We are not content to be a fleeting species on Earth; instead, we aspire to become a coexistence of information and consciousness, propagating eternally through the cosmos.

As Artemis II carries its four astronauts toward the Moon, I am struck by a realization: for humanity, the fear of death pales in comparison to the gravitational pull of exploration. Yet, when I look back at my own fields of focus—3D cinema, AI, Brain-Computer Interface (BCI), and robotics—I am suddenly seized by a sense of crisis that borders on collective madness.

We are restructuring ourselves at an unprecedented pace: reconfiguring consciousness with AI to transcend the limitations of thought; leveling the barriers of communication with BCI to decode the very fluctuations of the mind; and fortifying our forms with robotic prosthetics to mock the fragility of the flesh. We engineer genes, design synthetic skin, upload consciousness, and curate the appearance and intellect of the next generation. All of this points to a singular truth: humanity is attempting to overrule the laws of nature, striving for a grand leap from carbon-based life to hybrid intelligence.

As a believer in technology, I find this exhilarating. Yet, as a film director, my ultimate concern lies elsewhere: on the path to divinity, do we still intend to preserve our humanity?

Imagine that day: we sit inside a pod on Earth, our consciousness beamed instantaneously to a Martian base to command legions of robots building a new civilization. Humanity becomes the strategist, the creator, the explorer—served by mechanical swarms. When our consciousness is entirely severed from its biological vessel, running instead on silicon or photonic platforms, will the “we” of that moment still truly be us?

When the physical body is no longer a necessity, how will the concepts rooted in our biological nature—sex, emotion, death, and procreation—be transformed?

Deprived of the surge of dopamine, would we still enjoy the pleasures of intimacy? Without the looming threat of aging, illness, and death, would we still choose to love?

Or is it that, for humanity, the flesh is secondary? That as long as our consciousness persists and our curiosity remains, we are eternally human?

Perhaps I cannot provide the answers now, but the act of asking is vital. We must understand why, at the very moment we gain the power to transcend biological limits, we become so obsessed with defining “humanity.”

I hope this scene never comes to pass: “The moment humanity is about to strip away its biological label, we suddenly look back and realize: the most precious thing was always those painful, chaotic instincts.”

Therefore, we must reflect: in our relentless expansion, are we truly seeking to conquer the vastness of the Universe, or are we searching through the depths of the void to find the self we lost somewhere along the path of evolution?