Imagine walking into a library. From the outside, it doesn’t appear too big.
On the inside, a staircase. It seems to go up many, many more floors than you ever thought the building could house. The walls are hidden behind shelves, shelves filled with leather, leather binding parchment, carefully graced with ink. Every single document carefully categorized, ordered and preserved for your perusing pleasure. This is all the Gods ever learned of their worlds, and all this they did to pass it on.
Hesitantly, you walk up an arbitrary number of floors before walking over to a random section and taking out the first book that catches your eye. Its title doesn’t mean much to you. The introduction refers you to twenty other books, only half of which are even on the same floor. You put it back, wander around a bit, wonder if you should try another one. Committing to the task might mean you’re here forever.
You leave. The only thing you learned, defeat.