Modern Idols
We don’t worship idols these days—at least, that’s what we tell ourselves. “Our ancestors were misled”, we say. They bowed down to carved images, thinking they had power.
But us?
We just pour our time and energy, our devotion and passion, into inanimate objects. That’s all.
Could that be called worship?
“The blacksmith stands at his forge to make a sharp tool, pounding and shaping it with all his might. His work makes him hungry and weak. It makes him thirsty and faint.
Then the wood-carver measures a block of wood and draws a pattern on it. He works with chisel and plane and carves it into a human figure. He gives it human beauty and puts it in a little shrine.
He cuts down cedars; he selects the cypress and the oak; he plants the pine in the forest to be nourished by the rain.
Then he uses part of the wood to make a fire. With it he warms himself and bakes his bread.
Then—yes, it’s true—he takes the rest of it and makes himself a god to worship! He makes an idol and bows down in front of it!
He says, “Rescue me!” He says, “You are my god!”
Such stupidity and ignorance! Their eyes are closed, and they cannot see. Their minds are shut, and they cannot think…
He never stops to reflect, “How can the rest of this wood be a god?”
The poor, deluded fool feeds on ashes. He trusts something that can’t help him at all. Yet he cannot bring himself to ask, “Is this idol that I’m holding in my hand a lie?”
—Isaiah 44:12–20
We mold and build. Endless hours at the drawing board. Countless professionals punch in overtime to design, construct, and imprint ideas and signals—expressions and calculations—into the objects we place at the center of our lives.
Microchips and oil byproducts run down the conveyor belt. Robots build more robots. Intelligence is somehow infused into inanimate matter. Lights and sounds dance to life. The plastic box is hung on the wall for all to see.
We don’t kneel anymore—we recline.
We don’t bow—we stare.
Full attention, undistracted. The screen has become our altar.
But wait—it carries the virtues and rituals of humanity. Etched into it are images of brilliance and sound. Flashes of communication. Streams of stories, philosophies, knowledge, fables, hopes, and fears.
It is not just entertainment; it is formation.
The mind is crafted. The worldview shaped.
We call it television. The vision told.
And the craftsman is tired.
He labors to make the vision speak.
This broadcast—this feat of human achievement—is deemed worthy of our time. Our loyalty. Our undivided attention. The black plastic, poured and etched from ancient black fluid, forms the frame. It’s filled with circuits of advancement, made to tell the vision.
He sits to rest on furniture made of the same material. Oil. The decomposed remains of life. The gasses from that ancient stench warm his family, cook his food, fuel his car, and power his phone. The same substance fuels his job, his devices, his information, and his entertainment.
The great forges of mankind—factories, industries, endless production lines—are all driven by the same thick black substance: oil.
“Why, it’s just oil. I burned half of it for heat and used it to bake my bread and roast my meat. How can the rest of it be a god? Should I bow down to worship the ancient remains of dinosaurs?”
What value have we assigned to the works of our hands in this age?
Can we compare them to the idols of our ancestors?
The carved figure on a pedestal, the work of a craftsman’s hands—was it really so different? Didn’t it also represent the best of human creativity, passion, and purpose? Didn’t it also become the object of devotion?
And what about us?
Are the same care and complexity once given to carved idols now given to plastic and pixels, to metal and microchips? Have our objects of focus changed in form but remained the same in function?
We may not bow down.
But we do gaze.
We may not pray aloud.
But we believe they’ll deliver us.
What are we holding in our hands?
And is it telling us the truth?
Written by: Gabe Voorhees