The Bella Figura

Early in the Morning, On the First Day of the Week

It was early in the morning when I left the Villa–my residence, run by a group of Antonine Maronite brothers, who take their origin from the ascetic superhero of early monasticism, St. Antony of the Desert–with three of my schoolfellas. I do not say “fellows”, mind you, for that would betray the dignity of the fairer sex. Let it be “fellas”, therefore. The term, I understand, is a raw and brazen Neologism if there ever was one, which may be ill-received by the parishioners of Our Lady of the Perpetual Polyester Pantsuit. Yet for those with a mind that can yet divide and bring together, the word may be accepted with grace.

So let it be written, so let it be done.

To continue: we had gone out of the gate that separates the monastery from the world, and as we stopped before a storefront window, the most extraordinary of ordinary things happened. Two of my schoolfellas turned to the window, paused, and then nearly simultaneously raised their hands to arrange their hair. At the moment, I had a somewhat cynical thought that storefront windows are doubly a temptation: both in the contents within, and the surface without. But with further reflection, it is a good thing to consider whether or not such actions are mere primpery, or whether they can be justified.

The Bella Figura. Sort Of.

There is a phrase that the Romans use called the bella figura. Essentially, this refers to possessing a sense of aesthetic taste, a natural orientation towards the beautiful which determines what one’s artistic predilections are, and even how one chooses to present themselves. In the latter, the via media of Aristotle is best for determining what we chose to wear: a golden mean between slovenliness and pure aestheticism, both of which are follies. One does not, I believe, have to chose between dressing like a prince or looking like a pauper. Christ did warn us about worrying about what we should wear, after all. But for the laity, who don’t embrace the simplicity of a habit, there should be some attention given to how we dress.

Here I find it helpful to take a lesson from a strange master: Confucius. It is often the case that one can find occasionally helpful things from Eastern philosophy, though only with careful discernment, since nearly every eastern system of belief departs from the five foundations of Western thought.

But to proceed. In the Analects, Confucius describes two aspects of the ideal gentleman, or jenzi. These two aspects are li and yen, the former corresponding to the right moral ordering of the soul, and the latter to having proper manners: the famous Chinese tradition of precise social etiquette. What is relevant to the above discussion is that when discussing yen, Confucius states that observing good manners is an outward manifestation of one’s character. In a sense, one’s morals are reflected in how one acts outwardly. Thus, we can see that this can even be extended to the realm of dress, since choosing to present oneself in an orderly and beautiful (or handsome) way can show something of your character. Although it is not a sure test–remember Willoughby?—this is a matter of importance, even if small.

Santissima Trinita dei Pellegrino

Although I reflected on this thought, it eventually passed like so many others, and together we boarded the bus that would take us across the River Tiber and to the Chiesa della Santissima Trinita die Pellegrino, the Church of the Most Holy Trinity of the Pilgrims, where Holy Mass was being offered in the ancient tongue of the Roman Liturgy. It is a grand church in the best Baroque style, and though somewhat careworn on its exterior, its interior is resplendent with earthly splendor, which through the mercy of God reaching down to earth is made Heaven’s antechamber, for a time.

There were eight side altars, one of which was being used for a Low Mass, and so we entered silently and reverently. We dipped our fingers in sanctified water and crossed ourselves, kneeling before the presence of God. We prayed the Rosary of Our Lady according to local custom, with words and gestures that were familiar but slightly different from what we were used to. The fact that we were able to pray in common with others who would otherwise be strangers is a testimony to the true catholicity of the Church. Immediately afterwards the bell rang, rousing to faithful to attention as the presbyters and those as siting at the altar entered: two dozen priests, a deacon, sub-deacon, and four altar servers. The Mass celebrated was solemn and high, with six candles, each twice the height of a man, lit to indicate that the liturgy would be celebrated in its fullness–the natural fruition of a tradition instituted by Our Lord, passed down to the Apostles, and enriched throughout the centuries by gradual development of its essential form: the Sacrifice of Cavalry made truly present in a real and unbloody manner. The nave was filled with the ancient words of Christian worship, made all the more beautiful by the treasury of sacred chant and polyphony, which resounded throughout the interior.

A.M.D.G.

This is the best example of the bella figura: the outward signs of worship corresponding to the beauty of the Divine reality present in the Mass. This is what the Mass should look like: an icon of the saints about the throne of the Lamb, and for a time, that same reality mystically expressed.