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The potters takes great care—but it is an evil care!—to design a useless god from the very same clay that only a moment before had come from the same earth from which the potters themselves also had been taken. It is the same earth to which the potters will one day return when their entire being’s debt has to be paid back. Yet the potters don’t worry that they are going to come down with some terrible disease or even that they will have only a short life. Rather, they spend all their time competing with the goldsmiths and the silversmiths, imitating the bronzeworkers, and thinking it’s the greatest honor imaginable that they spend their lives making counterfeit gods.

10 Their hearts are nothing but rust. Their hopes are more useless than dirt. Their lives are worth less than the clay they mold.

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