When God took possession of the human form, when he appropriated it for his own use, when he placed himself withing it in hypostatic union, he committed an unpardonable offense against justice, good sense, and propriety. Until the end of time, intellectuals will respond with alternating indignation and amusement. There are certain things that are simply not done. Let us therefore plant on the forked gibbet, in the sight of heaven, for the edification of all ages, this transgressor caught in the very act of stealing back a possession we had every reason to regard as exclusively ours.
In procuring from us the means to die, he robbed us of that right to annihilation which, since the original sin, has constituted the most obvious part of our basic capital. He embezzled our funds for his own profit. In one stroke he reclaimed for his Father all that cultivated estate which we considered ours by tenants’ rights, under the terms of a hard-won agreement. This is why he deserved the name of Thief that he himself officially assumed. Is it not written that "He who does not enter... by the door," where the devil mounts guard, "but climbs in by another way is a thief and a robber" (Jn 10: 1)?
Thanks to the complicity of the Virgin, there has been a stealthy raid on our nature. The damage is permanent; henceforth our walls are marred by a crack that for all our industry can never be mended again. "By my God I can leap over a wall," says the Psalmist (18: 30). Our homes are no longer our own.
Paul Claudel (died 1953) was a poet, a playwright, a diplomat, and a member of the French Academy.
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