Beginning by Being

"Do you wish to be great? Then begin by being. Do you desire to construct a vast and lofty fabric? Think first about the foundations of humility. The higher your structure is to be, the deeper must be its foundation." Saint Augustine

Right before I came to Rome, I spread out a wee pile of books on my bed that I wanted to read or re-discover while I was in Rome. Dante's Divine Comedy, my textbook of Modern Philosophy, the Bible, Flannery O'Connor, Dostoevsky's Notes From the Underground, From the Gulags to the Killing Fields, Alexander Solzenitzen's anthology - they all made it into my suitcase. (All the credit for my newfound fascination with Russia goes to my last job). And then, in the interest of avoiding $250 in overweight fees, they all slowly came out. In my defense, I was planning on buying a new Bible here anyways.

I rationalized that I would have more than enough to do and read in Rome once classes got started. Which is true. But I am deeply grateful for the few that did make it - including I Believe in Love, On the Unseriousness of Human Affairs, and St. Augustine's Confessions. I'll have some more to say about the first two later. But for now, I feel like a proper tribute to Saint Augustine, and the fascinating history surrounding his church in Rome, is due.

I discovered Saint Augustine sophmore year in literature class. I remember the course itself focusing on the more philosophical aspects of his thought: such as why he stole that fruit with his friends when he had no intention of eating it. It's an interesting point of discussion, tied into the investigation of the workings of our will. But me being me, I simply fell in love with his style and his relationship with God. His probing self-analysis, his complete openness and his absolute dependence upon God struck a chord with my melancholic nature in a way that few other authors have. Here was a man who lived deeply, sinned deeply, who loved the wrong things deeply, and then took the sum of that life and transformed it by placing into God's wide hands: and then loved and lived in Him more deeply than ever before. His courage and the immense gratitude that directed his life has been a source of inspiration and joy to me ever since I first read those pages.

I brought out the Confessions on this year's plane ride to Rome, in between "Becoming Jane" and sips of much-needed-sleep-inducing sips of alcoholic content. I've been bumping into him often ever since. His Church in Rome, San Agostino, is located a convenient two blocks behind my school, and has become my favorite local church in Rome.

The ambiance of the shrine is breathtaking: gray stone and muted maroon and green marble; vibrant, lovely paintings and frescos, and a piercing blue celing that rivals that Rome afternoon sky. Being run by the Dominicans, it's one of the few Churches in Rome that feels as if it was constructed yesterday. No grime darkens the loveliness, and the lighting allows you to apreciate the art. On rainy Rome afternoons, the side chapels gleam.

Angels greet you upon entering:



The side chapels (Friday was a particularly gray day):



The side aisles with the sky-blue ceilings, which has to be my favorite architectural element in Rome:



A taste of the color scheme:



The history of San Agostino's parishoners is no less fascinating. According to my trusty Companion Guide to Rome, this church attracted the leading humanists and intellectuals of the 15th century day. Raphael and his crew considered this their home parish, and would attend Mass after they had recovered from "dining out in summer nights in the gardens of their friends. These feasts were renowned for witty conversation, the company of the most beautiful courtesans and extemporised verses and speeches." This period marked a time when humanists and artists blended together, or perhaps attempted to "baptize," pagan characters and Christian figures. "Today these poems read as the most extraordinary mixture of paganism and Christianity, with the Virgin and saints apostrophised as classical goddesses such as Juno or Venus; they were however in accordance with the current of the times and the joy in the newly re-discovered classical idea of beauty." I have to dig up some of those.

Courtesans also made San Agostino's their home parish. This fact was in my mind while I spent some time in the adoration chapel on Friday. Above the tabernacle hangs a painting depicting a saintly figure ascending to heaven to converse with two saints. On earth two figures, that of an annoyed looking devil and a particularly buxom and underclothed woman, look bored wearing chains. I assume the saint is Saint Augustine; I forgot to check the name of the Saint or when the painting was installed. But had it been present during the 15th century, I wonder how the courtesans reacted to it; if they recognized or identified with with the woman in the picture, and in which ways they rationalized their day-job as they came to worship in the church of the Saint who renounced their illicit offerings.

I end this lazy-Sunday-afternoon post with the most hauntingly beautiful passage Saint Augustine penned:

Late have I loved you, Beauty so ancient and so new,
late have I loved you!
Lo, you were within, but I outside,
seeking there for you,
and upon the shapely things you have made
I rushed headlong,
I, misshapen.
You were with me, but I was not with you.
They held me back far from you,
those things which would have no being
were they not in you.
You called, shouted, broke through my deafness;
you flared, blazed, banished my blindness;
you lavished your fragrance,
I gasped, and now I pant for you;
I tasted you, and I hunger and thirst;
you touched me, and I burned for your peace.