A pause — Beatrice gazes at the central point of light in total absorption, a smile of complete beatitude on her face. Then she speaks, answering Dante's unasked question about the creation. Before space and time existed, God — who is perfect, subsisting love, needing nothing — created the angels out of pure love. Not to add to His own goodness, since nothing can be added to perfection, but so that the light of His being could radiate and be reflected back in love. The creation was instantaneous: form, pure matter (the capacity to receive form), and the union of both — all three simultaneously. The angels were created and immediately loved; some immediately turned away from that love and fell — became the demons. The rest, standing in their love, received grace that confirmed them permanently in beatitude.
Beatrice then rebukes the philosophers who speculate about how many angels exist: Scripture has thousands upon thousands, and more is not said because the number exceeds human numeration. Leave it. Then she turns to preachers. The current state of Christian preaching is abominable: preachers invent fables, play on the crowd's laughter, and consider themselves good preachers if the people leave happy. The Gospel is never mentioned. Indulgences are peddled, which are themselves fraudulent since there is no treasury of the Church's merit — or rather, there is, but it is used to fund wars against Christians. Francis of Assisi would weep. But God's patience is not limitless.