical ways you can navigate this brave new world—starting right now. Let’s kick things off with a simple question. Imagine if parts of you—your voice, your memories, even your personality—could live on digitally long after your physical body is gone. Would you want that? Would you want your loved ones to have access to a digital version of you? And if so, what would that really mean, for them and for you? First, let’s clarify what we mean by digital immortality. It’s a broad term, but generally, it refers to the use of technology to preserve, replicate, or simulate aspects of a person’s identity, consciousness, or presence after death. This could be as simple as an AI chatbot that mimics your texting style, or as complex as “mind uploading,” where someone’s entire consciousness is theoretically transferred to a digital substrate. We’re already seeing early forms of this in the real world. There are AI-powered avatars that let you “talk” to a digital version of a deceased loved one. There are services that use your social media history to create a chatbot that texts like you, or even video avatars that can respond to questions at your own funeral. And the market for these services is growing. By some estimates, the “digital afterlife” industry could be worth billions of dollars in the next decade. But the big question is: just because we can, does it mean we should? What are the ethical implications of creating digital versions of ourselves or our loved ones? And how do these technologies challenge our ideas about identity, consent, and legacy? Let’s start by looking at the psychological perspective. For many people, the idea of digital immortality is comforting. It offers a sense of continuity, a way to keep a connection alive with those we’ve lost. I recently read about a woman named Karen who lost her husband unexpectedly. She used an AI chatbot trained on his old text messages to have conversations with him after he passed. For Karen, this was a source of solace. It gave her a chance to say goodbye, to process her grief in a way that felt meaningful. But psychologists warn that this isn’t always healthy. There’s a risk of becoming stuck in a loop, unable to move through the natural stages of grief because the digital presence keeps pulling you back. In 2021, a study from the University of Illinois explored how people coped with grief using digital avatars. Some participants found comfort, while others struggled with a sense of unreality, or even guilt—wondering if they were betraying the memory of the real person. The study concluded that while digital immortality can offer short-term comfort, it may complicate long-term healing. Scientifically, the idea of mind uploading is fascinating—and controversial. Right now, we’re nowhere near being able to fully replicate a human brain digitally. Current AI avatars are more like sophisticated parrots than true copies of a person’s mind. They can mimic speech patterns, recall facts, even simulate certain personality traits, but they don’t “think” or “feel” in the way we do. Still, the rapid pace of AI development means this could change. Some researchers, like Dr. Randal Koene, are working on “whole brain emulation”—the idea of scanning a brain at a microscopic level and recreating it in a computer. If this ever becomes possible, we’d face a whole new set of ethical questions. Would a digital mind have rights? Would it be conscious? And would it truly be “you,” or just a sophisticated copy? Let’s turn to the cultural side. Different societies have different attitudes toward death, remembrance, and legacy. In some cultures, digital immortality might be seen as a way to honor ancestors or keep traditions alive. In others, it could be viewed as disrespectful or even taboo. For example, in Japan, where ancestor worship is an important tradition, digital avatars are sometimes used in ceremonies to “bring back” loved ones. But in other places, the idea of digitally resurrecting the dead may clash with religious beliefs about the soul and the afterlife. There’s also the question of consent. If someone creates a digital avatar of a deceased person without their explicit permission, is that ethical? What if the person would have objected to their likeness being used in this way? In 2019, the pop star Whitney Houston appeared as a hologram in a concert tour, years after her death. Some fans loved it, while others felt it was exploitative—using her image for profit without her consent. And what about privacy? Our digital footprints—photos, texts, social media posts—are being used to train these AI avatars. Who owns this data after we die? Should our families be able to control it, or should it be deleted? Legislation hasn’t caught up with these questions yet, but it’s something we’ll all need to grapple with, sooner rather than later. Let’s zoom in on a particularly interesting academic study—one that really gets at the heart of these ethical dilemmas. In 2020, researchers at the University of Oxford conducted a survey on attitudes toward posthumous digital avatars. They found that most people supported the idea of digital immortality only if the person had given explicit consent while alive. Many also expressed concern about the potential for abuse—like using someone’s digital likeness to spread misinformation, or manipulate survivors. It’s a complex web, isn’t it? On the one hand, digital immortality offers new ways to remember, connect, and even heal. On the other, it raises thorny questions about authenticity, consent, and what it really means to be “alive.” So, what can we do—right now—to navigate these questions for ourselves and our loved ones? Here are some actionable steps you can take: First, think about your digital legacy. What do you want to happen to your online accounts, photos, and messages after you’re gone? Most social media platforms now let you set legacy contacts or memorialize your account. Take a few minutes to explore those settings—it’s an easy way to ensure your wishes are respected. Second, talk with your loved ones about digital immortality. Would you want them to create an avatar or chatbot based on your data? How would you feel about interacting with a digital version of someone you’ve lost? These conversations might feel awkward, but they’re important. Just as we make wills for our physical possessions, we need to plan for our digital selves. Third, stay informed about your rights. As laws evolve, pay attention to what’s happening in your country regarding digital afterlife and data privacy. If you feel strongly about how your data is used, consider putting your wishes in writing—either in a will, or a digital legacy statement. And finally, think critically about the tools you use. If you decide to explore digital immortality options for yourself or a loved one, choose services that are transparent about how they use your data, and that prioritize consent and privacy. As we wrap up today’s episode, let’s return to our opening question: What does it mean to leave a legacy today? For most of human history, our legacies were built through stories, memories, and physical artifacts. Now, technology lets us leave behind digital echoes—versions of ourselves that can speak, write, and even “think” in our absence. Is this a profound way to connect across generations, or a potentially dangerous blurring of the line between the living and the dead? The answer, I think, depends on intention, consent, and respect for the complexity of being human. I’ll leave you with this thought: Digital immortality isn’t just about technology—it’s about what we value, how we remember, and how we care for one another in an ever-changing world. If you found today’s episode thought-provoking, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Please leave a review wherever you get your podcasts—it really helps new listeners find IntelligentPod. For detailed show notes and links to the studies I mentioned, visit intelligentpod.com. And if you have questions, feedback, or your own experiences with digital immortality, drop me a line at sophie@intelligentpod.com. I’d love to continue the conversation. Thank you for joining me on this journey into the ethics of digital immortality. Until next time, I’m Sophie Lane, and this is IntelligentPod—where curiosity meets the future.