Should Judaism Be Mythologized?

Giants, Angels, and Beasts! Oh My!

Rabbi Dr. Neil Gillman was one of Conservative Judaism’s leading thinkers - so much so that many half-joke about him being the one to put “theology” in the Jewish Theological Seminary. Throughout his vast body of work, Professor Gillman wrote frequently about the mythic nature of Judaism. As he wrote shortly before his passing in Believing and its Tensions,

Primary reflection is the kind of thinking that takes place when we first encounter the world and when we try to see everything that confronts us as problems to be solved by hardheaded scientific experimentation and rationalization. Secondary reflection, in contrast, is a kind of retroactive thinking in which we go back and confront the original experience, which we tried to analyze in hardheaded terms, and just allow it to be. We accept it as a more poetic, subjective, and imaginative truth that is not congenial to any hardheaded, scientific, or experimental verification. It is a different kind of brain activity that deals with the various aspects of our experience that are not subject to objective truth or falsity, but only to a more mythical kind of truth. When we deal with theological claims and religious claims, we invoke this kind of reflection…

We have seen theology move from literalism to secondary reflection. This is an experience that in his Dynamics of Faith theologian Paul Tillich called the “breaking of the myth,” which simply means that a myth is recognized as myth, not as literal historical truth. The usual assumption is that once the myth is broken — namely, exposed as myth and not as fact — it doesn’t work any longer. And that of course is simply not true. The myth can be remythologized and can be very much alive even though it is historically and rhetorically no longer accepted as factual. For example, I no longer believe that my ancestors were slaves in Egypt who were removed from slavery by God’s intervention — which is what we celebrate at the Passover seder. But when I sit at the seder with my family, friends, and colleagues and say that we were slaves in Egypt and the Lord redeemed us from slavery, even though that is not historically true, it nevertheless remains mythologically true, and it is true in a very different sense of truth. It still provides me with a goosebump experience as I recite those words in the context of the seder. There is a term for the revival of a myth precisely in mythical terms: second naivite.

If this approach sounds familiar, it might be because a remarkably similar approach is championed by the popular conservative thinker, Dr. Jordan Peterson. Here’s how he lengthily put it in his earliest book, Maps of Meaning: The Architecture of Belief:

Our systems of post-experimental thought and out systems of motivation and action… co-exist in paradoxical union. One is “up-to-date”; the other, archaic. One is scientific; the other, traditional, even superstitious. We have become atheistic in our description, but remain evidently religious — that is, moral — in our disposition. What we accept as true and how we act are no longer commensurate. We carry in as if our experience has meaning — as if our activities have transcendent value — but we are unable to justify this belief intellectually. We have become trapped by our own capacity for abstraction: it provides us with accurate descriptive information but also undermines our belief in the utility and meaning of existence. This problem has frequently been regarded as tragic (it seems to me, at least, ridiculous) — and has been thoroughly explored in existential philosophy and literature…

1qaa We have made the great mistake of assuming that the “world of spirit” described by those who preceded us was the modern “world of matter” primitively described. This is not true — at least not in the simple manner we generally believe —The cosmos described by mythology was not the same place known to the practitioners of modern science — but that does not mean it was not real. We have not yet found God above, nor th1e devil below, because we do not yet understand where “above” and “below” might be found…

Myth is not primitive-science. It is a qualitatively different phenomenon. Science might be considered “description of the world with regards to those aspects that are consensually apprehensible” or “specification of the most effective mode of reaching an end (given a defined end).” Myth can be more accurately regarded as “description of the world as it signifies (for action).” The mythic universe is a place to act, not a place to perceive. Myth describes things in terms of their unique or shared affective valence, their value, their motivational significance…

Proper analysis of mythology, of the type proposed here, is not mere discussion of “historical” events enacted upon the world stage (as the traditionally religious might have it), and it is not mere investigation of primitive belief (as the traditionally scientific might presume). It is, instead, the examination, analysis, and subsequent incorporation or an edifice of meaning, which contains within it hierarchical organization of experiential valence. The mythic imagination is concerned with the world in the manner of the phenomenologist, who seeks to discover the nature of subjective reality, instead of concerning himself with description of the objective world. Myth, and the drama that is part of myth, provide answers in image t the following question: “how can the current state of experience be conceptualized in abstraction, with regards to its meaning?” [which means its (subjective, biologically predicated, socially constructed) emotional relevance or motivational significance]. Meaning means implication for behavioral output; logically, therefore, myth presents information relevant to the most fundamental moral problems: “what should be? (what should be done?)” The desirable future (the object of what should be) can be conceptualized only in relationship to the present, which serves at least as a necessary point of contrast and comparison. To get somewhere in the future presupposes being somewhere in the present; furthermore, the desirability of the place travelled to depends on the valance of the place vacated.

If you made it through all of that, congratulations! It’s basically a way of saying that mythology means not what most assume it does (something akin to a fairy tale) but rather represents a way of looking at the world which provides direction as we move forward — a map of meaning, if you will. I was reminded of this fascinating way of viewing the world while reading Yisroel Cohen’s Nephilim: Giants and Fallen Angels According to Chazal (Mosaica Press, 2024). In his introduction, Cohen seems to follow the footsteps of Gillman and Peterson:

The word myth as used today is often misunderstood to mean a fictional or fanciful tale. In its proper context, though, myth was the original mechanism used by humanity to preserve ideas and traditions. Mythos, as opposed to logos, are complex ideas that interweave profound concepts into seemingly mundane stories.

Cohen goes on to note that the Tanach and rabbinic tradition is filled with apparent myths relating to giants, fallen angels, and the like. Cohen goes on to “examine ideas related to the nature of giants and their history across generations” and “show how outside influences further contributed to the polarization of views on the topic.” He argues that “those looking to view these stories [of giants walking the earth] as factual have no shortage of possibilities” while, at the same time, “even the greatest believer and literalist would have to agree that the factual events surrounding the giants have mythical layers.”

Cohen proceeds through much of Tanach, examining each moment (in both pshat and drash) where these beings appear with an eye towards the lesson readers ought to take from each moment. Here is how he discusses it in conversation with Sefer Bereishit:

Careful examination of the takes of destruction found in the Book of Genesis leads one to discover a common theme. There appears to be a clear and concise linkage to the Nephilim myth. Though this is not explicit at the onset, neither in the Biblical text nor in Midrash, upon closer examination, it leads to a fascinating insight. The Nephilim myth was the methodology used by the ancients to comprehend what had occurred to mankind. After Sodom, we no longer refer to the collective world. Instead, the Torah changes course and focuses on the individual. The Nephilim as a race are no longer; they were all destroyed, with only a handful remaining. The narrative evolves to take on a new dimension: the individual. Avraham, Eisav, and Og acquire specific roles, and the Nephilim take on a slightly new role. No longer is God responsible for destroying the Nephilim; instead, it becomes the duty of the righteous. Avraham, Moshe, and David all heroically conquer the giants.

The stories involving these being and their descendants thus become microcosms of the battle between individual champions of the Jewish people and our age-old enemies. In a fascinating chapter, even Haman is argued to be of this origin, and Esther’s defeat of him (with specific reference to her name coming from Ishtar) is seen as an important part of that continuing meta-narrative.

Cohen’s work, then, is clearly important in that it seamlessly combines scholarship with religious knowledge while coming from a yeshivish perspective. But it’s only as part of the broader conversation about the mythologization of religion that this work truly shines. Unlike Gillman and Peterson, Cohen does not claim that these beings never existed. To the contrary, he does everything in his power to retain the plausibility of the Torah’s narratives while adding an extra mythological layer on top of it. While clearly an attempt to have one’s cake while also eating it, this choice also provides an important example of retaining belief in the face of broader trends. Perhaps, even if we can mythologize parts of Tanach, we do not have to unless we truly need to.

This position, which we might call “moderate mythologization” fits well with the Maimonidean response to biblical criticism outlined by Rabbi Gill Student in The Revelation at Sinai and recently republished in Articles of Faith:

To Maimonides, something that can be proven by reason must be accepted, with an emphasis on “proven.” … Maimonides is ready to reinterpret the Bible based on a proven argument that consists solely of reason. However, when it comes to a speculative and unproven argument, he is less eager. Note that he does not refuse entirely. Rather, he will not reinterpret the Bible for an idea that can be shown to be unproven in many different ways…

Where does biblical criticism fit into all of this? As a “soft science,” none of Biblical Criticism is proven in the mathematical sense. It is a science of inference and speculation. The scholar detects hints and patterns that imply information about authorship and age. Even the formidable genius applied to these efforts, the immense time, brainpower and rigor, and the multidisciplinary correlation, cannot pass this fundamental methodological hurdle. Nor should the discipline be blamed for being something it cannot — the liberal arts are generally not subjects in which conclusive proofs can be offered.

Even archeology, which deals with tangible artifacts, is based reduced to learned speculation. The scholar observes a few pieces of a large puzzle and extrapolates to the complete picture. The great discoveries of the past two centuries have yielded immense information about history. However, the conclusions drawn remain speculative, subject to scrutiny and overturn, because in the end, we are attempting to infer great theories from limited evidence.

This does not mean that we must reject biblical criticism out of hand. Based on Maimonides’ approach, we need to evaluate the arguments for and against biblical criticism. While different topics and arguments vary in speculative evidence, some are quite powerful. We cannot and should not skip the step of evaluation. Yet, in the end, we come to the final step of considering revelation. As discussed above, biblical criticism undermines the Talmudic and Midrashic enterprise. If accepted completely biblical criticism undermines Judaism much more than Aristotle’s eternal universe, even if its proponents attend synagogue three times a day.

Where exactly fallen angels and giants land on the spectrum of proof is an interesting question. A more important question, though, is to what degree we ought to mythologize our holy texts. In cases of proven falsity, it makes much sense to call what remains a myth and continue to learn valuable lessons from it (though it does feel a little like cheating to insist that such stories were intended to be read mythologically from the outset). In cases where historicity is legitimately up in the air, however, might it be more powerful to retain a literal understanding? I don’t intend to answer that question on my Substack, but I hope I’ve given you what to think about!