The Potter and His Daughter

Copyright 2014. All rights reserved. You may not reproduce any parts, in any forms, without my permission. 

Cover design: Copyright 2014. Done by me. All rights reserved.                                                         Photo credits for cover: Image of hands- "Handful of Water" by Biswarup Ganguly. Used under Creative Commons license. Modified by me.                                                                                             Image of pot- "Clay pot Cameroon Grasslands" by Ann Porteus. Used under Creative Commons license. Modified by me.        

 ________________                                                                                                                                  A response to Nietzche's Twilight of the Idols. All quotations are from there.                  ________________

The Potter and His Daughter

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 The First Pot

“The real world attainable for the wise man […] he lives in it, he is it […]” (IV 1)     

          The Potter was new to the village and didn’t yet have a water jar for his Daughter to carry to the well. So after he set up his shop and his wheel, he began to work. He could see the image of the jar he was making in his mind’s eye, and as he worked, his deft hands moulded the clay into the form he envisioned. It was a masterpiece, a thing of beauty, and he could see his Daughter proudly carrying it to the well, a gem amongst the rough made jars of the other girls.

            The walls were as thin as parchment, sloping upward, narrowing for the neck, then flaring out, an open greeting to the outside world. He pressed shapes and designs into the clay, which would later be emphasized by the multi-coloured glaze he saw in his vision. And when the jar was finished and fired, he presented it his Daughter.

            The Daughter looked at the jar, and she exclaimed, “The walls are too thin! It will never hold water without breaking!”

            So the Potter took back his masterpiece, his magnus opus, and put it on a shelf in the backroom of his shop, where he would go to look at it from time-to-time, and sigh, remembering the image he had seen of his Daughter carrying it to the well. 

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The Second Pot

“The real world unattainable for now, but promised to the wise man […]” (IV 2)

            It started, once again, with a slab of formless clay. This time, the Potter was sure to make the walls thick enough to hold water. But he could not do away with the image he had seen, and this jar was also a thing of beauty. The walls were not so wide, the neck not so narrow, the spout did not flare out so wide, but its shape was still graceful, still elegant, as his Daughter would look beautiful as she carried it to the well.

            The Potter once again pressed designs into the walls of the jar, images of the sun, and moon, and stars. And the beauty that had been lost in its new, sturdier shape was made up for with the deep colours he used in the glaze. It lacked the delicacy of his first jar, but not the beauty. And when the jar was finished and fired, he presented it to his Daughter.

            The Daughter looked at the jar, and she exclaimed, “I cannot use this jar either! The other girls will see it and laugh and say ‘she has brought a vase, fit only for decoration, and not a water jar’.”