In the rapidly evolving landscape of 2026, the finality of death is no longer absolute. A groundbreaking new study published in New Media & Society has cast a stark light on the booming "Grief-Tech" industry, introducing a chilling new economic concept: "Spectral Labor."
As generative AI tools become increasingly adept at synthesizing human likenesses, voices, and personalities, the dead are being conscripted into a digital workforce. From resurrected pop stars performing in holographic concerts to murder victims delivering posthumous political testimonials, the study argues that the deceased are becoming involuntary participants in a data economy that extracts, circulates, and monetizes their digital remains without consent.
Researchers Tom Divon and Christian Pentzold, authors of the study "Artificially alive: An exploration of AI resurrections and spectral labor modes in a postmortal society," warn that we are witnessing a fundamental shift in the ontology of death. It is no longer a cessation of activity but a transition into a passive state of digital servitude.
The term "Spectral Labor" refers to the work performed by the digital personas of deceased individuals. Unlike traditional labor, which involves a transaction of time and effort for compensation, spectral labor utilizes the "digital exhaust" left behind by a person—social media logs, voice notes, photos, and videos—to generate value for third parties.
"The dead become involuntary sources of data, likeness, and affect," the study explains. This phenomenon raises profound questions about agency. When a deceased actor is digitally resurrected to star in a film they never agreed to, or when a grandmother’s avatar is programmed to read bedtime stories to a generation she never met, they are performing labor. The critical difference is that they cannot negotiate terms, refuse the work, or benefit from the proceeds.
This commodification of the afterlife creates a power imbalance where the living (corporations, tech platforms, or surviving relatives) hold absolute control over the digital "souls" of the departed.
Divon and Pentzold’s research analyzed 50 distinct cases across the United States, Europe, and Asia to categorize how AI is currently being used to reanimate the dead. They identified three principal modes of resurrection, each carrying unique ethical weights and societal functions.
The following table outlines these modes, distinguishing their purposes and the specific ethical risks they entail:
| Mode of Resurrection | Description | Primary Purpose | Ethical Risk Profile |
|---|---|---|---|
| Spectacularization | The public re-staging of iconic cultural figures (e.g., musicians, actors) via immersive holograms or deepfakes. | Entertainment & Profit | High: Risk of commercial exploitation and misrepresentation of the artist's legacy. |
| Sociopoliticization | Re-invoking victims of violence or injustice to deliver political messages or posthumous testimonies. | Activism & Commemoration | Medium-High: potential for weaponizing the dead for political agendas they might not have supported. |
| Mundanization | The everyday revival of loved ones through chatbots, voice synthesis, and avatars for personal interaction. | Grief Processing & Comfort | Variable: Risk of psychological dependency for the living and privacy violations for the deceased. |
The "Mundanization" of AI resurrection is perhaps the most rapidly expanding sector. The so-called Grief-Tech market, valued at over $36 million in early 2026, promises solace to the bereaved. Services now offer "digital immortality," allowing users to upload chat logs and voice samples to create interactive "deadbots" that can text, speak, and even video call surviving relatives.
While proponents argue these tools provide closure, the study highlights a darker side. There is a tangible risk of "emotional stalling," where the bereaved effectively outsource their grieving process to an algorithm, potentially trapping them in a loop of denial. Furthermore, the commercial model of these services often relies on subscription fees. This creates a grotesque dynamic where access to a deceased parent or spouse is contingent on a monthly payment, turning the memory of a loved one into a SaaS (Software as a Service) product.
The core ethical violation identified by Divon and Pentzold is the lack of consent. The vast majority of individuals currently being "resurrected" lived and died before these technologies existed. They never opted in.
Legal frameworks are struggling to keep pace. While the European Union’s AI Act and data protection laws like GDPR offer some coverage for the living, the rights of the dead are legally murky. The study advocates for a new legal standard: the "Right to Nominate." This would allow individuals to appoint a "Digital Executor" while they are still alive—a trusted person empowered to decide if, how, and when their digital likeness can be used after death.
Without such frameworks, we risk creating a "digital haunted house" where our online footprints are harvested indefinitely. The researchers note a growing public sentiment for the "Continuity Principle," where users expect their in-life privacy norms to survive their physical death. If you wouldn't want a corporation reading your private messages while you are alive, you likely wouldn't want them training a chatbot on them after you die.
Beyond the legal and economic issues lies a deeper cultural shift. The ubiquity of AI resurrections threatens to erode the very concept of mortality. If everyone can be brought back as an interactive avatar, death loses its finality, and society may lose its ability to process loss.
The study serves as a critical wake-up call for the AI industry. We are building the infrastructure of the afterlife, code by code. As developers and innovators, the responsibility rests on the tech community to ensure that this new digital realm honors the dignity of the deceased rather than viewing them merely as raw material for content generation.
As we move further into 2026, the question is no longer can we bring back the dead, but should we? And if we do, do we owe them a paycheck—or at the very least, a choice?
Elon Musk is seeking between $79 billion and $134 billion in damages from OpenAI and Microsoft, alleging the AI company abandoned its nonprofit mission. The lawsuit, filed in San Francisco, accuses OpenAI of fraud and breach of contract.
