In defence of Heaven

He says there can be no high art in Heaven. That Angels cannot think great thoughts because, he says, man must suffer to create art.

“Well we write about beauty and love and happiness. Are these not subjects fit for high art?”, I ask.

“Beauty, love, happiness. What do angels know of those? They live an anaesthetized life. You must know great ugliness to know beauty; loneliness to know love; pain to know joy”, he replies angrily.

“So what do you call beauty? Do you consider my wife beautiful?”, I ask pointing towards my lovely wife, Heavenna.

“That old deformed crone”, he said, laughing, “No. I mean a young, buxom, pretty girl”.

I got quite offended by this, for I love Heavenna and always thought her very beautiful, “Sir, I don’t think that your far less perfect world has made you any wiser. In fact, it’s no wonder that the wisest men of your world shut themselves away in caves and monasteries. You think us lacking but we are not lacking any more than a fish is lacking because it is not a bird. You have no claim to superiority over us. No cause to call us anaesthetized merely because you are so agitated”.

But all of this went completely over his head for he was so sure that his subjective view was the only natural view and he just laughed, “But, surely you can see that this world is sterile and static. Seeking happiness you have forgotten living. You are a dead people”.

“Nonsense!”, I said, for I knew this was just a ridiculous statement to make; my heart full of love and joy though it had felt no pain or sadness until now, “The majority of the people of your world are only as alive as guinea pigs on a treadmill; running away from pain towards a perceived happiness that never comes so that they can turn the wheels that keep the mill owner wealthy. You never know contentment; you constantly desire more and more like someone whose thirst can never be quenched; you value
little that you have because your told constantly what you are and what you have is not good enough. But friend, if you, in your so called world of essential suffering truly understood beauty or love or joy then you would be contented with all the riches you have already; then you would stop turning your hamster wheel and take a look around”.

But he just scoffed and perhaps he was just afraid to let go of his hunger and pain because he’d had it drummed into him for so long that life without these things was sterile and static. Yet my heaven was not static; not while new roses bloomed or autumn leaves fell; its beauty was constantly changing and alive and I tried to communicate that to him.

“You only see my world”, I told him, “As a desert and your world as more colourful and interesting because you do not know the intricacies of heaven. You in your world must be constantly stimulated by shocks and big bangs; you must be constantly excited; entertained and titillated like some inanimate limb that is made to jerk and contract by electricity whereas we learn to contemplate and be receptive to all the wonders of this world. It is not humdrum my friend, it is wondrous; magical and I do not need to be served up cheap thrills on a plate. Your high art is lowbrow; black and white to people who have eyes like prisms and can see all the many colours within white light”.

But he was not listening; he was already distracted by something in his peripheral vision; a dancing corpse that he thought more interesting because of its darkness. It was one of hell’s usual tricks and
though I explained to him that it was just a devils baited hook; he seemed not to care, “Devils; Hell; Darkness. Wow, that’s more like it. That’s exciting. That’s deep”, he said.

“Deep indeed”, I said as he was led further away from heaven into the dark, bottomless pit muttering to himself “…Heaven is just boring. Darkness is way more cool”.