Roman Building as Bildungsroman

I stumbled onto the top of St. Peter’s, blinded by the sudden light, bitten by the cold, and bruised from the climb. I knew then that something had changed, that I had been reoriented. Maybe one of many the spiral staircases had thrown my inner ear all to hell, but I doubted that. I was in St. Peter’s after all. I had some sense of the day’s significance at the time, but the full implications of the experience are still not apparent to me. Time seemed to stretch on forever and yet seemed to be a blur of motion, the way that each masterpiece seemed to add to me as both a sight to behold and as a message from the past, the artist reaching through time to convey a message.
The meaning of the day began in the Necropolis by looking at the history of the site, examining both the literal and metaphysical foundations of St. Peter’s Basilica. The Roman Catholic Church effectively used this opportunity to flaunt the products of its scholastic tradition, as our guide described how scholars had arrived at the probable location of St. Peter’s grave, the appearance of Constantine’s original monument, and even the likelihood of the bones belonging to a seventy-year old man who died by crucifixion.
As I climbed the staircase I was aware that I was following other’s experience, but I forged my own meaning from it. The energy spent climbing was weirdly invigorating.
I had considered spending a few extra Euros to take the elevator, but the best four Euros I spent in Italy were spent climbing St. Peter’s. Although the elevator was the more expensive way monetarily it was the cheap way emotionally and investing the effort to do things the right way definitely yielded returns.
That day was a true palimpsest, starting the day in the Necropolis and eventually climbing to the top of St. Peter’s. What other vantage enables a person to simultaneously see the human struggles in the streets below as well as the majesty of the mountains on the horizon?