The Scriptures obscurely hint at a catastrophe in heaven among immortal intelligences, by which many of them were smitten down from their radiant emerald thrones.  Their communications on the subject are not specific and unambiguous, and neither can they escape the suspicion of being designedly figurative; intended, probably, as much to veil as to reveal.  One of the clearest statements is made by Jude, where he says:  “And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains, under darkness, unto the judgment of the great day”; and Peter, in like manner, speaks of God sparing not the angels that sinned, “but cast them down to hell”; and yet these comparatively lucid passages suggest a world of mist and shadow, which becomes filled with strange images when we confront the picture, presented by John, of war in heaven, with Michael and his angels fighting against the dragon, “that old serpent called the devil.”  Back of them there doubtless lies a history whose tragic significance is not easily measured.  The sad, imperishable annals of our race prove that sin is a contingency of freedom.  Wherever creatures are endowed with moral liberty, transgression is impliedly possible.  It is, consequently, inherently probable that celestial beings, as well as man, may have revolted from the law of their Maker; and a fall accomplished among the inhabitants of heaven should no more surprize us than the fall of mortals on earth.  Perhaps, after all, there is as much truth as poetry in Milton’s conception of the rebellion, and of the fearful defeat that overtook its leader:—­

                   “Him the almighty Power
  Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,
  With hideous ruin and combustion, down
  To bottomless perdition:  there to dwell
  In adamantine chains and penal fire,
  Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.”

An apostle, admonishing a novice, bids him beware of pride, “lest he fall into the condemnation of the devil.”  Here presumptuous arrogance and haughtiness of spirit are specified as the root and source of the great transgression.  Shakespeare takes up this thought:—­

“Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition. 
By that sin fell the angels:  how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by’t?”

And Milton repeats it in the magnificent lines:—­

                      “What time his pride
  Had cast him out of heaven, with all his host
  Of rebel angels; by whose aid, aspiring
  To set himself in glory above his peers,
  He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
  If He opposed; and, with ambitious aim,
  Against the throne and monarchy of God
  Raised impious war in heaven, and battle proud,
  With vain attempt.”