Theologically, I'm pretty pessimistic about human nature. Think sin and all that.
I don't believe in human progress -- the idea that human history is headed somewhere great. The Enlightenment notions of being human aren't that great to me. Things aren't generally improving. People, even less so. The real problems of life are intractable and almost completely resistant to our flimsy toys of reason, education, therapy, and whatnot. I'm certain that only thing worth really hoping for is the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.
Temperamentally, though, I'm an outrageous optimist. I won't be lying if I tell you that I have probably felt optimistic about every human being I ever met.
This drives my wife nuts. But it's true. We humans are, to my mind, at best a mixed bag. There's good to be found in the worst of us, and bad to be found in the best of us.
I say these things in order to make something perfectly clear: I'm not usually easily angered or disillusioned by my fellow man (or woman). They don't disappoint me because I expect so little from humans to begin with. Yet they don't disgust me because I assume the best of him/her and am always willing to give them another chance. Nobody is beyond redemption, and nobody is above the need for it. My boundless confidence in these two truths makes me, as a rule, quite agreeable.
And yet.
There's this scene from William Blake:
It depicts that chilling scene in the New Testament where St Paul casually mentions that he has handed a couple of his associates over to Satan (1 Tim 1.20). He instructs the Corinthians to hand a certain troublesome parishioner over to Satan too (1 Cor 5.5).
That's at least three people who were entrusted to Satan's diabolical care. It's a serious business to deliver a fellow human being into the welcoming arms of the Prince of Darkness. I myself have done it on occasion -- and it's no laughing matter, believe me. It kind of enervates the spirit, even though when the moment strikes there's no avoiding it.
Most recently, in fact, I did this today. I want nothing more to do with a certain person. If there were dust on my feet, I'd be shaking it off right now. You can't abuse innocents without drawing my ire. And when that abuse is fragrantly diabolical -- evil! -- you should expect that I'm handing you over to the satan.
I can hear the moralists now. I can guess what they're thinking. That I should stop handing people over to Satan. That I should forgive and forget. Shake hands and make a fresh start and all that. Leave Beelzebub out of it. Hear me, you moralisers! Listen to me! If you insult me, slander me, criticise my haircut and spit in my eye, I will forgive you quick as a flash. If you pounce on me out of the shadows and take my fifty dollar bill, I will never give it a second thought. If you tell me you might possibly have murdered a few people I will still go on believing the best of you. But don't come at an innocent person and abuse them! For when you do these things, you set yourself above the common human lot. And then you force my hand: Because I'm on the side of all humanity. If the gods themselves took your side, I would still be unmoved. I would stand right here -- with humanity; with my neighbors -- against all gods.
You can't abuse someone else and expect me not to hand you over to Satan.