If only—if only—the craftsman had made their gods without any form at all, so that they would not have such an obvious proof of their lack of perception. They might then have deceived the simple into supposing that the idols could perceive, if the symbols of the senses—eyes, noses, ears, hands, and mouth—did not lie there motionless, unable to exercise perception or grasp anything perceptible.
As it is, though they have these things, they do not have them; though they stand, they do not stand; and though they sit, they do not sit. For they have none of the activity these things imply. They remain just as the one who fashioned them wished, lying where they were placed, showing no sign of God at all, but appearing wholly lifeless, set there by human art alone.
If only the heralds and prophets of such false gods—I mean the poets and writers—had simply written that they were gods and had not also recorded their deeds, exposing their godlessness and shameful way of life. By the mere name of divinity they might have stolen away the truth—or rather led the multitude away from the truth.
But as it is, when they recount the loves and licentious acts of Zeus, the sexual corruption of boys by the others, the jealous rivalries among the females over pleasure, their fears and cowardice, and their other evils, they do nothing but expose themselves. They show that their stories are not only not about gods, but not even about honorable human beings; they tell myths about shameful people far removed from what is good.
If only—if only—the craftsman had made their gods without any form at all, so that they would not have such an obvious proof of their lack of perception. They might then have deceived the simple into supposing that the idols could perceive, if the symbols of the senses—eyes, noses, ears, hands, and mouth—did not lie there motionless, unable to exercise perception or grasp anything perceptible.
As it is, though they have these things, they do not have them; though they stand, they do not stand; and though they sit, they do not sit. For they have none of the activity these things imply. They remain just as the one who fashioned them wished, lying where they were placed, showing no sign of God at all, but appearing wholly lifeless, set there by human art alone.
If only the heralds and prophets of such false gods—I mean the poets and writers—had simply written that they were gods and had not also recorded their deeds, exposing their godlessness and shameful way of life. By the mere name of divinity they might have stolen away the truth—or rather led the multitude away from the truth.
But as it is, when they recount the loves and licentious acts of Zeus, the sexual corruption of boys by the others, the jealous rivalries among the females over pleasure, their fears and cowardice, and their other evils, they do nothing but expose themselves. They show that their stories are not only not about gods, but not even about honorable human beings; they tell myths about shameful people far removed from what is good.