A balanced view does not dismiss the reality of the supernatural, nor does it indulge in curiosity and unhealthy fascination with the unseen world. Instead it understands that the invisible realm—like the angels themselves—is everywhere present.
I have in my library a book by two heretics. Matthew Fox is an Episcopal priest who was once a Catholic Dominican, and Rupert Sheldrake is a biologist/philosopher. Both teach within the flakey New Age movement. Nevertheless, remembering that heretics are usually half-right as well as half-wrong, their book, The Physics of Angels: Exploring the Realm Where Science and Spirit Meet, offers plenty to ponder.
After an introduction, Messrs. Sheldrake and Fox discuss the angelology of Dionysius the Areopagite, then go on to their most interesting chapter—a discussion of Thomas Aquinas’ teaching on angels, especially his opinion that angels are creatures of light. They find intriguing parallels between Aquinas’ and modern physics’ understanding of the ambiguous qualities of light.
I was reminded of Messrs. Sheldrake and Fox’s book while re-reading C.S. Lewis’ Out of the Silent Planet. In Lewis’ first foray into science fiction, his hero Ransom is kidnapped and taken to Mars to be sacrificed to the members of one of the species there called the sorns. The sorns, like the other inhabitants of Mars, turn out to be benevolent, and Ransom learns much from his conversations with them. In one of the dialogues, the sorn tries to explain the mysterious presences called edila. The edila are the Martian equivalent of angels.
When Ransom says he can’t see them and asks whether they have bodies, the sorn explains that the edila do have bodies, but says that bodies are not so much constituted of matter as they are movement: “Body is movement. If it is at one speed you smell something; if at another, you hear a sound; if at another, you see a sight; if at another, you neither see nor hear nor smell nor know the body in any way.”
Lewis’ sorn, like Thomas Aquinas, uses light as an analogy for angels:
The swiftest thing that touches our senses is light. We do not truly see light, we only see slower things lit by it, so that for us light is on the edge—the last thing we know before things become too swift for us. But the body of an eldil is a movement swift as light; you may say its body is made of light, but not that which is light for an eldil. His light is a swifter movement which for us is nothing at all; and what we call light is for him a thing like water, a visible thing, a thing he can touch and bathe in—And what we call firm things—flesh and earth—seems to him thinner and harder to see, than our light and more like clouds, and nearly nothing.
Lewis has his sorn go on to explain that an eldil moves through physical matter as we might move through a cloud of mist. If someone were to see us step through a bank of fog and not know better he might conclude that we are an ephemeral, insubstantial being and the fog a solid wall, when the reverse is the case. So if we were to see a spirit-being step through a wall, we would think the Spirit being was ephemeral, when in fact for him it is the wall that is nothing but mist. One is reminded of the resurrected Lord who appeared in the room with locked doors.
This discourse on angels echoes a Platonic theme that runs through Lewis’ thought: that the invisible world is not less real than the material world, but more real. Thus, when the children of Narnia witness the end of the world in The Last Battle, they die and embark on a trek up a mountain “further up and further in,” and as they journey into the “real Narnia,” everything becomes increasingly better, more beautiful, more true, and more real. When the traveler from the dead lands steps off the bus in The Great Divorce, he finds himself to be insubstantial compared to the hard reality of the blessed land. There the apples are too heavy to lift. He fears the blades of grass will puncture his feet and the rainfall will hurt his head.
The sorns‘ understanding of angels connects with Thomas Aquinas’ insights and Lewis’ platonic vision of ultimate reality. It also holds hands with an insight from St Therese of Lisieux when she writes, “In heaven every grain of dust is a diamond.” This upside-down cosmos—in which the material realm is mere mist and the invisible realm is solid—should be a constant reminder and inspiration for those who profess the Christian religion.
Too often the modern expression of the Christian faith is distorted either through materialistic assumptions that it is only this physical world that is real, or a superstitious supernaturalism that is enchanted by signs and wonders, overly intrigued by bogus prophecies of the future and distracted by sensational stories of marvelous miracles.
A balanced view does not dismiss the reality of the supernatural, nor does it indulge in curiosity and unhealthy fascination with the unseen world. Instead it understands that the invisible realm (like the angels themselves) is everywhere present. The real, eternal dimension is woven in and through the material realm. Its power is expressed through the gift we call “grace,” and our proper participation in this more-real realm is in the daily practice of prayer, meditation, and the sacramental life.
This essay was first published here in November 2021.
The Imaginative Conservative applies the principle of appreciation to the discussion of culture and politics as we approach dialogue with magnanimity rather than with mere civility. Will you help us remain a refreshing oasis in the increasingly contentious arena of modern discourse? Please consider donating now.
The featured image is courtesy of Pixabay.