In reply to my friends Eric publication, I will write from my own Catholic perspective:
My friend Eric names something deeply true: humanity is sick. We see it in rampant greed, in violence that scars nations and communities, and in the loneliness that isolates so many people. These are not just passing cultural trends but signs of a deeper wound in the human family.
Catholic tradition has a name for this wound: sin. Sin is more than individual failings; it is a condition that affects us all. It fractures our relationship with God and with each other. The Church calls this the wound of Original Sin, which explains why entire nations and cultures can seem swept up in destructive ways of thinking and acting. St. John Paul II even spoke of “structures of sin”—social systems that perpetuate greed, division, and violence.
Eric also speaks of humanity being possessed by something like a “mind-virus,” passed from person to person until whole societies are infected. Catholic teaching does not shy away from this language. Scripture itself warns that “the whole world is in the power of the evil one” (1 John 5:19). The devil is real, and history shows how his influence can twist human hearts and communities.
But Christianity does not leave us with despair. The sickness is real, but so is the cure. That cure is not just moral advice or human wisdom—it is a Person: Jesus Christ. The Son of God entered our wounded humanity, bore the full weight of sin and violence on the Cross, and rose again to open a path of healing. In Him, we see that love is stronger than hatred, forgiveness stronger than division, and communion stronger than isolation.
And this healing is not just a future promise—it is already breaking into our present. At my parish Mass this morning, I witnessed it firsthand. After the liturgy, I found myself beside a friend who is in a wheelchair. Together, we prayed over a woman who is very sick and struggling deeply. It was a simple moment—three people carrying heavy burdens, asking God for help—but in that circle of prayer there was a real sense of Christ’s presence. Despite illness, weakness, and fear, there was also peace, hope, and a shared conviction that none of us are alone. This, in miniature, is the antidote to despair: the Body of Christ lifting each other up in love.
Eric is right to point to wisdom from many traditions calling us back to compassion, empathy, and unity. Catholicism affirms these truths while proclaiming that their fullness is found in Christ. Love of neighbor is not merely an ethical principle but the very life of God poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.
This love is not abstract. History is full of saints who made it concrete: St. Francis of Assisi responding to violence with peace, St. Teresa of Calcutta bringing tenderness to the abandoned, St. Maximilian Kolbe offering his life in place of another at Auschwitz. These lives, along with the small but real moments of prayer, sharing, and mutual support in our parishes today, show that grace is stronger than the “mind-virus” of sin.
The Catholic vision is clear: humanity is broken, but not beyond hope. As St. Paul wrote, “Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more” (Romans 5:20). That is the true antidote to the despair of our age.
