From Revelation to Destruction: Godzilla: King of the Monsters and John’s Apocalypse in Conversation

Abstract

Recent scholarly work on the influence of the Book of Revelation on popular cinematic, literary, and visual apocalyptica has shown steady growth. These studies not only highlight the influence and the processes of de- and recontextualisation of Revelation and other apocalyptic texts, but also employ popular apocalyptica as dialogue partners in critical engagement with ancient writings. The aim of this article is to introduce another such dialogue partner in the form of Godzilla: King of the Monsters. The discussion begins with a brief review of recent scholarship on the dialogical interaction between modern apocalyptica and Revelation. This is followed by a plot summary of the most recent Godzilla reboot films, with particular attention to the influence and echoes of Revelation. Finally, several reflections are offered on how Godzilla: King of the Monsters may function as a dialogue partner for reading Revelation. The central premise is that, as with other modern apocalyptica, there exists a two-way hermeneutical exchange between Godzilla: King of the Monsters and Revelation. Each provides alternative lenses through which to interpret and view the other, opening possibilities for renewed ethical engagement with these ‘texts’.

1. Introduction

Schreiner (2023, p. 1) opens his commentary by stating that not even John could have imagined the strangeness of Revelation scholarship. To this can be added the subject of this article, namely, the echoes of Revelation in various popular cultural apocalyptica1. In the first section, recent works that focus on modern apocalyptica are used as dialogue patterners for Revelation. This will be followed by adding another dialogue partner, namely, the King of the Monsters, Godzilla. The aim here is not to engage with historic critical scholarship, but rather to lay the groundwork for further dialogue and future contributions. The focus question is not: how does a dialogue between Godzilla (and other modern apocalyptic figures) provide a meaningful and historically accurate interpretation of Revelation? This would not make sense. Although John presents awe-inspiring, monstrous images (Macumber 2019), not even John could have imagined the plethora of creatures that drew and still draw inspiration from Revelation. Rather, the twofold question to be addressed in this article is: Is a dialogue between Godzilla, the King of the Monsters, and Revelation possible? If such a dialogue is possible, what are the fruits of this labour? To answer this question this article will present a comparative close reading of the text of Revelation and Godzilla: King of the Monsters (Dougherty 2019). While other modern apocalyptica have been used as dialogue partners, Godzilla has not yet been explored in this way. The reason for this will be made clear below. It is important to note from the outset that this article does not propose a sui generis approach to reading Revelation alongside modern apocalyptica; rather, it seeks to contribute to the growing body of scholarship that engages with this theme.

2. The Apocalyptic Dialogue

In recent years, a proliferation of scholarly work on apocalyptic literature and apocalypticism’s influence on popular culture has been published. These studies discuss, among other issues, literary (Clark 2010; DiTommaso 2011a, 2014, 2020; Gilmour 2010) and cinematic apocalyptica (Abernethy 2024; Davies 2022; Fletcher 2016; Pippin 2006, 2016). They can be placed on a continuum where, on the one side, modern apocalyptica are used as lenses to clarify and, on the other end, to criticise ancient apocalyptic texts (usually focusing on Revelation).

Fletcher (2016) uses Cameron (1984, 1991), Mostow (2003), and McGinty Nichol’s (2009) Terminator films to highlight problematic elements found in Revelation. Engaging with previous studies (Boer 1995; Pippin 1999) that highlight apocalyptic motives in both The Terminator 1 (Cameron 1984) and Terminator 2: Judgment Day (Cameron 1991), Fletcher (2016, pp. 105–6) shows how ‘key apocalyptic’ tropes are developed in the sequels. For example, Fletcher (2016, pp. 112–13) notes that in McGinty Nichol’s (2009) Terminator Salvation, there is no clear dichotomy between characters presented as good and evil. Meaning the classification of a character as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ is not as presented in clear dualistic categories of good/evil, light/dark, or human/machine. This is brought into dialogue with the four horsemen of Revelation 6:1–8. There is no consensus among scholars whether these beings are demonic, angelic, or if Christ should be included among the four riders (Aune 1998, pp. 389–403; Koester 2014, p. 409; Schreiner 2023, pp. 264–73). ‘Therefore, these riders show that the characters we encounter in Revelation are not always easy to categorise and are often able to confound and confuse’ (Fletcher 2016, p. 113)2.

Still on the explanatory side of the continuum, Davies (2022) uses films by Christopher Nolan to focus on plotting, narrative time, and heavenly journeys in Revelation. In short: Nolan’s nonlinear narratives (cf. The Prestige; Nolan 2006) help make sense of the recapitulation in Revelation (Davies 2022, pp. 49–51); plotting time where one narrative is nested in another (cf. Inception; Nolan 2010) helps with the ‘Russian doll of stories-within-stories’ in Revelation (Davies 2022, pp. 51–53); and heavenly journeys (cf. Interstellar; Nolan 2014) helps make sense this trope also found in apocalypses (Davies 2022, pp. 53–55).

While Fletcher (2016) and Davies (2022) use modern apocalyptica to illuminate aspects of Revelation, Clark (2010) and Pippin (2016) offer more critical interpretations. Both of the latter employ modern apocalyptica to challenge the worldview expressed in Revelation. Clark (2010) uses the graphic novels Kingdom Come (Waid and Ross 2019) and Watchmen (Moore 1987) as critical dialogue partners3. Clark (2010, p. 141) sees these novels as able to provide prophetic responses to what he terms apocalyptic passivism and violence. The first represents individuals who see the world as heading to an apocalyptic destruction, so there is no need to engage in social issues to better the world. The only appropriate response for these individuals is to ‘wait patiently for destruction to come’ from a transcendental reality. The second, apocalyptic violence, ‘is a response designed to speed up the arrival of the end, in which divine violence triumphs’ (Clark 2010, p. 141). Considering some of the more violent modern millenarian movements (Partridge 2008), the usefulness of this engagement of Clark (2010) makes sense. The superhero narrative of Kingdom Come is read by Clark (2010, p 151) as a commentary on ‘humanity’s ontological power’ and the species’ ‘potential evil.’ However, in recognising this, humanity is able to transcend its evil nature, and ultimately take an active role in saving the world. This is highlighted in the human protagonist, McCay, telling Superman that what made him part of humanity is his ability take responsibility for his actions and choose to do ‘good’, that is, his initial choice of non-violent resolutions (Waid and Ross 2019, p. 195). It is the ‘[hu]man’ and not the ‘super’ that counts. This is after McCay went back in time after witnessing a battle between the superheroes, representing divine beings, which led to the destruction of Earth. Humanity’s involvement in this conflict moved from passivity to destructive. Initially, humanity stood by passively, never engaging critically with the superheroes before the conflict erupted. However, when the conflict erupted, humanity responded with nuclear weapons, and consequently devastated not just the superheroes but themselves in the process (Waid and Ross 2019, pp. 170–82). Clark (2010, p. 155) concludes his reading of these graphic novels by noting that the apocalyptic rhetoric found in them ‘do not teach their readers a tragic, divinely determined perspective on humanity’s fate, but instead admonish their readers to avoid passivity and to exercise their freedom and power for constructive ends… they call their readers to repent, to turn from their current’ violent course of action ‘before it is too late for the species to survive’ (Clark 2010, p. 155).

Pippin’s (2006, 2016) readings of apocalyptic moments in cinema focus on issues of gender and sexuality. She engages critically with the ‘hypermasculinity’ (Pippin 2016, p. 406) found in typical apocalypses (cf. i.a. the Terminator franchise). To do this, Pippin (2006, p. 160–161) focuses on ‘women in some lesser known films, Last Night and The Book of Life’ (Pippin 2006, p. 161)4. In the discussion of these films, the women do not play an active role, but as Pippin (2006) shows, many of them provide a choice for life. In the discussion on Hartley’s (1998) The Book of Life, Magdalena accompanies Jesus to meet with God’s lawyers to receive an electronic book of life. Throughout the movie, Jesus is portrayed as uncertain of what to do, and it is Magdalena who is the ‘strong but sullen assistant to Jesus’ (Pippin 2006, p. 163). While Jesus struggles with his preordained role as the one who has to open the fifth seal to inaugurate the end of the world, Magdalena listens to music, goes on a shopping spree, and enjoys the company of others. In short, she ‘opts for life and the small joys of being human’ (Pippin 2006, p. 163). The movie ends with Jesus, Magdalena, Satan and other characters making a ‘champagne toast’ while life ‘goes on’ because Jesus decided not to open the seals. For Pippin (2006, p. 167), this narrative shows that no one, neither male nor female, ‘fares well in any apocalyptic narrative’ if they are not willing to choose to find meaning in mundane life. This conclusion of Pippin should be read in light of her other works on apocalyptic literature, where she highlights the passive, submissive, and misogynistic portrayal of women (Pippin 1992, 1999). Whether one agrees with Pippin’s readings and solutions to apocalyptic hypermasculinity is besides the point, as the issues addressed by Pippin can certainly not be ignored (Barr 2006).

DiTommaso (2011a, 2011b, 2014, 2020) would be situated somewhere in the middle of the continuum. On the one hand, he regards ancient and modern apocalyptica as expressing an adolescent or escapist worldview (DiTommaso 2011b, p. 236; 2014, p. 502; 2020, p. 326), owing to the reductionist dualism evident within them. This, in turn, ‘places responsibility for solving’ worldly problems ‘elsewhere: God, an undefined force of nature, a divinized humanity, a superhuman messiah-figure, an alien race, or an artificial intelligence’ (DiTommaso 2014, p. 502). On the other hand, this negative evaluation is not applied to all apocalyptica. Rather, DiTommaso’s (2014, pp. 480–83) evaluation of different apocalyptica can be plotted on two intersecting X and Y axes. One would represent a continuum between a deep or shallow apocalypse, and the other a thick or thin apocalypse. Revelation and Gibson’s (1984) novel Neuromancer are placed on the thick and deep side of the axes. Both these provide deep evaluations of time, space and human destiny, as well as thick colourful descriptions of the worlds they create (DiTommaso 2011a; 2014, p. 481). While some apocalyptica are evaluated as thick and deep, the majority of modern apocalyptica are seen by DiTommaso (2020) as being shallow and thin. The apocalyptic allusions and descriptions are ‘a painted backdrop against which’ the ‘soap-opera melodramas unfold… unmoored from existential relevance or social function’ (DiTommaso 2020, p. 326). An example of such a ‘superflat’ apocalypse would be the 2012 phenomenon commonly known as the ‘Mayan apocalypse’ (DiTommaso 2014, pp. 500–1). Because of the medium it was transferred by, namely online, this ‘apocalyptic revelation’ was not transferred from a single authoritative figure to a ‘prophetic community along restricted channels.’ Consequently, because of the open access nature of the information, the authoritative prophetic figure has ‘six billion faces, and that prophet is us’ (DiTommaso 2020, p. 336).

In Rindge’s (2022, p. 1) Bible and film: The basics, he notes that creating a dialogue between films and biblical texts is a two-way interpretative street. As the films are enlightened by the biblical text they represent and draw inspiration from, so also the biblical texts can be interrogated and interpreted from the films’ side. It is clear from the above discussion that this hermeneutical dialogue can be expanded to include other media as well. Whether this is film (Davies 2022; Pippin 2006), graphic (Clark 2010), or science fiction novels (DiTommaso 2014, 2011a), these apocalyptica provide avenues to engage ancient apocalyptic texts like Revelation.

This article aims to contribute to this body of literature by providing another dialogue partner in the form of Michael Dougherty’s (2019) Godzilla: King of the Monsters (hereafter—KoM)5. While there is existing scholarship on the Godzilla franchise—both the original and the reboot versions (see §3 below)—using KoM as a dialogue partner in engaging with Revelation has not yet been undertaken. What makes KoM a good fit for such a dialogue partner is what Dougherty said in an online interview regarding the film:

I wanted to push it into this sort of biblical realm. You know, our mantra on film many times was to put the God back in Godzilla. You know, to really depict these things as ancient primal deities so that they were not just big monsters destroying cities, but that we felt like we were opening up the Book of Revelation.

(Collider 2019)

To appreciate and contextualise the tropes employed in the reboot films Godzilla (Edwards 2014) and KoM, attention will first be given to the origins of Godzilla6. This will be followed by a summary of the reboots. Next, a comparison of key scenes and themes from KoM and Revelation will be presented. It is important to note that none of the Godzilla films would be classified as apocalyptic7, and Revelation is certainly not their sole source of imagery or influence. Rather, as will become clear, the aim here is to examine key scenes that can help to illuminate certain elements of Revelation. The discussion will conclude with reflections on how this dialogue contributes both to the interpretation of KoM and Revelation.

3. Godzilla: From Nuclear Monster to Ecological Defender

3.1. Gojira: Nuclear Monster

In 1954, director Ishirō Honda (1954) introduced the world to Gojira (ゴジラ) with the first feature film8. Honda could not have known that his creation would terrorise and delight millions for more than 60 years and be entered into the record books on 1 January 2014 as the longest-running film franchise (Skipper 2022, p. 9)9. While later renditions of Godzilla were made more family-friendly (Pike 2009; Susina 2009), the origins of Gojira are anything but delightful. Rather, the original story of Gojira can rightfully be labelled as apocalyptic in the modern sense of the word.

On 6 August 1945, the inhabitants of Hiroshima considered themselves fortunate to have been spared the firebombing raids that had devastated Tokyo and claimed thousands of lives. The horrific reason for this apparent reprieve became clear when ‘the drone of three B-29 bombers caused some people to pause and look up anxiously’ (Smith 2008, p. 328). Little Boy, containing approximately 64 kg of uranium-235, was released over the city. At an altitude of roughly half a kilometre above ground, 1 kg of uranium-235 underwent nuclear fission. In a flash, ground temperatures surged to 3000–4000 °C—hot enough to vaporise every element, even carbon. Within half a mile, people were incinerated where they stood, their organs evaporated and bodies reduced to charred husks. A mile away, exposed skin still seared at 540 °C (Smith 2008, p. 329). On 9 August, Fat Man, a plutonium-based bomb, was dropped on Nagasaki. Estimates of the death toll from the explosions alone are difficult to calculate, but combined figures exceed 100,000—without accounting for the ‘deaths from cancer and other long-term effects of these bombs’ (Smith 2008, p. 332). Prior to the release of Gojira in 1954, the crew of the finish boat Lucky Dragon 5 (第五福龍丸) suffered radiation poisoning caused by H-bomb testing (Brothers 2011; Skipper 2022, p. 12). The opening scene of Gojira makes this connection clear. After the opening credits, we move to a boat, a fishing trawler, when its sailors are surprised by a blinding flash of light and some horror emerging from the sea (Skipper 2022, p. 12). The trawler is destroyed, and another is sent to investigate, but it is also destroyed. One survivor returns, telling of a great sea monster that destroys boats. At this point in the film, Gojira has not been seen; it takes 20 min of story time before Gojira appears. For Honda (1954), Gojira was more than just another irradiated monster. Watching Gojira on screen was a cathartic experience for many viewers (Pike 2009). However, the constant appeal of Gojira is not found in it being just another monster flattening cities. As Skipper (2022, p. 19) notes, people ‘relate just as much to the monster as they do to the humans it kills. Godzilla is a force of nature, an innocent bystander… to humanity’s penchant for destruction. We wake it up with the H-bomb, we anger it by attacking it… We must accept the consequences.’ Thus, while Gojira was originally a commentary on human striving for a ‘cosmic weapon’ (Smith 2008, p. 332), it is able to address other themes as well. This is made clear in the reboots.

3.2. Godzilla: Earth’s Defender

Edwards’s (2014) Godzilla was the first instalment in a series forming part of Legendary Pictures’ Monsterverse10. While the differences between Godzilla and Gojira will be the focus, there are some echoes that need to be noted. In Gojira, the monster is awakened because of the H-bomb tests, but in Edwards’s version, these tests were cover stories for attempts to kill Godzilla11. In this and other allusions, the nuclear origins of Godzilla are kept. However, as Dominy and Calsbeek (2019, p. 841) note, Godzilla is an ‘allegory for human folly and our reckless disregard for the natural environment.’ Who Godzilla is also changed. Along with Kong, these creatures assume the roles of guardians and protectors of planet Earth (Vereshchagina and Kompatsiaris 2023, p. 101). The plot line of Godzilla is typical of other monster-feast films. Giant monsters emerge (MUTOs), which the US military is unable to stop. Scientists from the governmental research division MONARCH reveal that these creatures feed on radiation and are part of ancient predators, so-called titans. After several failed attempts, Dr. Serizawa notes that the awakening of the MUTOs brought an imbalance to the natural order and that Godzilla would be the one to restore this balance. If the MUTOs are left unchecked, they will breed, and life will become impossible for humanity. Halfway into the film, Godzilla is revealed for the first time in all its gigantic glory. This is the second time the King of the Monsters is a fully computer-generated image (CGI), as well as the largest of all Godzillas (Dominy and Calsbeek 2019; Skipper 2022, p. 232). In the end, Godzilla kills the MUTOs and returns to the depths of the ocean. Adams (2024, p. 6) summarises the thrust of Edwards’ take by noting that this film ‘emphasises the demonstration of Godzilla’s worldly authority over all other creatures, celebrating the monster for its fearsome ability to maintain natural hierarchy.’

In KoM, Godzilla’s worldly authority is elevated to a cosmic scale. This mythos is clear from the opening credits. The studio logos are flanked by mythological beasts in Babylonian style, with human prostrated beneath them. The consequences of the violent battle between Godzilla and the MUTOs provide the opening scene of KoM. San Francisco is shown engulfed in flames. Dr. Emma Russell and her daughter Madison appear disoriented amidst the chaos, while Mark Russell calls their son Edward, whom we learn was killed in this confrontation. As Godzilla passes by, Emma’s face is a mixture of shock and awe. This ambivalent stance towards Godzilla and the other titans is reflected in her work to communicate with them, and her view that humans are the cause of war, famine, pollution and mass extinctions. The titans, she notes, are the rightful rulers, ‘the Earth’s natural defence system. A way to protect the planet, to maintain its balance.’

This view leads her to release Monster Zero, also known as King Ghidorah (キングギドラ), from its icy tomb. The tomb is depicted as a fiery pit from which Ghidorah rises. Ghidorah emerges as a hydra-dragon with three heads, a spiked tail, and continual lightning and thunder emanating from it. It kills the humans who oppose it, and licks their charred ashes from the ground. Godzilla then rises from the sea to confront Ghidorah; the clash ends with Ghidorah flying away and Godzilla in pursuit.

The motivation for awakening Ghidorah and the other titans is the pursuit of ecological balance. Before the second encounter between Godzilla and Ghidorah, another containment seal is broken, releasing Rodan. Rodan bursts from a volcano and flies over a city in a destructive scene reminiscent of the atomic explosion. The eruption draws both Ghidorah and Godzilla. Initially, Rodan fights Ghidorah, but the battle quickly turns to Godzilla against Ghidorah. Godzilla overpowers Ghidorah and tears off its head, but the military launches an ‘oxygen destroyer’ to kill them both. The warhead detonates: Godzilla sinks lifeless to the ocean floor, while Ghidorah remains unscathed, perched atop the erupting volcano. Its wound regenerates, and a dramatic display of dominance is staged—with a cross visible in the foreground.

This event precipitates the mass awakening of other titans, and Alan Jonah, leader of the ecoterrorist group, while looking at Ghidorah, proclaims it as the rightful king. Aboard the MONARCH plane, Mark Russell and the crew question why the warhead did not harm Ghidorah. It is revealed that it is not of the natural order, unlike Godzilla or the MUTOs. Rather, it is described as ‘a great dragon who fell from the sky, a hydra, whose storm swallowed both men [sic.] and gods alike… a false king.’ Guided by Mothra, a benevolent titan, the crew locates Godzilla’s resting place within the ‘hollow Earth.’ This abode is suffused with natural radiation, slowly recharging Godzilla—though not quickly enough. To accelerate the process, an atomic bomb is detonated in the chamber.

From Dr Serizawa’s perspective, viewers see Godzilla lying atop a mountainous structure, radiant light emanating from behind Godzilla, surrounded by rivers of fire and miniature guardian statues. The bomb detonates, reviving Godzilla, who rises in an iconic scene from the ocean, unleashing a nuclear roar. A striking contrast is drawn: Ghidorah ascends from a fiery abyss amidst thunder and darkness, whereas Godzilla rises from a luminous, whirlpool of light.

The climactic battle between Godzilla and Ghidorah unfolds in the manner of many action films. The hero, Godzilla, appears initially overpowered by the villain. Salvation arrives through Mothra, who sacrifices herself to empower Godzilla. Emma redeems herself by distracting Ghidorah long enough for Godzilla to recover and deliver the decisive blow. In her final act of defiance, she repeats Alan Jonah’s words—long live the king—but now directed to Godzilla rather than Ghidorah. Powered by both the atomic blast and Mothra’s energy, Godzilla becomes, ‘one juiced lizard.’ Thermonuclear energy radiates from its body, melting glass, stone, and metal. Rather than a concentrated nuclear beam, Godzilla emits a devastating pulse of energy, incinerating everything in its radius, including Ghidorah. Godzilla delivers the final coup de grâce by annihilating Ghidorah’s last head with a signature nuclear breath. The closing scene forms an inclusio with the opening: a devastated cityscape, evocative of apocalyptic images, with Godzilla standing triumphantly upon a hill as all other titans bow before the King of Monsters.

In both Godzilla and KoM, Dr. Serizawa is convinced that Godzilla is an ecological balancing force. However, this balance is accomplished through extreme violence, with casualties numbering in the thousands. Adams (2024, p. 19) summarises this well:

Godzilla’s power… represents a transcendent and inhuman sovereign force… he is a god incarnate… an invincible ruler with total, planetary authority… Godzilla’s power is not merely a matter of balance. By repeatedly physically shattering its enemies when they refuse to act according to its order, Godzilla exercises its power in the service of maintaining hierarchy.

4. Revelation and Godzilla

On one level, Godzilla and KoM fall into DiTommaso’s (2014) superflat apocalyptic classification. The apocalyptic elements can be read as the ‘backdrop against which’ the melodramas of these films unfold (DiTommaso 2020, p. 326). Soles’ (2021) critical reading of KoM further highlights characterisation problems from a feminist perspective (contra the films discussed by Pippin 2006), and even missed opportunities to develop the critical ecological perspectives of the film. However, it should be noted that these films were produced for entertainment purposes, thus the superflat classification. Regardless, there is still value in reading KoM alongside Revelation.

KoM can assist in addressing structural elements and the use of source material in Revelation, much in the same way as the Terminator franchise (Fletcher 2016) and Nolan’s films (Davies 2022). When Gojira was released, people were in the grips of nuclear angst (Brothers 2011), whereas with the reboots, this angst morphed into ecological angst (Dominy and Calsbeek 2019; Vereshchagina and Kompatsiaris 2023). While still retaining elements from Gojira, the reboot addresses the audience in their context by reinterpreting the source material. In the same way, John does not just echo and rehash, but reinterprets and changes his source material to fit and speak to his communities (Moyise 2020; Pagels 2012, pp. 30–31). While this would be a fruitful avenue to explore, in this discussion, the focus falls rather on how the images of Revelation are de- and recontextualised in KoM, and the use of violence to bring peace and balance.

Reimagining Revelation

The de- and recontextualisation of Revelation’s images is not a modern or even postmodern trend; this phenomenon is found throughout the history of depictions of Revelation (O’Hear and O’Hear 2015, pp. 62, 66, 69, 91, 92, 96, 110, 152, 177, 208, 242, 244, 275, 277, 284). A viewer who is familiar with Revelation would clearly see the allusions and influences of Revelation on the cinematography of KoM. The release of Rodan, and other titans, are preceded by the unlocking of a seal, just as apocalyptic events in Revelation is introduced by the opening of seals (Rev 6:1–17; 8:1). Godzilla, the true and rightful king of the titans and Earth, has an underground layer reminiscent of the throne room of God described in Revelation 4–5. It is engulfed in light, and as John had to ascend (Rev 4:1–2), Serizawa ascends the stairs to stand before Godzilla. However, Godzilla is not just a God-type figure, but also takes on the role of Christ. In Revelation, Christ makes war on his enemies with the ‘sword from his mouth’ (Rev 19:15). Godzilla defeats the majority of the threats with a beam of radioactive breath from his mouth, usually in a white-blue colour. Finally, the contrast created between Godzilla and Ghidorah is one of the more explicit parallels between KoM and Revelation.

While the term antichrist is never used in Revelation (Schreiner 2023, pp. 457–62), when comparing Revelation 4–5 with 12–13, there is a clear antithesis between these chapters (Koester 2014, pp. 576–606). In heaven, God is seated on a throne surrounded by ‘a sea of glass, like crystal’ (Rev 4:6). Surrounding the throne are all the servants of God who ‘worship’ (προσκυνέω; Rev 4:10) unceasingly. Seeing the one seated on the throne holding a sealed scroll, a question of worthiness is asked (Rev 5:2). After the revelation is given that the Lion–Lamb is worthy, the authority of the One seated on the throne is given to him, and he is worshipped along with the One seated on the throne (Rev 5:7–14). In the counterimage to this, the ‘great red dragon’ (Rev 12:3) is thrown down to Earth (Rev 12:9, 13) and stands on the ‘sand of the sea’ (Rev 12:17) before the beasts from the sea and land emerge. Like the Lion–Lamb, the beasts also have multiple horns (Rev 13:1), with the one from the land being described as ‘having two horns like a lamb’ (Rev 13:11). The one from the sea has multiple heads, but one of the heads had a ‘moral wound’ that ‘was healed’ (Rev 13:3). In Greek, the same word to describe the Lion–Lamb as one that ‘had been slain’ is used to describe this ‘mortal wound’ of the beast (σφάζω; Rev 4:6; 13:3). As the Lion–Lamb received authority from the throne of God, so the beasts also receive their authority from the throne of the dragon (Rev 13:2, 11–12). The question of worthiness is also echoed in the appearances of the beast from the sea. After the mortal wound heals, people of the earth ‘worshipped’ (προσκυνέω) it and asked ‘who is like the beast, and who can fight against it’ (Rev 13:4). Mixed into these similarities are also important differences. The crowns offered to God are στεφάνοι (Rev 4:4, 10), whereas the beast has διαδήματα on its heads (Rev 13:1). A στεφάνος was reserved in the ancient world for those whose honour was acknowledged by the citizens of a city and their subjects. Further, while the beast from the land might have horns like a lamb, when it speaks, it speaks ‘like a dragon’ (Rev 13:11). Finally, the beast from the land rules through deception (Rev 13:13–14), where the Lion–Lamb (Christ) is the true or trustworthy representative of God (Rev 3:7, 14; 19:11).

In KoM, Ghidorah, like the dragon, falls from the sky and is proclaimed as a ruler. In this instance, the images of the dragon and beasts from the sea and land are combined into Ghidorah12. Like the beast from the sea, Ghidorah has multiple heads, with one receiving a mortal wound from which it heals. The rule of Ghidorah is marked by deception in that the release of it and other titans was meant to restore ecological balance. However, instead, Ghidorah is there to destroy all life on Earth. Godzilla is needed to restore this balance and protect life, just as God and the Lion–Lamb are praised for ‘destroying the destroyers of the earth’ (Rev 11:18). Ghidorah is thus presented as an anti-image to Godzilla, but in the end, Godzilla, the rightful ruler of the world, triumphs.

While Godzilla does save the Earth, first from the MUTOs and then Ghidorah, the violent nature thereof is not ignored in these films. The opening scene and plot of KoM make this clear. In the battle between Godzilla and the MUTOs, there are multiple innocent casualties, and a whole city is levelled. The same is true for KoM (Adams 2024). Violent imagery and battles between oppositional forces are typical tropes found in apocalyptic literature. Revelation is no exception to this. Much scholarly work has gone into making sense of these violent images. While God is the one who ‘destroys the destroyers of the earth’ (Rev 11:18), this conflict does incur mass casualties. These include a third of the Earth, trees, and grass (Rev 8:7), the sea and sea creatures (Rev 8:8–9), and the rivers and springs (Rev 8:10–11). The ‘great city Babylon’ (Rev 17–18) is utterly destroyed, and people are struck by plagues through God’s wrath (Rev 16).

Various solutions have been suggested for reading and understanding the violence in Revelation, for example, eading the texts as a cathartic expression (Yarbro Collins 1984), focusing on Christ as the Lamb as a central metaphor or motive (Gorman 2011; Johns 2003), or reading the texts as an ancient combat myth where God fights the power of chaos (Yarbro Collins 2001). Recently, Crossan (2022) and Ehrman (2023) note that although these are symbols and metaphors, it is precisely through symbols and metaphors that a person’s understanding of reality is rendered. For many, Revelation is more than a text, but is sacred scripture that determines their view of time, space, and ultimate human destiny (see DiTommaso 2011a, 2011b, 2014, 2020). Because of the authoritative nature of Revelation, critical engagement and interrogation of these violent images are needed. Using KoM provides a space for readers to engage critically with the text.

5. Conclusions

John of Patmos would never have imagined the apocalyptica that Revelation would inspire. In recent years, dialogue partners for Revelation have expanded to include not just archaeological and ancient sources, but more modern and even postmodern manifestations. The aim of this article was to argue that Godzilla: King of the Monsters can be added to this list of dialogue partners. While KoM was never intended to be a commentary on Revelation, it does provide an avenue for engaging with Revelation. Like Godzilla, Revelation is read as a text with awesome and awful hybrid monsters13, but as in Godzilla, the message of Revelation is deeper than just divine and angelic beings fighting chaotic monsters. Godzilla, like God in Revelation, fights to destroy the destroyers of the Earth. As the King of the monsters, Godzilla’s authority, like God’s in Revelation, is challenged by false rulers, but viewers/readers know from the start that in the end the King of Monsters and King of Kings will be triumphant. In both these narratives, a deceiving enemy claims sovereignty over the earth, but in the end cannot stand against the true King of the Earth. When the potential for life to flourish is threatened, Godzilla does not stand by idly. In the worldview expressed in Revelation, this is also what the culmination of history would mean for human life. A life where God removes all obstacles to the fullness of life, God like Godzilla will not stand by ideally while life is threatened (Koester 2014, pp. 271, 615, 731). However, the violent nature and images can never be ignored. KoM provides an avenue to engage more ethically with the question of whether violence and the casualties it incurs are worth it to bring about peace in the end. Revelation has inspired acts of kindness and liberation, but also oppression and death. As Pippin (2006) shows, using modern apocalyptica can provide paradigms to engage critically with this aspect of Revelation and biblical texts in general.

Many of these modern apocalyptica, especially in the so-called science fiction, apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic genre group, are certainly superflat apocalypses. These are aimed at an adolescent audience. However, to ignore them and not engage with them is to miss an opportunity to engage with the pulse of the world. These apocalyptica provide valuable dialogue partners to enlighten modern readers on certain tropes found in ancient apocalyptic texts, including, among others, the presentation of time, dealing with ‘evil’ and the destroyers of the Earth. Additionally, the use of violence and its use to bring about peace can be engaged more critically. For readers who stand in a committed faith community, it is easier to criticise a violent movie (such as Godzilla) than a sacred text (such as Revelation). But, through this critical engagement, the dangers of divine justified violence can also be engaged more ethically and accountably by these same communities.