Word: soule
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...public decision by Harvard to sell off its holding would embarass both the South African government and the companies and banks that do business with it. That end is defeated when the sale is made privately. It's like humming church music during a rock concert--good for the soul, perhaps, but nobody notices...
...futility of intense soul-searching ultimately turns this guilt to the question of religion--did God create homosexuals as they are? But such an attempt must overcome a hoary stumbling-block of philosophical disputation--the problem of free will versus necessity. A view that sees sexual preferences as determined by the omnipotent creator absolves the guilt and blame attached to homosexuality: all human flesh then fits into the natural order of His creation. But this theological determinism deprives us of our moral worth as human beings--for we have no hand in the choice. Such a different conception...
This dilemma seems to be a preoccupation for Anthony Burgess. A Clockwork Orange, his most famous novel written nearly 20 years ago, involves a furious debate on free will that rages behind the grim plot of a state-financed venture to save the soul of an ultra-violent gangleader. In his latest work, Earthly Powers, Burgess continues this debate through the fictional portrayal of a homosexual author obsessed with the question of human will and its relation to religion. Whereas the earlier book depended on its tersely futuristic narrative and frighteningly gruesome story-line for its remarkable success, the moral...
...hands were being tied behind me, I asked for time to pray. I made a full confession before God, occasionally speaking in French and English to confuse the guards, cataloguing my good and bad deeds and begging him to have mercy on my soul. As they blindfolded me, painful bolts of fear ripped up my thighs into my groin. I had trouble controlling my legs, keeping my balance. "You bastards will burn in hell," I muttered...
Lapotaire renders Piaf, the diminutive poet-songstress of the pre-dawn city blues, with matchless psychological fidelity. She gives us Piaf, whom the French called the Sparrow, as an eagle in courage. She makes us know Piaf soul-seared, the Paris gutter urchin, the cagey whore whom the world came to hold in the embrace of fame but who could not keep her own life from seeping through her splayed fingers, at 47 in 1963 spent by alcohol, morphine, sex and cancer...