Having been here in Rome for ten months now, I feel like I have established something of a rhythm with the city and its people.
It will never feel completely like home, but a level of familiarity has emerged such that I am normally quite happy to return here after periods of travel elsewhere. As with any foreign culture, if you are not prepared to adjust your expectations a bit while you’re here, you’re probably setting yourself up for constant frustration.
Indeed, there is much about life here that even locals joke about, and I am aware of my tendency to include a bit of affectionate teasing of the Italian and Roman ways of life in my correspondence with you all.
However, it would be unfair if my observations about the absurdities of life here were all I ever noted, so let me take this chance to balance the picture somewhat by sharing a few things that I have come to really appreciate about the people and culture of my adopted home.
Perhaps the best way of framing what follows is to begin by highlighting how Italians approach the concept of law, which differs notably from the Anglo-Saxon approach.
For Italians, the law (both secular and religious) expresses an ideal: it provides a vision of the ideal community for all to aim for, but from which many people will inevitably fall short. In contrast, we Anglo-Saxons tend to see the law as a basic minimum standard: whatever else we might do, we must at least obey the law. The main collective purpose of the law for us is basically to ensure that we don’t endanger ourselves or others too much, and to make sure that the bills get paid. It’s simple, achievable, and beyond that we’re on our own in terms of aiming for the higher things in life.
The Italian approach would argue that no law is capable of capturing the myriad complexities of human life. Therefore, they see it as being of greater importance for the law to describe a vision of the virtuous life with all its grand ideals than for it to be rigidly obeyed. For someone used to the Anglo-Saxon approach, the seeming lack of order in the Italian way can seem excruciating at first.
However, while it lacks a degree of immediate precision, it is imbued with a tremendous depth based upon two great insights into the human condition: 1) that without a great vision to inspire us, we have a tendency to settle for the lowest common denominator, and 2) we are fallen creatures and thus we should not be too scandalised when we fail from time to time. Italians have tough laws, but their enforcement is remarkably forgiving (it is no coincidence that their Federal legal office was once known as the Ministry of Justice and Grace).
Whenever I go to an Italian priest for confession I always feel like they want to give me a big consoling hug even before I’ve finished listing my sins.
Now, such an approach is open to abuse, which, among other things, explains the tangled mess that is Roman traffic (I see plenty of traffic police, but I’ve yet to see a single fine given or arrest made).
Yet within its seeming anarchy, even the traffic has a logic to it which becomes quite predictable after a while. I walk through the busiest downtown streets daily, but I’ve yet to witness an accident and I feel perfectly safe crossing the road. There is a surprising patience underlying the surface impatience – for example, cars will dart into an open gap in the traffic flow, but they will always stop for pedestrians once you begin crossing the road (provided you do so with conviction).
Rome certainly has all the chaos of a big, ancient city, with people constantly taking matters into their own hands. And yet, despite the seeming mayhem, the pace of life is actually quite laid-back in its own way. Romans have seen it all before, and they are not easily flustered or scandalised. Anyone trying to knock off a “to-do” list in an afternoon is set for disappointment: it is obvious that capitalism was not invented here, and even now it is represented more by the migrant street-vendors than by the Roman shop owners.
The slower pace of life is not so much a desire to be subversive as it is a simple awareness that there are more important things than money.
Simple things like good food, an afternoon nap, and time for family often take precedence over minor details such as being on time. All aspects of life suggest an element of art, from the famous expressiveness of conversations to the refined craft of a traffic conductor. It is as though a secret musical score keeps the rhythm of the day, prompting the full gamut of emotions.
There is a capacity for great joy and a willingness to argue heartily, often at the same time. And while there is no room for the lukewarm, an impassioned argument can be immediately followed by a genuine smile. Political correctness has little sway, for better or worse. Men are men and women are women. Elders are valued, because the past is valued. The higher things are greatly respected: fine music, beautiful art, goodness, truth, and the quest for spiritual perfection. A humble earthiness is mixed with a passionate longing for the divine.
In short, there is a tremendous realism to life here, conscious of our possibilities for both sinfulness and sanctity – the bloody savagery of the Colosseum, and the soaring grandeur of the Sistine Chapel.
In a word, life here is human, in all its wonderful variety – both the fallen humanity of the prostitute, and the transfigured humanity of the risen Christ.