#20 Giants and Reformation Day — Special "Monsters" Episode for Halloween

Halloween’s imagery of monsters and giants is linked with Reformation themes through the views of Calvin, Luther, and Zwingli. Calvin, following an Augustinian Sethite reading of Genesis 6:1–4, denied a literal angel–human hybrid origin but described the Nephilim as violent tyrants—both “giant” and “fallen”—preserving their moral and symbolic meaning. Luther used giants and serpents to portray Arian heretics opposing the Trinity, likening them to Israel’s ancient foes and grounding confidence in Christ’s triumph over every power (Psalm 2; Psalm 110; Hebrews 1). Zwingli, more rational and wary of superstition, rejected occult practices and saw idolatry itself as demonic temptation, focusing instead on disciplined obedience to Scripture. Together they held to symbolic readings of giants but often overlooked their supernatural roots in Genesis 6 and 1 Enoch. Yet Scripture unites both realities—the literal and the symbolic—as in Jesus’ walking on water, which shows his authority over chaos. Giants, then, represent real spiritual rebellion and enduring tyranny that resists God’s rule, seen not only in ancient empires like Egypt and Babylon but also in modern powers such as AI or alien ideologies that draw humanity away from devotion to Christ.

TRANSCRIPT:

Welcome to Biblical Reenchantment. This is the obligatory Halloween episode, dealing with Halloween, monsters, giants, and Reformation Day—which we also celebrate on October 31st. Many people today are celebrating the Reformation, so I thought, let’s do something that combines both Reformation and Halloween. I wanted to explore what the Reformers—particularly Calvin, Luther, and Zwingli, the key figures of the Reformation—thought about monsters. Or, in a more biblical sense, we could ask, “What did they think about giants?”

The goal of Biblical Reenchantment is to re-enchant the Christian faith and undo the influences of philosophical materialism that have secularized Christianity, especially in the evangelical world, draining the church of its wonder. If you’re watching on YouTube and enjoying this discussion, comment “enchanted” below and send me any questions you have about Halloween, giants, or the Reformation. I’ll do what I can to answer them over the next few days.

Calvin: Commentary on Genesis 

Let’s jump straight in. The Reformers are often discussed as if they were materialists who removed the supernatural elements of the historical church. But let’s talk about John Calvin, because Calvin had a deeply mystical faith. In his Commentary on Genesis, he actually discusses giants. Calvin takes a view similar to the Sethite interpretation of Genesis 6:1–4—a more materialistic view influenced by Augustine—but he says some fascinating things about the giants.

In his Commentary on Genesis 6, Calvin writes:

“There were giants in the earth among the countless kinds of corruption that filled the world. Moses highlights one in particular here, namely, that giants committed great violence and tyranny. I do not think he means all people of that time, but rather certain individuals who, being stronger than others, relied on their own power and exalted themselves without restraint or justice. As for the Hebrew word nephilim, its root comes from the verb nephal, meaning ‘to fall,’ though some scholars disagree on its exact meaning. Some believe they were called this because they were of extraordinary stature, others because people’s faces fell in fear at the sight of them, or because all fell down in terror before their great size. To me, the better view is that the term draws a comparison to a torrent or violent storm, for just as a rushing flood devastates and destroys the land, so these violent men brought ruin and desolation upon the world.” (Commentary on Genesis 6:4)

Calvin clearly sees them as tyrants who inspired terror. He translates nephal in two ways. He says they may have been larger in size, and though he doesn’t think they were biologically descended from angels—holding to the Sethite view—he still believes they could be giant in stature and certainly giant in character, in the way they acted and waged war. Their violence and destruction are like a flood that devastates the land, echoing the imagery that precedes the judgment of the flood in Genesis 6:5–7.

It’s interesting that Calvin takes a dual meaning for Nephilim: both “giant” and “fallen one.” There’s some disagreement about this—one camp insists Nephilim only means “giant,” while another argues it only means “fallen.” But it makes sense to see both. In Scripture, names often carry layered meaning. For example, “Joshua,” or “Yeshua,” means “Yahweh saves,” and his life reflects that name when he becomes the savior of his family, Israel (Genesis 45:7–8).

There is no reason not to think of the Nephilim as both—giants in physical stature and fallen ones in moral character.

In biblical symbolism, giants represent tyranny. We can even talk about “giants” metaphorically—the powerful figures in the world and the great things they accomplish. Calvin recognizes this too: giants symbolize tyranny, which is why he focuses on them in that way. Even though he, in some sense, denies the supernatural source of the giants, he still acknowledges a spiritual power behind them.

There are other interpretive options besides the Sethite view and what seems to be the straightforward reading of Genesis 6:1–4—that “the sons of God” (bene elohim) or angels had relations with human women, resulting in the birth of giants. That appears to be the natural reading of the text. But one can also blend the Sethite view with an occult understanding, suggesting that the giants are the offspring of rebellious humans who are demonically influenced.

If we could go back in time and converse with John Calvin, I wonder if he might affirm this. Mysticism was certainly a part of his faith. He believed in the devil, the demonic world, and fallen angels. Where he seems to struggle—perhaps simply following Augustine—is in accepting the idea that angels, as incorporeal beings, could physically produce offspring with humans.

So perhaps the tension is not about rejecting the supernatural entirely, but about explaining how the spiritual realm interacts with the physical. We might say that if human beings rebel against Yahweh, such rebellion arises from demonic inspiration. We see this pattern throughout Genesis 1–11: the serpent’s deception in Genesis 3, the corruption of humanity in Genesis 6, and the rebellion at Babel in Genesis 11. In each case, human sin is portrayed as participation with demonic influence—an inversion of divine order.

Even within the Sethite view, there’s an implicit spiritual dimension. A rebellious, demonized human might bring that corruption into his household or lineage. However one interprets it, Calvin still maintains a supernatural thread because he preserves the symbolism of the giants, even while rejecting their supernatural origin. This is a fascinating nuance in Calvin’s theology.

Luther: Letter to his friend Johann Bugenhagen 

Let’s now turn to Martin Luther. Luther wrote a letter to his friend Johann Bugenhagen, discussing his intent to republish some of the works of St. Athanasius on the Trinity. At that time, Arianism was once again gaining traction, and doctrines of high Christology and the Trinity were being challenged and dismissed in parts of Germany.

In this letter, Luther writes:

“When all our articles of faith are being attacked by the emissaries of Satan, especially those concerning the Trinity, which certain skeptics and Epicureans have begun boldly to mock, and they are skillfully assisted by certain Italian Germans—serpents who through their speech and writing spread the bad seeds, stirring the admiration of their own followers and boasting of their own success. But these devils are nothing when brought before him who said to our servant, Jesus Christ, ‘You are my Son,’ and again, ‘Sit at my right hand.’ Let us see what laurels these giants will carry away from their supposedly glorious assaults against God. Such a vast war is nothing new. One of these foes has been overthrown in every age, while our servant Jesus Christ has done nothing but cast down these giants and will not cease until, as Israel says, the seed and the root along with the branches are torn up and all the giants destroyed.” (Letter to Johann Bugenhagen, 1526)

Luther’s imagery of giants continues this symbolic theme—representing pride, rebellion, and opposition to God’s truth. Just as Calvin associated giants with tyranny, Luther links them to heresy and spiritual arrogance. In both, the “giants” of the world stand as metaphors for human and demonic opposition to divine authority, yet both Reformers affirm that Christ alone will cast them down.

What’s fascinating here is that Luther speaks very figuratively about giants, serpents, and devils—and yet he also believes in them in a literal sense. Though I haven’t verified this directly, if I recall correctly, Luther also takes a Sethite view of Genesis 6:1–4. So, while he might not think of giants as the offspring of a divine-human, heaven-meets-earth union, he still believes in the fruit of such an unnatural union between heaven and earth, which aligns with the most natural reading of the passage.

Luther sees the Arians—those who reject the Trinity and a high Christology—as the “giants” of his own day. Not so much the giants of Genesis 6, but the giants of the conquest narratives, where Israel and later David were called to drive them out of the land (Numbers 13:32–33; 1 Samuel 17). Luther viewed the Arians as similar to these giants who opposed God’s purposes, and he wanted to drive them out of the church because of their lies about the nature and person of Christ—lies that compromised the gospel itself.

Like Calvin, Luther saw these figures as tyrants who sought to control God’s kingdom. Though he rejected the supernatural interpretation of the giants’ origin, he nevertheless acknowledged a real demonic presence at work among such heresies. He even goes on to call them “serpents,” echoing the deceit of the serpent in Genesis 3, who deceived Eve. Luther accuses these false teachers of writing and speaking like serpents, spreading deception among God’s people.

Yet he anchors his confidence in the promises of Scripture. Christ has brought—and will bring—all enemies under his feet. This is why Luther quotes the verses, “You are my Son” and “Sit at my right hand” (Psalm 2:7; Psalm 110:1; Hebrews 1:5, 13). Though there are giants in the world, Luther reminds believers that only Jesus Christ is declared to be the Son, enthroned at God’s right hand, ruling over all powers and authorities.

So Luther clearly sees a place for giants—symbolically, and perhaps even supernaturally—as representations of those spiritual and human powers that oppose Christ’s reign.

Zwingli: On Superstition and Giants

Now, turning to Ulrich Zwingli, we encounter a very different temperament. Zwingli is an interesting figure because, whereas Luther and Calvin both held mystical elements in their faith—believing in demons and the reality of the spiritual world—Zwingli leaned toward rationalism and non-sacramentalism. He had a deep concern for anything that resembled superstition.

Zwingli was convinced that a great deal of popular superstition had entered the church, especially regarding demons. He emphasized the importance of reading, hearing, and knowing God’s Word. This was central for him: go to the text, discern what it says, and live accordingly. He was a rationalist who wanted to interpret Scripture carefully without being distracted by supernatural speculation.

As a humanist, trained in social and moral philosophy, Zwingli was particularly sensitive to the ways that occult ideas and magical practices had been mingled with Christian belief. Many people in his day didn’t know how to distinguish what came from Scripture versus what came from occult or pagan influence. His education gave him a skeptical eye toward such blending, even when supernatural claims appeared to come from within the Bible itself.

Still, Zwingli did not entirely deny the demonic. He believed that images and physical objects could serve as conduits for destructive, demonic power. For that reason, he warned against idolatry and superstition, insisting that Christians guard their hearts and minds by grounding themselves in the Word of God (Deuteronomy 6:4–9; 1 Corinthians 10:14–21).

So, while Calvin and Luther preserved a mystical sense of the supernatural within their theology, Zwingli approached it with caution, seeing the danger of demonic influence not in the invisible realm itself but in the material ways superstition could distort the faith.

Zwingli was non-sacramental in his view of the Lord’s Supper. We would call him a memorialist—he did not believe that anything spiritual was truly happening in the Lord’s Supper or in baptism. These were, for him, rites that operated through material means. They were tangible practices, but the way God worked through them was by shaping believers through other material processes such as memory, discipline, and community. Zwingli therefore held a fundamentally materialistic worldview, even though he still affirmed the presence of the Spirit in a general sense.

Returning to the topic of demonic power and images, Zwingli did not claim that an idol of bronze or wood literally had a demon attached to it. Rather, he believed that the act of worshiping such an idol was itself demonic because it represented a surrender to temptation. The idolatry was the deceit, not the physical idol. In this sense, Zwingli had no need to affirm a real or localized presence of demons within material objects.

Before the Reformation, church leaders had employed numerous techniques to resist demons—spitting, making the sign of the cross, drinking holy water, or reciting extra-biblical prayers. Though these may have had symbolic or traditional value, Zwingli rejected them as superstitious because they were not prescribed in Scripture. Instead, he emphasized the positive pursuit of true spiritual life through obedience to biblical teaching.

For Zwingli, the believer’s task was to take the human body and shape it toward righteousness through repeated, habitual practice. His view was profoundly practical and moral: righteousness was cultivated through disciplined habits. He believed that as one practiced righteousness, one became righteous, just as bad habits multiply sin. It is a kind of proto-psychological understanding of sanctification—where spiritual growth results from the intentional practice of godly behavior rather than from mysterious spiritual infusion.

Zwingli also warned against syncretism—the blending of pagan or occult practices with Christianity. He was particularly wary of customs that went beyond what Scripture taught, even if they were not explicitly sinful. For instance, he would argue that nowhere in Scripture are believers commanded to spit to drive out demons. While such acts were not necessarily sinful, they were, in his view, superstitious distractions from the true pursuit of righteousness, which comes through obedience to Christ and the guidance of the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:16–25).

I could not find any direct references to giants in Zwingli’s writings, and perhaps for good reason. He likely considered such stories to be either metaphorical or superstitious. If he did reflect on them, he may have understood them as symbolic of human pride or rebellion rather than literal beings.

However, since demons are described in biblical and post-biblical literature—such as Genesis 6:1–4, 1 Enoch 15–16, and the Book of Jubilees—as the disembodied spirits of the giants, there remains an indirect connection between Zwingli’s views on superstition and the biblical concept of the demonic. Wherever people become absorbed in superstitious or materialistic distractions rather than pursuing Christ through prayer and Scripture, Zwingli would say a “spirit of the giant” is present.

In other words, anything that demands our attention away from Christ becomes a kind of giant—a spiritual tyranny that undermines God’s kingdom both in the world and in our own lives. The demonic, then, is not necessarily found in the unseen forces inhabiting objects, but in whatever captivates human hearts and diverts them from the obedience of faith.

Zwingli would probably agree that in some material way there is a demonic temptation pulling people away from devotion to Christ. That is the tyranny of demons—it dismantles God’s sovereignty and manifests as “giants upon the earth.”

My Thoughts on Duality

Reflecting on these Reformers, it’s striking that they all wrestled with a kind of duality. They struggled to choose between the spiritual or symbolic meaning of Scripture and the literal narrative, as though they had to affirm one without the other. Yet if giants in the Bible represent tyranny, there seems no reason not to believe that we can have both—real giants according to the biblical narrative, and symbolic giants representing oppression and rebellion in daily life.

If we follow the biblical storyline forward, we find that the giants become disembodied to form the demons (1 Enoch 15:8–12). So when we describe oppressive institutions or systems in the world as “demonic,” we are, in a sense, participating in the same symbolic logic Scripture uses. This is what the Reformers were doing, even if they denied the supernatural roots of those demons—the Nephilim of Genesis 6, the giants of Numbers 13, and the descendants found among the Phoenician and Philistine tribes (Deuteronomy 2:10–11; Joshua 11:21–22; 1 Samuel 17). They recognized demonic realities and used the language of giants, yet for some reason stopped short of affirming their origin in the giants themselves.

But why not both? Scripture often holds together the literal and the symbolic. For example, Jesus walking on the water (Matthew 14:25–33; Mark 6:48–51; John 6:19–21) is a historical miracle, but it also carries deep symbolic meaning. The simple reading is that Jesus is divine—only God can walk on water. Yet more profoundly, it portrays Jesus’ authority over chaos. In biblical imagery, the sea represents disorder and the forces of chaos (Genesis 1:2; Psalm 74:13–14; Isaiah 27:1). When Jesus walks upon the waters, or when the Holy Spirit hovers over them in creation, both scenes depict divine power subduing the chaotic and bringing creation into order.

Chaos, however, is not the same as tyranny. Chaos is disorder; tyranny is domination. The waters symbolize chaos, but the giants symbolize tyranny. So when Jesus demonstrates authority over the waters, He reveals His divine ability to bring order to what is disordered. And when He defeats the powers of darkness—whether demonic or human—He dethrones tyranny and restores God’s rightful rule.

The biblical narrative tells us that tyrannical giants were born through an unnatural union of heaven and earth, when “the sons of God came in to the daughters of men” (Genesis 6:1–4). This rebellion produced the Nephilim, who, after their death, became the unclean spirits or demons that continue to afflict humanity—a view reflected more fully in 1 Enoch 15–16 but echoed in Scripture itself.

Symbolically, this “giant-demon” narrative demonstrates that all powers opposed to God exist to bring tyranny upon the world in rebellion against His design for humankind. All tyranny—whether spiritual, institutional, or personal—works to remove the dominion mandate God gave to humanity in Genesis 1:26–28. By oppressing humankind, tyranny seeks to dethrone God’s reign on earth.

Thus, Jesus not only restores order to the disordered but also conquers the tyrannical. He is the one who treads upon the sea of chaos and crushes the heads of the giants and serpents that oppose His kingdom (Psalm 74:13–14; Romans 16:20; Revelation 19:11–16).

And so we question Babylon, Egypt, and other empires that arose in their wake because they embody the same tyrannical authority seen throughout Scripture. In every narrative where these powers appear, there is this paradox: God sovereignly uses these nations as instruments of judgment or refinement, yet at the same time, they stand in rebellion against Him. We see this clearly in the Exodus account (Exodus 1–14), where Egypt’s power is used by God to display His glory, even as Pharaoh hardens his heart in defiance.

In a similar way, we might also question the powers of our own age—technological or ideological. When we consider the rise of artificial intelligence or even the cultural fascination with aliens, we must ask: how are these things not also “giants” if they invite tyranny into the world? Whether through technology that dominates humanity or through narratives that displace God from the center of reality, both AI and alien ideologies can serve as modern expressions of the same rebellion seen in ancient powers.

Though there is no tangible evidence of extraterrestrial life, many people reject the God of Scripture because of a distorted, demonic narrative that emerges from these speculative realms. The same can be said for AI. These technologies and mythologies challenge human identity and divine sovereignty, echoing the same spiritual rebellion that animated Babylon, Assyria, and Rome. Behind such powers—ancient or modern—there may well be demonic intelligences opposing God’s purposes (Daniel 10:13–21; Ephesians 6:12).

This brings us back to the Reformation. The Reformers, for all their insight, often neglected the natural meaning of the text that undergirds its symbolic meaning. They preserved profound theological symbolism, yet sometimes at the expense of the narrative’s supernatural framework. But how can one meaning exist without the other? The literal and the symbolic depend on each other.

We can still be grateful for the Reformers’ teaching. Their emphasis on Scripture’s authority, on Christ’s victory over sin and death, and on the spiritual dimension of faith has helped the church remain aligned with Christ and His kingdom. Yet, to recover a fully biblical worldview, we must also reclaim the cosmic, supernatural vision that Scripture itself presents—a world in which both human and spiritual powers exist in tension under the sovereignty of God.

That, after all, is the heart of Biblical Reenchantment: to rediscover a faith that acknowledges both the visible and invisible, both the natural and supernatural, as parts of one coherent story pointing to Christ’s eternal reign.

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Christ Reigns, and that changes everything.