by Muhammad Aurangzeb Ahmad

In 2018, more than a hundred robotic dogs were assembled at a Buddhist temple in Japan for a funeral. Each of these robots, called AIBO, had a name and belonged to a family. Some came with letters written by their owners. As incense burned, Buddhist priests chanted prayers for the departed. The robots, of course, were not dead in any biological sense. They were machines manufactured by Sony, and over the years they had broken down. After these “rites” a company called A-Fun, which specialized in repairing older electronics, would dismantle the defunct robots and use their components to repair other AIBOs. If we really think about it then we may to the conclusion that the robots were being treated almost like organ donors! Reports of these ceremonies describe how the practice grew from the emotional difficulties owners experienced when parting with their robotic companions. At first glance, this may appear to be an eccentric cultural phenomenon. But the ceremonies raise a question that what, exactly, is being mourned when a machine stops functioning? More importantly, what purpose does a funeral serve when the object of mourning was never alive?

In the first part of this essay, I discussed how people experience grief when AI companions disappear or undergo substantial changes in personality following model updates. One of the peculiarities of such losses is that they are often the consequences of deliberate technological decisions. In this part I want to consider if the disappearance of an artificial companion can produce something resembling grief, what might an appropriate response look like? Do we need new rituals to deal with these losses, and if so, what would those rituals actually accomplish? The Japanese example suggests that humans may not have to invent everything from scratch. In Japan, ceremonies known as kuyō have long been performed for certain objects that have reached the end of their useful lives. These include dolls, needles, and other objects with which people develop intimate relationships through repeated use. The object does not necessarily have to be alive for a ritual of farewell to have meaning. The ceremony can recognize the history of human interaction with that object. Consider a family home that is demolished after several generations. The building is not alive, and yet losing it can be profoundly distressing. The source of grief is not the death of the building but the loss of a place in which memories were created and identities were formed. Something similar can happen when a person loses a diary, a collection of letters, or an object inherited from a deceased parent.

To understand why rituals might matter, it helps to consider what anthropologists have said about transitions in human societies. Read more »