War and Revenge, Obsession and Destruction: A Genealogy of the Golem Myth

War, revenge, and obsession are driven by the perception of control and hopes for victory and utopia, but ultimately result in being drawn into one’s own destruction. In some forms of monotheism, obsession presents itself as an obstacle to the divine—a sense of idolatry. Worshipping a false god is akin to the mental attachment of obsession. When coupled with an impulse of revenge, humans plunge into the depths of destruction, drawing others along with them. In one allegorical reading of Melville’s Moby-Dick, Ahab sinks the Pequod with his own willful pursuit of revenge against the White Whale.

Obsession seeks revenge, and revenge means self-destruction: we’re reminded by the case of the Pequod. Yet most modern conflicts forget this lesson from literature and are based on the self-righteous assertion of us-and-them, one-against-the-other, and a forceful correction of injustices. In the case of contemporary war, armed conflict presents itself as justified self-defense and preemptive attacks against the imminent threats of terrorism of non-state actors. Alternatively, it takes revolutionary forms of political resistance (“intifada,” for example) against state-based terrorism/imperialism. Robert Pape, Noam Chomsky, and Eqbal Ahmad have described the impetus of non-state actors’ violence of resistance, problematizing common assumptions about “terrorism.” As Neil Whitehead explored, both the revenge-based violence of terrorism and the disproportionate responses of recognized states are theaters for violence. In both cases, their modes of expression are theatrical and didactic: to teach a lesson to the perpetrators and give a message to the world stage: “be afraid.” Fear is the main tool of all exercises of violence. Fear is a means of disruption for non-state actors’ terrorism; and fear is a means for the enforcement of law/order and compliance/conformity within state-based forms of terrorism.

But what do both individuals and nations unleash behind the impulse of our own need for correcting injustice, justified self-defense, or even the chase to conquer and eliminate evil—particularly in modern war? These questions are explored in Maya Barzilai’s recent Golems: Modern Wars and their Monsters (2016).

There are variations on the Golem myth, but the main idea is the following: a rabbi artificially molds a clay anthropoid and magically brings it to life through Hebrew writings. The anthropoid’s purpose is to protect the Jewish community against antisemitic attacks and redeem it from oppressive conditions in the diaspora. The Golem ultimately runs amok and destroys everything around it. Thus, the warning in allegory: violence in defense of the victimized may be fraught with peril. To bring to life the Golem, Barzilai argues, is a dangerous enterprise.

Muscular and violent responses to injustice unleash further ethical conundrums and complexities. A popular parallel to the Golem narrative is the story of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice animated in Disney’s ever-popular Fantasia. Once a magical/automatic force is unleashed, it cannot be stopped by mere human action. According to Barzilai, the Golem myth began as the imaginary hopes of violence in defense of the weak. But it has evolved into the ideal of an infallible, all-powerful war machine. The Golem is a monster metaphor, a mediator between the human and the artificial and suggests a vital militarism and ideal body as a replacement of the weak and vulnerable human soldier (see the Introduction to Golems on this point). The Golem can also be a figure of the automaton of modern technological warfare itself. Technological warfare, especially with the nuclear option today, has the potential to unleash complete destruction. The monstrosity of the Golem is also a warning on the uncontrollable danger of military culture and militant nationalism. When motivated by the psychology of revenge, the emotional and physical consequences explode beyond the control of the vengeful.

Relatedly, the Golem and its associated hopes thrive because of our fantasies about the machine. With the advance of AI and other technologies, humans cede power and agency to the automaton and the factor of blind faith in technology. A tech-gnosticism, if you will, forgets to ask if technology is an end and good within itself, rather than simply a functionality (as warned by Jacques Ellul and others). Welcome to the machine.

Peter Paul Rubens, Vulcan Presenting the Arms of Achilles to Thetis (1600s)

The negative implication of the use of the Golem is also isolating—the moral significance of “collateral damage” to the world means destruction of potential allies who may sympathize with the innocent victims of violence. The use of violence in the modern era has a bit of a double standard. The general formula from political and social theory (with definitions offered from Max Weber) defines “states” as the legitimate dispensers of violence. But what about violence stemming from extended forms of civil disobedience as well as resistance against (and protections from) unjust states that abuse their power? Non-violent resistance carries with it the claims for legitimacy, or a moral high ground. In line with this part of the argument, the Golem positively carries with it the hopes for redemptive utopia where the marginalized are protected. The Golem has a messianic overtone. However, the paradox is that, negatively, the Golem’s exercise of violence devolves into the “lust for power of powerless people” (see Barzilai’s conclusion). Revenge takes over. Chaos is unleashed in the fog of war.

Has the military arm of states become a series of massive Golems? Have the resistance fighters released their own version of the Golem upon innocent civilians, allowing collateral damage to fall upon their own people? Whatever the symbolic implications for today’s moments of war, the impulse of obsession, resentment, and revenge unleash monstrous results. A genealogy of the Golem myth helps us recognize the ways in which deeply embedded cultural assumptions and problematic wishes about violence can be roadblocks on the pathway to peace and reconciliation.

Sarah Louise MacMillen is an associate professor of Sociology at Duquesne University. She also directs the program for the Minor in Peace, Justice and Conflict Resolution. Her most recent publication is with coauthor, George Lundskow: Q-Anon and Other Replacement Realities, (Lexington Books: 2024).