PROMETHEUS There existed, then, in time gone by (for if I begin there it will be easier to see whether I have done any wrong in my alterations and innovations with regard to men) there existed, as I say, only the divine, the heavenly race. The earth was a rude and ugly thing all shaggy with woods, and wild woods at that, and there were no divine altars or temples—how could there be?—or images or anything else of the sort, though they are now to be seen in great numbers everywhere, honoured with every form of observance. But as I am always planning something for the common good and considering how the condition of the gods may be improved and everything else may increase in order and in beauty, it occurred to me that it would be a good idea to take a little bit of clay and create a few living things, making them like us in appearance; for I thought that divinity was not quite complete in the absence of its counterpart, comparison with which would show divinity to be the happier state. This should be mortal, I thought, but highly inventive and intelligent and able to appreciate what was better.