Posted on 04/29/2021 5:21:46 AM PDT by MtnClimber
Fear not those who can destroy the body. After Napoleon III banished him from France, Victor Hugo made his home first in Belgium, then in Jersey, and finally on the island of Guernsey, where he completed some of his most famous and resonant works.
Hugo’s was not a complete exile. He wrote prodigiously, continued to receive friends and admirers from the continent, and evidently enjoyed life in the English Channel. But he had lost his position and his home. Such experiences change a person, though not always for the worse. Standing at a remove, Hugo felt that he could see the world and its inhabitants with greater clarity.
“I find increasingly that exile is good,” he wrote in his third year of isolation.
It is as if, without their knowing it, the exiles were near some sort of sun: they mature quickly. These last three years, I feel that I am on the true peak of life; I can distinguish the real lineaments of all that people call facts, history, events, successes, catastrophes—the huge machinery of Providence. At least, for this reason alone, I should thank Mr. Bonaparte who exiled me, and God who chose me. Maybe I shall die in this exile, but I shall die a better man. All is well.
It is unclear just how salubrious an effect the experience actually had on Hugo. It certainly didn’t cure him of his monumental egoism, and his politics post-exile don’t exactly evince perfect moral acuity. But the sentiments here ring true, and they echo through the writings and testimonies of many of history’s exiles and outcasts: that no fate is evil if it is borne well. That suffering, even unjustly, may have some redemptive purpose, and can be cause for gratitude. And that in experiencing loss and isolation, we may occasionally glimpse truths that had been hidden from us. One such insight was displayed prominently in Hugo’s Guernsey home: Exilium Vita Est. Life is exile.
This is easily forgotten when we feel ourselves to be part of the world. When we’re surrounded with friends and family, when we enjoy the esteem of our peers, or when we’re doing meaningful work that we love, we might begin to think that this life is the only one that matters, and that all our striving and all our petty grievances actually amount to something. And so we treat this place as our permanent home, rather than a place of pilgrimage. Sometimes it takes a searing injustice and an abrupt loss—of wealth, position, friends, purpose—to remember that worldly ambitions are all doomed to ultimate frustration. We all realize this fact in death, but by then we are past improving.
My Exile
For me, that forced recollection of earthly impermanence came two years ago. I had a promising career by most measures: At 32, I was a wife and mother of two children, an award-winning documentary filmmaker, and a former advisor at the Canadian foreign ministry. I had recently completed my second Master’s degree, graduating from Oxford University with distinction in International Human Rights Law.
I was also a political candidate, on track to win a seat in the provincial legislature in Alberta, Canada. But my campaign ended abruptly, one month before the election, when a partisan blog published an anonymous accusation that I had “echoed white nationalist rhetoric” in a private, academic conversation years before. In context, I was discussing how policymakers can more effectively address the problem of far-Right radicalism. In my accusers’ telling, I was expressing sympathy with white supremacist terrorism.
It is especially disturbing when the side doing the cancelling is the side with the vile belief system. Judgement day will sort it all out.
Yes, they can. Your soul can be cancelled. All you have to do is compromise with evil. You can’t sorta, just a little bit make a deal with HIM. Any bending of your own principles has opened your soul to ruin.
BeijingBiden’s admin and his goal is a communist state — his CCP masters demand that. Any “unity” with him is an irrevocable step towards cancellation. What you do with your body throws a shade upon our soul.
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