Abraham laughed in his mind and sighed in the grief and anger of his soul. "How can something manufactured by my father be his helper? Should the body be subject to its soul, and the soul to the spirit, and the spirit to folly and ignorance?"
He decided to lay his thoughts open before Terah, no matter the cost.
"Father, whichever of these idols you praise as a god, you are foolish. Look at the gods of your brother Haran, standing in the holy temple. They are more worthy of honor than yours. His god Zucheus is made of gold, which people value highly. When Zucheus grows old, he can be melted down and recast. But your god Merumath? He is stone. If he breaks, he cannot be renewed."
Abraham was building a ladder of absurdity, climbing rung by rung.
"And the god Joavon, forged of silver, who stands with Zucheus over the other gods, how much more worthy is he than your Barisat? Barisat was made of wood. Before you carved him, he was a living tree, rooted in the earth, great and wonderful with branches and blossoms. You cut him down with an axe. You shaped him into a god with your craft. And now? His glory has withered. He fell from height to ground, from greatness to nothing. The appearance of his face has vanished."
Abraham drove the final point home: "Barisat himself is burnt up by fire, reduced to ashes, and is no more. And yet you say, 'Today I will make another, and tomorrow he will prepare my food.' He has perished to utter destruction, father."
Gold gods. Silver gods. Stone gods. Wooden gods. Abraham had ranked them all and found every one of them wanting. Even the best of them was nothing more than raw material shaped by human hands.