For What It's Worth

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From Greek to American Myth Making

(10 minute read)

Key Takeaways:

• Myths never disappear — they evolve. From Aesop to American origin stories to Christian narratives, cultures continually reshape myth to express values, identity, and meaning.
• Myths shape moral imagination. Whether teaching virtue to children, forming national character, or articulating spiritual hope, myths function as powerful vehicles for transmitting what a society believes to be true and good.
• The real question is not whether we live by myths, but which myths we choose to live by. Even in a scientific and digital age, human beings remain storytelling creatures, and the narratives we embrace continue to guide how we understand ourselves, our nation, and the sacred.

“Our lives today are saturated with myth, its symbols, language, and content, all of which are the common heritage as human beings. Fables, fairy tales, literature, epics, tales told around the campfire, and the scriptures of great religions are all packages of myth that transcend time, place, and culture …[helping] us to recognize the beauty of the unity in human diversity: We share something with all other peoples in all other times.”

–J.F. Bierlein, Parallel Myths, 1994

Aesop and His Morality Myths

One of the most famous myth collections out there is said to have originated from a Greek slave. Even though scholars raise eyebrows about whether Aesop was a real person, the catchy morality tales linked to him have stuck around for more than 2,500 years.

Aesop’s fables have no original manuscripts and have been passed down through the centuries. They were originally told orally, then written in different forms. Since the Middle Ages, his fables have been published continuously and are now available in almost every language.

While originally written for an adult audience, today the quaint myths have largely been relegated to children’s books. The highly moralistic stories intended to instill Western universal qualities, truths, and values.

Most of the morality myths under the Aesop umbrella fit nicely. They align with just about every religious or philosophical principle or belief.

• Treat others how you would like to be treated …The Lion and the Mouse
• Honor families …The North Wind and the Sun
• Be truthful in everything you do …The Boy Who Cried Wolf
• It is vital to cultivate an inner life …The Fox and the Mask

The golden thread of Aesop’s truths runs through the time of Western thought from the Greeks to present day. The stories told therein promote, teach, and reinforce the highest of human values. They are a shining example of the value of myth that transcends religious, philosophical, and political worldviews.

It is difficult to believe anyone would convincingly argue that the values myths convey are no longer relevant. The stories may seem outdated and may not capture the focus of a culture immersed in video games and social media. Their role in shaping values during early childhood development appears to diminish as children grow into adulthood.

Why Myths Are Still With Us

It is clear that many of us bristle or dismiss anything that is labeled myth. We may have a personal snobbish attitude towards the use of the word. Yet, it is undeniable that America is a culture actively clinging to myths, heroes, and stories.

To restore the original meaning of the word myth and expect people to change their views is a huge task, better suited for scholars. Yet, if storytelling is no longer relevant, why do we still hold on to these tales? Why do we remain intrigued by them while refusing to recognize them as myths?

It seems that humans love to read, hear, or admire the stories about people, places, or things that are bigger than us. Whether we recognize it or not we are still a species that requires stories and myth making in order to define meaning, values, and truth. And so, the art of myth making is still alive and kicking.

Storytelling, or myth making, is our “first fumbling attempt.” It tries to explain how and why things happen in science, religion, and philosophy. That “fumbling” is a form of communication. It “told ancient people who they were and the right way to live” and continues to be an art form that informs us to this day (Bierlein).

Myth and the American Way

One may wonder about the relevance of myth today. After all, aren’t Americans too sophisticated for myths? As Bierlein notes in Living Myths, “Nationality and nationhood are complex matrices of beliefs, symbols, and ‘magic words’ that provide us …with identity …Nationality is based on civic myths that we live daily, consciously or not.”

The threads of American storytelling were established early, with myths like Christopher Columbus, Pocahontas, the Pilgrims, George Washington, and western frontier tales involving Paul Bunyan, Johnny Appleseed, Daniel Boone, and Davy Crockett.

Many stories were born from a need to forge identity. The myths, constantly retold, served as a powerful means of communication, fostering a sense of national pride.

• While it’s true that Columbus didn’t discover America, the myth has offered a connection to a culture while allowing for the nation’s autonomy.
• The story of Pocahontas saving John Smith from capital punishment is often viewed with skepticism, as it appears to have been initially told to enhance Smith’s reputation and later romanticized in various children’s books and movies.
• Washington as a child chopping down a cherry tree? A fictional story by Mason Weems in 1918, crafted to highlight the virtues of a truthful and trustworthy Washington… and it reads like a Hallmark Channel movie script.

“When George, …was about six years old, he was made the wealthy master of a hatchet of which, like most little boys, he was immoderately fond, and was constantly going about chopping everything that came in his way. 

“One day, in the garden, where he often amused himself hacking his mother’s pea-sticks, he unluckily tried the edge of his hatchet on the body of a beautiful young English cherry-tree, which he barked so terribly, that I don’t believe the tree ever got the better of it. 

“The next morning the old gentleman, finding out what had befallen his tree, which, by the by, was a great favourite, came into the house; and with much warmth asked for the mischievous author, declaring at the same time, that he would not have taken five guineas for his tree. 

“Nobody could tell him anything about it. 

“Presently George and his hatchet made their appearance. 

“‘George,’ said his father, ‘do you know who killed that beautiful little cherry tree yonder in the garden?’ 

“This was a tough question; and George staggered under it for a moment; but quickly recovered himself: and looking at his father, with the sweet face of youth brightened with the inexpressible charm of all- conquering truth, he bravely cried out,

“‘I can’t tell a lie, Pa; you know I can’t tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet.’

“‘Run to my arms, you dearest boy,’ cried his father in transports, ‘run to my arms; glad am I, George, that you killed my tree; for you have paid me for it a thousand fold. 

“‘Such an act of heroism in my son is more worth than a thousand trees, though blossomed with silver, and their fruits of purest gold.’”

–Mason Locke Weems, A History of the Life and Death, Virtues and Exploits of General George Washington

The virtues depicted in American myths are clear; truthfulness, bravery, and egalitarianism are vital to our nation’s heroes. More importantly, these are virtues that we should strive to mimic in our own lives.

There is an old saying in the southern United States. It suggests that when a story is short on facts or detail, you should “put some hair on it,” meaning embellish on the details to make it more entertaining.

Prior to the late 19th and early 20th century, a movement known as “scientific history” transformed the discipline from a literary or moralistic pursuit into a rigorous academic science rooted in empirical evidence. Instead of parsing out myth, folklore, and rumors historians insisted on treating their craft as science. Dates, figures, and facts were becoming the norm.

If the stories we shared had no solid proof, historians viewed them with doubt until proof turned them into facts. As a result, the term myth was created to separate ideas considered true from those that weren’t necessarily factual. Anything like a myth was called one, and by the late 20th century, the myths that were once common in history books started to disappear.

Is Their a Future in Mythology? 

The old myths seem to be relegated to merely being quaint. They may no longer serve the same purpose. Yet, despite our sophisticated technological society, as a basic psychological need, myths never went away. They only evolved.

If we still have the propensity to look outside of ourselves for providing context and meaning, the question, then, seems to be what our current and future cultures will use as myths for identity.

Today, the use of myth in the entertainment business may be one of the most obvious outlets. To date, Hollywood movies grossed over $7.5 billion, more than the U.S. state annual budgets of Delaware, Montana, New Hampshire, South Dakota, and Vermont.

Science fiction movies rival superhero movies for box-office draw. And of course many of the source material used for these movies are comic books …with sales of nearly $2.1 billion in 2021. If the saying is true, your heart will be where your money is spent, then myth is alive and well in the U.S.

While special effects improve with every movie, the billions made don’t truly capture their spectacle. In these blockbusters, core values like identity, truthfulness, bravery, and equality remain important. These values embedded in the stories enhance their meaning for the audience.

Christian Faith—Myth or Spirit in a Material World?

An academic study of mythology became a personal search for meaning nearly fifty years ago.

In the movie The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy is told to follow the yellow brick road. This begins her journey to the Emerald City, where she hopes to find her way back home.

As she starts out, the camera closes in on her ruby slipper as it touches the first yellow brick—a careful first step that shows how much it matters to begin well. A step in the wrong direction could take her off the path.

My quest to better understand the faith of my childhood happened during my graduate studies. The faith I had relied on for so long started to feel weak and unsupportive. At times, it even seemed harmful, and the god I had envisioned felt far away and strange. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call this a crisis of faith.

Looking back, it was also a fortunate and fruitful time. Like Dorothy taking that first step, one of my graduate assignments put me on a new path: a thesis on Christian views of the afterlife, focusing on the Christian belief in heaven and hell.

Many students approaching this topic write a straightforward, chronological summary of scriptures from Genesis to Revelation, almost like a court stenographer taking dictation, with few outside sources or interpretations.

The goal is often, “Just present the scriptural information as fact.”

This was not the kind of work that drew me. I wanted to explore more deeply.

As we imagine them today, the First Testament does not directly describe two distinct realms of the afterlife. The Second Testament appears to add details that seem largely absent from the First, especially regarding hell.

What happened between the earliest Jewish followers of Jesus and later Christian groups? The first believers didn’t have the same ideas about the afterlife that many Christians have today. How did later generations come to hold these beliefs? What are the true origins of heaven and hell? Where did these concepts start?

The stories of the Christian afterlife, or spirit world, are not easily sorted out. They are mysterious and layered, full of accounts of descents and ascents, angels, exorcisms, tombs, and the dead raised to life.

Christian scriptures are rich with mythic language and imagery. One risk today is that we flatten these stories through strictly literal readings. Does treating them literally make these myths clearer and more meaningful for people now?

The way we answer that question shapes not only our theology, but how we live, hope, fear, and love. Like Dorothy stepping onto the yellow brick road, how we take the first step matters. If we insist on only one way of reading these stories, we may miss the path they were meant to open.