The Beauty of Angels
Angels swoon before God — a kind of collapsing charm they have.
Angels are replete with eroticism. Their tears are God’s music, God’s mathematics. And according to Scripture they cannot procreate, nor can they die — so they are dead to orgasm, and alive to eternity: a kind of delicious madness. Too, they are usually pictured flying in a horizontal position; this, as it is difficult to envision eternity from a vertical posture. And their enthusiasm is boundless. Even to think of such enthusiasm (en+ thusia = in Godded) enthuses me with a desire for the same enthusiasm.
In her Dialogues, Mechthild responded enthusiastically to angels. She told them she wanted to kiss God’s soul. God’s response: “And you would have kissed my soul.” Simple eroticism softened by decorum.
Christianity, in general, has responded enthusiastically to angels. Death and heaven are the goal. And the goal contains beauty. And thus, the beauty of its antithesis, Hell. The architectonics of beauty — heaven and Hell, sex and death.
Angels see all of history, all of time, all — but they are on familiar terms with nothing; no anxiety, no fear, no hate, no despair. And all the while, they float in eternal, numinous love. Mankind sees little of history and time, and no part of all, but he knows despair, hate, fear, and scurries futilely after love. And mankind has only a memory of angels. A memory of their beauty — their coruscating pulchritude.
Angels’ hearts are made of music — and music is beauty without melancholy. Angels swoon before God — a kind of collapsing charm they have. They demonstrate that true visions are possible only in the horizontal station. Truth, love, God cannot be faced standing upright. For true voluptuousness is balanced, even. Which immediately intrudes a question: when mystics swoon, do they fall into heaven? When angels swoon, into what further dimension do they fall, as they are already in heaven? Perhaps they fall into pure love.
Angels appear to be uneducated. Yet they speak so eloquently. Inspiration? They have style and flair! But why not? As it must be easy to have glamour with one’s ear glued to God’s mouth. That must explain why some don’t believe in them, because they do not see themselves in the angels’ simplicity. Angels leave such cynics with insufferable regret.
God whispers in the ears of angels. Mankind’s asylums are bursting with those who make similar claims — they confessed that God whispered to them. They heard the Voice of God. Madness is angelic. Forever-renewed visions — God shows Himself through such sensations. A kind of official madness.
Angels and madmen swoon before God; God whispers to them both. I comment on their madness. Without their visions, madmen and angels would merely be commentators. Angels and madmen — two entities pregnant with God. I know of Him, but do not carry Him in my belly.
Angels dream of indiscreet erotic sex in full view of infinity. And they wear coats made of eyes. Look in an angel’s eyes and you will know why they can never die. For eyes see everything. In them are specks of love, which assure us that nothing else matters, or even is.
Angels are not bored — ever. Therefore, they are not self-conscious or vain.
Angels cannot die because they always forgive. Whereas mankind buries his soul in those he has not forgiven. Angels don’t think as we do, for only in mourning is thinking born — and angels never mourn. They just listen to God’s music.
I Peter 1:12 says, “Things on which angels like to gaze.” Or this rendering: “Even angels long to look into these things.”
My question is this: what things? Upon what do angels like to gaze? It must be some form of beauty, must it not? Perhaps Beauty itself — the ultimate Beauty.
There is, in the Greek language, a preposition which bespeaks intermediate agency. It is this agency that the angels like to gaze upon. This agency is agape, the Love of God, God the Lover, and His grace and self-sacrifice, His self for others agenda.
Angels like to gaze upon the incarnation, the power of God in gently transforming a wick-ed human being into the image of God (imago dei), which is a demonstration and concatenation of such power that it diminishes the act of Creation to a trifle. For God spoke a Universe into being by uttering a word. Whereas it takes time, patience and infinite Love to ‘stir up’ and alter the heart of mankind.
They gaze upon mankind. And all because of Love — the energy of Love. Such Love is the apical beauty.
