The ways that ancient wisdom were conveyed then compared to now are so unfamiliar that it takes effort and updating to avoid misunderstanding. "Myth" is an example. While it's common to think of myth as made up stories, they constitute a whole genre of ancient literature written to remember and depict universal patterns meant to be understood as true for everyone at all times. Joseph Campbell put it this way: ”The latest incarnation of Oedipus, the continued romance of Beauty and the Beast, stand this afternoon on the corner of Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue.” 

In Greek, mythos meant a “plot of truth” that reveals deeper, spiritual realities. Myth is the ancient ancestor of psychology. It charts our inner world and sees the outer one as a forum for applying its lessons. The mythic universe is a place of action, not just understanding. It describes things in terms of their unique motivational significance. If we can tell (or act out) a story about something, we can feel like we've mapped it, grasped it, internalized it. We tell stories about the unknown and known alike in order to imitate the ability to adapt to the unpredictable, knowing the contours of its mapped territory more deeply. In this way, although the unknown is by definition the unpredictably chaotic, the concept understood as such can be regarded as possessing certain characteristics, in a broad sense. These characteristics are revealed in the actions we undertake in response to the appearance of unexpected things. This is not meant to be understood as a primitive "science" – such modern ideas of explanation weren't what the liturgical scribes who wrote Genesis were interested in. Science describes how things function in the world; myth describes how meaning functions in human life: which functions are sacred and worth imitating, and which are destructive. “⁠Myth is the timeless pattern,” Thomas Mann said, “the religious formula to which life shapes itself." ▼

This fourfold approach became standard in medieval theology. These different frames don't compete with each other: using all four gains the most and goes the deepest. Where some see the Bible only as a historical document, others see it as a collection of untruths and still others read it so literally they miss the depth from the opposite direction. Remembering these four ways helps transport us into the mind of our ancient authors and avoid the pitfalls of modern misreadings.

For instance, the third century theologian Origen found it "inconceivable" that God literally planted a physical garden. This is a reminder that ancient audiences were more complex than we give them credit for. Both he and Clement – another early church father, also foundational to the development of Christianity – insisted that Genesis must be read allegorically to reveal its "secret" meaning, emphasizing that one shouldn’t "cling to the letter of the scripture as if it were true, but rather search for the "hidden treasure." In Stromateis Clement discussed at length how the authors of scripture and ancient philosophy used symbolism and allegory to conceal and reveal deeper meanings. Augustine, the father of original sin, didn’t believe in seven literal days of creation either. He also interpreted scripture using allegory – and particularly delighted in the mystical associations of names and numbers inherent in the Hebrew language. So too with  Philo of Alexandria (a contemporary of Jesus), Ambrose of Milan, Gregory of Nyssa, Hilary of Poitiers, Pope Gregory, Ephrem the Syrian, Rashi and innumerable others from the pre-modern world. ▼

Allegory

Allegory is a group of events symbolizing another group of events. The text is a vessel to convey its deeper, intended meaning – with no necessary connection to the particulars or historical contexts of its narrative. Allegory sees Adam and Eve's fall symbolizing what happens in every life, and it was long considered one of the primary ways to write and read scripture. Adam and Eve are you  –  they are the living, concrete vessels who express the allegory's spiritual meaning. Someone who interprets Genesis with an eye to allegory will read the name ’ādām ("humanity") not as a formal noun but as a collective identity. When read this way, the serpent – chief instigator of ’ādām's transformation – can be interpreted as (at least!) as principle of reality that shows up everywhere, posing the same questions in different guises at different times in one's life.

Generations of Greek and Jewish teachers before Jesus were very familiar with this method of interpretation. Stoic philosophers (300 BC-150 CE) had long suggested the Iliad and Odyssey be read in this way, not simply as literal accounts of the gods' petty conflicts and ancient battles. Philo of Alexandria rigorously applied allegorical exegesis to Genesis. He interpreted its characters as complementary elements within human nature: Cain and Abel as the opposing principles of self-love and love, and Adam and Eve as "Mind" (our analytical instinct) and "Sense-Perception" (our participating, embodied and world-building instinct). Who is it, Philo might ask – what part of us – is driving the plot forward fastest in Genesis? And what insight does that convey about how we act in the world? ▼