ABSTRACT
His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catatrophe which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, to awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress.
