Saint Augustine discusses the two cities, that of The World and that of God, but they occupy the same place, are co-extensive! We choose our citizenship in one or the other, but we do not relocate. And the City always is referring to Rome, the sack of which, was the initial impetus to the writing of Augustine’s massive work. In Part II, Saint A. finally leaves off trashing the pagans and their stupid arguments for why the Fall of Rome is all the fault of the Christians, and gets down to business:
My task is to discuss, to the best of my power, the rise, the development, and the destined ends of the two cities, the earthly and the heavenly, the cities which we find, as I have said, interwoven, as it were, in this present transitory world, and mingled with one another.
City of God, Part II, Book XI, Chapter I - The subject of the second part: the origins and ends of the two cities.
In his Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, Christopher Marlowe has Mephistopholes advance a similar view of the geography of heaven and hell – they are the same place, but we don’t all occupy them together. “I’m feeling good. I’m in a good place today.” “Oh yeah! Well, I’m right next to you and I feel crappy! Aren’t we in the same place?”
Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed
In one self place, but where we are is Hell,
And where Hell is, there shall we ever be.
And to be short, when all the world dissolves,
And every creature shall be purified,
All places shall be Hell that is not Heaven
Italo Calvino wrote a book called Invisible Cities, and one of them was the City of the Inferno. It too occupied the same place as all the other cities, which is to say, the world. Inferno makes us think of Dante, but his hell was in a specific location and was well mapped.
The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.
Italo Calvino – Invisible Cities
I tend to think that Bob Dylan’s Desolation Row is yet another one of these cities, maybe a city of the self, certainly of the world, and it is everywhere. Desolation Row is not just the Bowery, it is, as they say, a state of mind. Is it someplace you want to get out of or escape to? Not clear, maybe both.
Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row
To Desolation Row – B. Dylan
Finally, we have the City of the Self, the city within. We all live in our own city, of one. Is this city heavenly or hellish? Seems it can be either one. We make the city we live in the city of our self. For some people, living anonymously in the midst of stone and asphalt can be the most beautiful and relaxing state of being; the country subjects us to the hell of other people.
I am going to seek solitude and rustic peace in the one place in France where they exist, in a fourth-floor apartment overlooking the Champs-Elysees.
Stendahl – The Red and the Black
Others, who won’t join the City of God, live in the city of the self that is obsessed with the world. Ahab, the bad king of the Old Testament was one. His modern incarnation sought the world out of obsession with whiteness, and wasn’t he really just self-obsessed? He tries to bribe his crew into joining his metropolis of insanity.
Whosoever of ye raises me a white-headed whale with a wrinkled brow and a crooked jaw; whosoever of ye raises me that white-headed whale, with three holes punctured in his starboard fluke — look ye, whosoever of ye raises me that same white whale, he shall have this gold ounce, my boys! Melville – Moby Dick
But for some, like Starbuck, even as they live their lives in the mini-city of the Pequod, the unfortunate New England whaler, and certainly no microcosm of a City of God, the city of self shows unexpected depths of peace.
And thus, though surrounded by circle upon circle of consternations and affrights, did these inscrutable creatures at the centre freely and fearlessly indulge in all peaceful concernments; yes, serenely revelled in dalliance and delight. But even so, amid the tornadoed Atlantic of my being, do I myself still for ever centrally disport in mute calm; and while ponderous planets of unwaning woe revolve round me, deep down and deep inland there I still bathe me in eternal mildness of joy. Melville – Moby Dick
More at the True Binnacle:
…Amid the tornadoed Atlantic of my being… you can see all the way down to the calm center, where there is no city at all.