Sentences with phrase «narratives about human life»

But more than that, they gave us the starting point for a discussion we intend to keep having on how and why the law is such a comfortable starting place for our narratives about human life.

Not exact matches

But despite MacIntyre's eloquent exploration of what makes a human life coherent, theologians tended to find more compelling what he says about the narrative coherence (or incoherence) of whole traditions.

Gustafson's Christology may not satisfy many creeds and churches, but one suspects that important things remain to be said about his understanding of the narrative pattern of Jesus Christ and how it discloses God's purposes as well as the contours of human life in appropriate relation to God.

The theological entailment of this is that the locus of revelation is not just the event of Jesus Christ or the word about him or, on the other hand, human experience, but is rather the intersection of the New Testament kerygma with the universal archetype of death and resurrection which underlies that fundamental human life rhythm of upset and recovery (Susanne Langer) and which generates comic narratives.

And that's exactly what's great about it: I never felt like I knew where it would go, or that it was straining to fit a traditional narrative structure; I just became absorbed in the daily (and nightly) struggles of this one human life, an almost invisible man in New York City.

In the broadest sense their practice is concerned with the human condition and how it is mediated through the structures, narratives and technologies that govern lived experience, knowing that what constitutes this experience is shifting along with ideas about sovereignty, gender, matter and even sentience itself.

Through the spinning of metonymical visual narratives, Bourgeois» work forms a web of stories about her life that are simultaneously stories about the paradoxes of the human condition and served as a crucible in which a Self - straining towards the nearly impossible yet existentially necessary act of connecting with Others - could be forged out of alienation and personal trauma.

The staged photographs of Skoglund, Cindy Sherman, Spencer Tunick, Carrie Mae Weems and others bring imagined scenes and narratives to life, often speaking to broader truths about the human experience.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,