Sacred & Profane

In 1902, a young American headed to the Vatican to record a voice unlike any other. His subject was Alessandro Moreschi—the last known castrato. That is to say, a man castrated in childhood in order to preserve a high singing voice.

Castrati's high, yet powerful, voices were in constant demand in both sacred and secular spaces across Europe for centuries. We talk to UVA's Bonnie Gordon about how the interpretation of a single biblical passage helped launch that demand, and how their otherworldly voices became a tool for conversion—and the center of a debate about the nature of human bodies and souls.

"He was a time-traveler and a translator. Or more precisely, the act of translating enabled Mira ji to time-travel."

As we work to get our remote studio up and running, we're dipping into our archives to bring you some excellent short audio documentaries by students here at the University of Virginia—including this piece on the Urdu poet Mira ji, whose poetry refused to be confined by religion, gender, or time.

In 1872, an act of Congress transformed newly acquired territory in the American west into Yellowstone National Park. The act declared that the land was "hereby reserved and withdrawn from settlement, occupancy, or sale under the laws of the United States...and set aside as a public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people."And while it was our first national park, Yellowstone draws on much older thinking about sanctuaries. We often use the word sanctuary to talk about places like Yellowstone that have been protected from human development and industry. But it's a word with deep religious roots. Traditionally, a sanctuary is a place that is set apart from daily human life and reserved for the divine.Last winter, we traveled to Yellowstone to explore what happens when a religious idea like sanctuary is transformed into a secular and bureaucratic one. How has "setting aside" this land affected the people and animals who have historically lived within its borders? And can any man-made border keep out the effects of climate change?

Over 2,500 years ago, a victorious army marched through the open gates of the mighty city of Babylon. Soon after came a decree: that all the conquered peoples who had been brought to the city — the people who helped build its magnificent temples, gardens, and palaces — could return to their homelands, to worship their own gods as they saw fit.In the many years since it was written, the edict has been interpreted in many ways: as a sign from God; as the first declaration of human rights; as a savvy piece of political propaganda.How much do the intentions of the person who wrote it matter, over two millennia later?

When Americans think about Austria, it’s easy to fall back on quaint stereotypes — the home of Mozart and The Sound of Music, where people climb and ski the snow-capped alps and still wear lederhosen and dirndls. But Austria, like everywhere else, is much bigger and more complicated than its postcard version. Like many of its neighbors in the European Union, Austria is home to a large number of new refugees from across the Middle East. The new arrivals — and questions of whether they can blend in, and become Austrian — are a near constant topic of debate.How do these questions about who belongs in Austria actually shape someone’s life?Consider Hassan’s story.

West Virginia has been shaped by resource extraction for hundreds of years. First came timber, then coal. These days, it’s hydraulic fracking. And it’s often difficult to hold out when extraction companies come to your area. When a drilling company showed up on their doorstep, a group of Hare Krishna devotees had to make the choice about whether to allow fracking on their land.

2019 marks the 25th anniversary of the genocide in Rwanda, when close to a million people were killed in one hundred days.UVA’s Larycia Hawkins sits down with Christophe Mbonyingabo, who’s been working to repair the rifts caused by the violence in his home country for over twenty years. He worried that after the genocide, Rwandans would learn to tolerate each other, but not truly forgive or trust one another. And so, he set out to see if it was possible to rebuild that trust — if perpetrators could look survivors in the eye and acknowledge what they had done, and if survivors could find a way to forgive.

In the 3rd century BCE, Ashoka Maurya ruled an empire stretching from the Kandahar valley of Afghanistan across most of the Indian subcontinent. It was an incredibly diverse place. His subjects spoke dozens of languages. And their faiths and philosophies were almost as varied: they were Hindus, Buddhists, Stoics, Zoroastrians, and Jains.Eventually, Ashoka began an audacious project: a code of ethics that drew from traditions across the empire, designed to minimize the suffering of both humans and animals. It was a code he said anyone could follow, no matter their religious tradition or station in life.Hosts Martien Halvorson-Taylor and Kurtis Schaeffer sat down with UVA’s Sonam Kachru to discuss Ashoka and his edicts. Plus, we explore how an ancient text became a best-selling comic book — and how these edicts might be applied to our daily lives and current politics.