In the modern, post-Enlightenment world, the word “myth” has suffered a dramatic demotion. In popular conversation, it has become almost entirely synonymous with “falsehood,” “fairy tale,” or “a primitive attempt to explain science.” Consequently, when critics describe the Bible as myth, they often intend it as a dismissal—a way of relegating the text to the dustbin of ancient superstition. In response, religious fundamentalists frequently move in the opposite direction, fiercely defending the strict literal historicity of biblical narratives, fearing that if the stories are “just myths,” they lose all meaning or authority.

But for many historians, philosophers of religion, and historical-critical scholars, calling the Bible myth is not an insult. It is recognition that these texts operate on a deeper level than mere historical reportage. Understanding the true anatomy of myth allows us to stop worshipping the “paper calf” of strict literalism and rediscover why these ancient writings still carry profound existential value today.

“These Things Never Happened, But Always Are”

To recover the value of biblical literature, it is helpful to begin with the 4th-century Neoplatonist philosopher Sallustius. Reflecting on ancient religious narratives, he offered one of the most enduring definitions of myth: “These things never happened, but always are.”

Centuries later, thinkers such as Joseph Campbell and Carl Jung expanded upon similar ideas, arguing that myths function as symbolic maps of the human psyche and existence. In this view, myths were not primarily intended as modern scientific reports or objective journalism. Ancient authors often blended theology, cultural memory, symbolism, politics, and identity into narratives designed to communicate meaning rather than detached historical analysis.

Recognizing mythic structure in biblical literature does not automatically mean every narrative is devoid of historical memory. Many biblical texts likely preserve fragments of real events, social tensions, migrations, political struggles, and communal experiences. Yet historical questions are not the sole source of the text’s significance.

When a story is reduced entirely to the question of whether it happened exactly as written, its relevance can become surprisingly narrow. If the story of Eden is understood only as a literal account of two humans and a talking serpent in ancient Mesopotamia, then it remains little more than a strange event from the distant past.

But when understood mythically—as a story that “always is”—the narrative becomes existentially immediate. The Garden of Eden transforms into an archetypal reflection on the human condition itself: the painful awakening of moral consciousness, the loss of innocence, the burden of freedom, shame, alienation, and humanity’s fractured relationship with the natural world. The story continues to resonate not because it can be placed precisely on a historical timeline, but because its themes unfold continuously within human life.

By loosening the narrative from rigid literalism, the myth becomes less a relic of antiquity and more a living reflection of recurring human experience.

The Danger of the Paper Calf

When modern religious movements insist that the Bible must function as a flawless scientific or historical document, they risk engaging in a form of idolatry: the worship of the “paper calf.” Bibliolatry elevates the physical text—the ink, paper, and literal wording—to a near-divine status, while overlooking the deeper realities toward which the text points.

This approach can make faith remarkably fragile. If belief depends entirely upon the literal historicity of a six-day creation, a global flood, or specific conquest narratives, then every archaeological discovery, geological finding, or scientific advancement becomes a potential existential threat. Faith becomes trapped in an endless defensive battle against modern knowledge.

Approaching biblical literature mythically does not eliminate historical inquiry, nor does it automatically settle theological debates. It does, however, make the spiritual and existential value of the text far less dependent on scientific verification. A poetic reflection on human suffering, mortality, guilt, hope, or meaning cannot be disproven by carbon dating or telescopic observation.

The power of myth lies precisely in its ability to communicate truths that transcend empirical measurement.

The Living Mirror

Reading the Bible mythically also resists theological domestication. Religious institutions have often both preserved and constrained biblical interpretation throughout history. Literal readings can sometimes become tools for enforcing rigid dogma, narrowing the range of acceptable interpretation, and reducing complex texts to simplistic formulas.

Myth, however, resists easy containment. It invites interpretation, wrestles with paradox, and forces readers to move beneath the surface of the narrative. Mythic reading allows the biblical texts to function not merely as rulebooks, but as profound reflections on power, suffering, justice, empire, desire, violence, hope, and the human search for meaning.

Acknowledging the mythic dimensions of the Bible does not diminish its ancient authors. On the contrary, it elevates them. It recognizes biblical writers not merely as chroniclers recording events, but as theologians, poets, philosophers, and storytellers wrestling with the deepest questions of existence. Across centuries, diverse communities shaped these texts into a vast literary tradition capable of expressing humanity’s struggle to understand both itself and the divine.

Ultimately, the Bible still holds immense value not because it functions as a modern textbook of science or history, but because it remains one of humanity’s most enduring mirrors. When we stop demanding that every passage operate as literal reportage, the text becomes free once again to confront readers with the tragic, beautiful, contradictory, and deeply human realities at the center of existence.