The Potter and the Clay. Arthur F. Winnington Ingram

Another year, and we are still at War! But we must not mind, for we must see this thing through to the end. As Mr. Oliver said in his letter on "What we are fighting for," published this week: "We are fighting for Restitution, Reparation, and Security, and the greatest of these is Security." He means security that this horror shall not happen again, and that these crimes shall not again be committed; and he adds: "To get this security we must destroy the power of the system which did these things."

Now it is clear that this power is not yet destroyed, and to make peace while it lasts is to betray our dead, and to leave it to the children still in the cradle to do the work over again, if, indeed, it will be possible for them to do it if we in our generation fail.

This book, then, is an answer to the question asked me very often during the past two years, and very pointedly from the trenches this very Christmas Day: "How can you reconcile your belief in a good God, who is also powerful, with the continuance of this desolating War? How can we still believe the Christian message of Peace on earth with War all around?"

It is with the hope that this book may comfort some mourning hearts, and bring some light to doubting minds, that I send forth "The Potter and the Clay."

A. F. LONDON.

Feast of the Epiphany, 1917.

I

Table of Contents

I

Table of Contents

THE POTTER'S VESSEL[1]

"Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear My words. Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels. And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it."—Jer. xviii. 2–4.

I suppose there is no metaphor in Holy Scripture that has been so much misunderstood and led to more mischief than this metaphor of the potter and the clay. Do not you know how, if any of us dared to vindicate the ways of God to men, again and again we were referred to the words of St. Paul: "Who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to Him that formed it: Why hast Thou made me thus? Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?" And so the offended human conscience was silenced but not satisfied. There is no doubt that the monstrous misrepresentation of Christianity which we call Calvinism arose chiefly from this metaphor; and few things have done more harm to the religion of the world than Calvinism. Those who believe that God is an arbitrary tyrant who simply works as a potter is supposed to work on clay, irrespective of character or any plea for mercy—how can such a person love God, or care for God, or wish to go to church or even pray? You cannot do it!

Thus there sprang up in some men's minds just such a picture of God as is described by that wonderful genius, Browning. Some of you may have read the poem called "Caliban on Setebos," in which the half-savage Caliban pictures to himself what sort of a person God is. He had never been instructed, he knew nothing; but he imagined that God would act towards mankind as he acted towards the animals and the living creatures on his island; and this is a quotation from that poem:

"Thinketh, such shows nor right nor wrong in Him.

Nor kind, nor cruel: He is strong and Lord.

Am strong myself compared to yonder crabs

That march now from the mountain to the sea;

Let twenty pass, and stone the twenty-first,

Loving not, hating not, just choosing so.

Say the first straggler that boasts purple spots

Shall join the file, one pincer twisted off?

Say, this bruised fellow shall receive a worm,

And two worms he whose nippers end in red;

As it likes me each time, so I do: so He."

In other words, his picture of God was that of an arbitrary tyrant who rejoiced in his power, who did what he liked, who

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