As people in general began to be better educated in the late 1800’s, the intellectuals, feeling that their turf was being trespassed upon, began to refer to people in general as “the masses.” The effect of this term was to dehumanize “the masses,” to whom all manner of unlikeness to the speaker could be attributed. Rick Saenz has been reading about this, and has been reflecting on the equivalent tendency in our day to speak of the Leftists, or the Conservatives, or the racists, or the sexists, or (in general), Those Nuts Over There, and thereby marginalize and dehumanize them in our discourse. Eventually he says (my emphasis),
Outer darkness comes in many forms, and there is no small pleasure to be had in consigning others to it, since it reinforces the idea that God has very strict standards for choosing those He will love—and it’s sweet to have made the cut.
Lately I’ve been exploring the opposite attitude, namely that if it is something that separates me from a (potential) brother—and who isn’t a potential brother?—then it is adiaphora, neither mandated nor forbidden. I don’t want to deal with the difficult cases by dehumanizing them in order to consign them to outer darkness, I want to confront them in their rich, complex, confusing, mixed-bag humanity.
It seems clear to me that the bolded statement is simply false. There certainly are things within any given belief system that are adiaphora, that two men who both orthodox may yet disagree about; and if the two men are equally orthodox, then indeed, anything that separates is adiaphora. If they are imperfectly orthodox (and who isn’t), then their disagreement may be considerably more substantive. If they do not agree about what orthodoxy is, then their disagreement is even more so.
I agree with Rick’s basic point, however—consigning people to “the outer darkness” is a bad thing. My own reflections led me to ask a number of questions. (Please note: I’m not thinking about any specific person in any of these reflections.)
Q1: When can we give up on another’s salvation? In other words, when can we assume that another person is simply, utterly, irrevocably and irredeemably wrong? It’s quite clear that the answer to that is Never, this side of the grave. They might be in grave sin; they might be violently opposed to the Faith; and yet where there’s life, there’s hope. At least one Dominican saint, Blessed Bartolo Longo, was a satanist as a young man.
Q2: When can we assume that someone’s salvation might be in danger? By their public words and deeds. If they are doing and saying things that are objectively sinful, then there is reason to worry. But see Q1. And then, how do I know about their public words and deeds? If I didn’t witness them in person, I should probably take the reports with a grain of salt.
My appropriate response, in this case, ought to be to pray for the individual at the very least. If I’m personally acquainted with the person—if he is my brother in practice as well as in theory—it might be my duty to speak with him. In either case, it will very rarely be my duty to speak about him or his putative sins to anyone else.
Q3: When can we eject someone from our communion? Mr. So-and-So says that he is a member of our church; but his public behavior is a scandal, and he frequently casts doubt in on our church’s teachings. At what point is it reasonable to tell him, “We’re sorry, you’re not a member of our church anymore.”? In the Catholic Church, at least, the answer is, again, Never. Baptism effects an ontological change in the baptized; in a very real way, one can no more cease to be Catholic than one can cease to be human. One can, however be excommunicated, which is different than being cast out of the church. Rather, the excommunicated one is cut off from the sacraments, in an attempt to bring home to them the enormity of their actions, with the intent of bringing about repentance and reconciliation. The goal isn’t to make them go away; it’s to begin a dialog to draw them back in.
Q4: Are we ever justified in casting someone out of our lives? The answer here is Certainly. I can think of two reasons right off of the bat. The first is for the physical and emotional protection of ourselves and our families. I needn’t, for example, invite a registered sex offender into my home to play with my small children. Someone must minister to him; but I need not put myself or my children in jeopardy to do so.
The second is when the personal is an occasion or near-occasion of sin for me. If I cannot speak to the person without becoming enraged, I must avoid him (or, at least, avoid speaking to him). If I cannot hang out with the person without participating in sinful activities, I must not hang out with him. Even in terms of Christian ministry, if I cannot minister to someone without falling into sin, I must let someone else minister to that person. My first duty is to the state of my own soul; Christ won’t ask me to do anything that would lead me astray.
The View from the Foothills 