Occasionally, Youtube’s suggestions make us come across something worth watching. When I saw the title “Mother meets her deceased daughter through VR technology,” my attention was immediately captivated. Over nine minutes, the video shows a mother interacting with her daughter, Na Yeon, who passed away at the young age of three. A seemingly impossible act now enabled by VR technology. In short, it is heart-wrenching to watch. Many in the comments section spoke about how touched they were and the sympathy they felt for the family. Indeed, to lose a child at such a young age is unimaginable. However, while I could sympathize with the family and appreciate the sentiment being shared amongst the viewers, I couldn’t shake one thought from my mind: was this application of technology a fruitful one, or could it be a foretaste of something toxic?

Death is omnipresent and inescapable. It is the only thing that all of us, sans discrimination, are guaranteed. Yet, knowledge of its inevitability doesn’t seem to bring us much closure. Why do we have such a hard time reconciling with it? It’s because most of the time, our relationship with the person who has passed away runs too deep. When we lose them, we lose a part of ourselves, creating a void that cannot be filled. That sense of emptiness creates a reluctance to accept what has happened until, eventually, we have no choice but to move on. No matter how much we grieve, they’re not coming back. Philosophically, one may argue that we have trouble reconciling with death because of our ignorance and over-attachment to our bodies. As the very opening of Kathopanisad highlights for us, suffering comes to those who fail to remind themselves and realize that they are the Atman – that which is eternal, limitless, and unbound. For a lot of us, our obsession with our bodies makes us think that once the body dies, the person dies. However, if one were to ascertain the knowledge of the Atman, this perception may change. Perhaps the answer is more straightforward. It is easier to reconcile with things that we have experienced ourselves, and none of us have experienced death and lived to tell the other, “hey, it's not so bad.“

Irrespective of the reason for our inability to reconcile with death (something that I will perhaps explore sometime in the future), the point is that eventually, we all have to let go and move on. Holding on to the past creates a vicious tendency to ask “What if…” questions and make self-pitying “if only I…” statements. While it is essential to reflect on what can be learned from the experiences of another’s life and ask ourselves if we treated them fairly and with love and dignity, we must save ourselves from living in hindsight and regret. Death is a reminder to be grateful for what we have and value those while we still have them. It is NOT supposed to be an anchor to the past.

This brings me to the question I asked at the beginning of this blogpost: was the use of VR technology to recreate Na Yeon a fruitful application, or could it be a foretaste of something toxic? Some of you may say, “people need their closure, and when we lose someone well before their time, closure eludes us.” That is true, and VR may help us get the closure we were deprived of. I wonder if that’s what it brought Na Yeon’s mom, Jan Jisung. On the other hand, although it may just be the cynic in me talking, it could also be that such an application of technology only perpetuates our grief and postpones the process of letting go? When we see someone we thought we lost, even if they are now made of algorithms instead of flesh, I can confidently say it will overwhelm us. To be able to talk to them, albeit not feel, would be surreal, so much so, that I fear one may become, for lack of a more delicate word, addicted. By fostering a virtual relationship, we may convince ourselves that the person who passed is not really gone, and in the process, lose sight of what’s real and what’s programmed.

"What's the problem with this?" you may ask, to which I would respond by saying "not a problem, but problems." In essence, we risk losing our reverence for death, and when we lose our reverence for death, we lose our reverence for life. There is no longer a propensity to learn from or honor those who have passed. There is no longer a need to move on and focus on what lies ahead in our lives. There is only self-injurious denial. I can already foresee certain counter-perspectives to my nihilistic take on this video. Some of you may say that this is just a one-time occurrence, or that I have too little faith in humanity to believe that such technology will not be abused. Believe me, I certainly hope that this is only a one-time occurrence. The problem is, all norms began as one-time occurrences until they happened again, and again, and again. As for my lack of faith in humanity, in the wake of ubiquitous violence and exploitation, I can’t say I find my cynicism inappropriate. There are some things that technology should not experiment with, and defying death is one of them.

The question is, with many being in awe of such technology (and I am referring to VR here), where do we draw the line?

By Vyas Nageswaran