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Dante and Hopkins named it lavishly: Christ’s vita nuova, shared to Easter in us; Ignatius of Loyola called it: magnanimity . . . How could we then, receiving, hoard or dispense it stintingly, like Scrooge before his Christmas haunting?
The Myanmar civil war has left the country devastated. Three years since a military coup, Myanmar is a humanitarian catastrophe. With over 2.7 million people displaced, the UN reported that 18.6 million people need humanitarian aid, 6 million of whom are children. A report from our correspondent in Myanmar.
You open the atlas and run your fingers along the edges of continents, climb mountains, trace valleys, pause at coastlines of sand and wave. This is where you have been and this, fingers arched, is where you want to go. Death is too faint to be seen. Though you know it’s there, the undiscovered country.
‘The loss of memory by a nation is also a loss of its conscience.’ As the loss of conscience grows with each succeeding generation, one day righting the boat on the sea of forgetfulness will become impossible. In the end, what people don’t know, they won’t miss.
In a world grappling with war, inequality, and environmental devastation, can a celebration of sacrifice offer hope? For a secular Australia, the relevance of Lent may lie in bridging the gap between a seemingly dehumanizing act and the profound belief in the preciousness of human life. Can this paradoxical notion inspire action to heal the wounds of our world?
In a recent survey of young Americans, 20 per cent of respondents, aged from 18 to 29, thought that the Holocaust was a myth. If knowledge of history fades into the mist, the space will be filled with ignorance, and worse, wilful malice.
Arguably Australia’s most celebrated living author, Helen Garner has built a reputation as a fearless and unapologetic writer whose work has remained fresh and relevant for over 45 years. We sat down with Helen to explore the challenges of confessional non-fiction, her fondness for church, and her commitment to unsparing self-analysis.
In the gathering days to year’s end, a phrase will rise – as it does every year: Peace on Earth, goodwill to all. The phrase carries a warmth of common humanity. Unfortunately, common humanity has shown itself through history to be rather tribal than universal.
While its virtues are ubiquitously / touted and near-idolized / as advantages in efficiency, / improved contact rapidity, / and enhanced global connectivity, / it takes but one malfunction, / not to mention piracy, / to wake us up to see / the cost is very high for / an increasing faith in / and dependency on / messianic promises and marvels
The First Folio was published in November 1623. Shakespeare didn’t live to see his plays gathered together in the one place. His universe of words, his meteors of wit and description, his galaxy of human frailties and strengths, his shrouds of darkness and rays of light, were collected and bound by colleagues after his death in 1616, aged 52. The world owes them profound gratitude.
I don’t expect to find the leaves of a plant with your name formed by the veins. No god will have gifted you the future as a flower when flowers are losing their footholds.
This November 11, for many at ceremonies around the nation, the clocks will stop, the breath will pause for a minute to remember the dead and injured of war. And like the poppies in Flanders fields, the lists of names of men killed in action continues to grow: in Africa, in Europe and Asia. If history is our teacher, then we are very poor students.