What is it like to be human? | Mario Gerada

In 1974, philosopher Thomas Nagel wrote a seminal paper titled What Is It Like to Be a Bat? His essay explored consciousness and the mind-body problem, arguing that consciousness is not exclusively human. Today, it is more widely accepted that other beings—perhaps even forests— may possess forms of consciousness, intelligence and/or thinking.

Legal language has even adopted the term ‘non-human-person’ to reflect this shift. Indeed, thinking is not exclusive to humans. Artificial Intelligence now challenges even that frontier.

But what does it mean to be human in a world like ours?

Presently, a genocide is unfolding in Gaza—documented, broadcasted, undeniable. Those with the power to stop or even pause it are turning their face away, or worse, applauding.

Archbishop Charles Scicluna condemned the drone attack on the Gaza-bound aid ship operated by Freedom Flotilla, which happened so close to our shores. He called it an “egregious act of aggression”. Shortly thereafter, the Archbishop of Agrigento, Mgr Alessandro Damiano, issued a statement of solidarity. Their moral clarity stands in stark contrast to the silence of many.

Gaza is not alone. There are also ongoing humanitarian crises in Sudan, Ukraine, Yemen, Pakistan, Haiti and many other regions. Condemning one act of violence is not a distraction from others; it is a stance against all violence. That is why public deliberation—moral, civic and political—is so crucial. Silence is complicity.

In the lexicon of René Girard, a philosophical anthropologist who studied violence, there is a fundamental truth: “There is no such thing as ‘good’ violence.” Violence only breeds more violence. It escalates it, becomes contagious and spreads chaos. Violence never resolves violent conflict. This is not an easy truth to accept, especially when faced with imminent harm. So, how does one respond to genocide?

It is also unrealistic to ask those facing annihilation to cling to nonviolence without resistance. The right to self-defence is not morally simple, but it is deeply human. Often, victims of violence take up arms to defend their land and their people from incursion. Yet the aggressor must be held accountable—through sanctions, ceasefire demands and international pressure. War, however, will never build peace. It only entrenches division, radicalises the oppressed and sows the seeds for future violent conflict.

So, is there a way out of the mindset that leads us to war?

Indeed, there is. As idealistic as it may sound, loving one’s enemy is the only path forward. This does not mean tolerating abuse, murder or injustice. It means refusing to dehumanise, even in violent conflict. This is not passive surrender. It is moral resistance.

Returning to Girard: when two ‘brothers’ (or nations) engage in violence, they begin to mirror each other. They become indistinguishable in their hate. He called this ‘undifferentiation’, a loss of distinction in the escalation of mimetic violence. This is the vortex the world seems caught in today.

Humanisation is the only way out.    

On 8 May 2025, Pope Leo XIV greeted the world with the words of the resurrected Jesus: “Peace be with all of you”. Christ, who overcame evil and violence, returned not with vengeance, but with forgiveness, reconciliation and the promise of lasting peace. That luminous peace eventually led to the fall of the ancient Roman Empire, an empire built on glorifying violence. Today’s empires—territorial or digital—are no different.

And so, we are left with a question that feels more urgent than ever: What is it like to be human in the face of such horror? And perhaps even more importantly: What kind of human will I choose to be?

Mario Gerada is head of pastoral care of the Catholic Church's Migrants Commission