What’s your ID card number? Your employee code? Student ID? What’s your CGPA? Your years of experience? Or perhaps—how much revenue has your business generated? .. I need to compress your entire identity into a column on a cloud database.
And tell me when was the last time you truly appreciated rain after a long, dry season? When did you stop to notice the colors of a flower, to inhale its scent? Or look up at the sky and wonder—how silent the universe would be without us?
We have learned to live on numbers, metrics, and efficiency. Our identities boiled down to a one-page resume, and our successes are measured by our capability to generate revenue. In this short article, I want to discuss what is wrong, where we went wrong, and provide my take on preserving humanity from the new age transhumans--humans enhanced by robotics.
This is an age-old question, and thousands of philosophers, scientists, and psychologists have tried to answer it but couldn't capsulate humans into a theory. The closest I can get to defining humans is that "Humans are atoms that know they are atoms."
And what differentiates us from any other arrangement of atoms is the mysterious ability to turn chemical reactions into experience. To take the firing of neurons and feel it as sadness, or joy, or awe. We call these raw, subjective experiences qualia: the redness of red, the bitterness of regret, the warmth of sunlight on skin. No equation can describe them. No machine, no matter how advanced, can feel them.
Industrialization gave us progress, but at a cost. Schools began to resemble factories. Workers became part of a production line. Time was no longer fluid—it was segmented, monetized, and optimized.
Science, once a door to mystery and awe, has increasingly become a tool for utility. We’ve gone from asking why the stars shine to calculating how much energy they emit. The enchantment has dimmed. We trust only what we can measure, and we ignore the immeasurable when the beauty and magic lie in the immeasurable.
Differences, which once made us important and valuable, now make systems harder to manage. So instead of embracing complexity, we flatten it. Standardized tests, standard job roles, standard behaviors. Anything messy or deeply individual becomes a “problem” to fix or a checkbox to classify.
Then there’s the money trap—the illusion that success lies in accumulation. We chase wealth like it’s a finish line, only to discover that happiness moves with it. This is the hedonic treadmill: the more we get, the more we want. Satisfaction becomes fleeting, and gratitude becomes rare.
Even Maslow’s hierarchy of needs might have gotten it backward. Why does self-actualization come last? Perhaps it should be the first step. If we began with meaning, we ground life in purpose rather than survival.