Hajime Isayama’s Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan) began as a man-against-nature (sort of) story. It compelled me so, as it showed what little humans are capable of with their flexible swords and gravity-defying gears.
It also showed, in gruesome detail, how little humans would end up when the wires and slashers fail to work. The titan-related death toll rubbed it in that in a man-versus-nature battle, the latter would often win.
Thankfully, as the story progressed, I learned that man can also become nature. I hoped, then, that if man couldn’t win against nature, combining the two’s powers might give humanity a fighting chance. I thought that with the turn of events, humanity wouldn’t have to hide behind the walls anymore and live like caged pigs waiting for their eventual slaughter.
My naive teenage mind even glimpsed a happy ending on the horizon.
But I forgot that Isayama is as ruthless as he’s subversive.
I thought stripping the island of its walls meant hope, but the event revealed another cage instead. A prison more encompassing, treacherous, and unforgiving. So dense that getting out of it requires humans to kill or drop dead.
Beyond Paradis, past the sea, and all over Isayama’s war-stricken world, the prison caging humans to their collective doom is a vast, desolate forest.
As the Walls Collapse, the Forest Grows
Before the revelations from Eren’s basement, the forest as part of the narrative was a harmless element. It once represented the collateral humans needed to sacrifice for the greater good. A conversation between Sasha in Volume 9, Chapter 36, drove this concept home:
Dad Braus: Sasha, Y’ever think about what’s happenin’ to this world? Why’s the forest been gittin’ smaller, why it’s been harder to catch any game? Ever thought about it?
Sasha: I know… It’s ’cause outsiders been comin’ in and takin’ our forest and our game. That’s why I’m hungry.
Dad Braus: Yep, that’s right… But… Those folks have had their homes stolen from them, too… They ended up here ’cause they don’t got no other choice.
Sasha: That’s their problem… They should hurry up an’ git out.
Dad Braus: It’s titans [that] took their homes, ya know. Where else do they have to go?
Sasha: …
Dad Braus: They say ya c’n feed more mouths if ya clear the forest and jus’ grow grain. Maybe our family oughta give up huntin’… And hand the forest over. The monarchy says… They’ll pay us if we agree ta raise horses.
Sasha: Wha? But that’s… If we stop huntin’, it’d be like givin’ up who we are! Why do we gotta do that for a bunch of folks who look down on us like we’re idiots?!
Dad Braus: That’s ’cause… Livin’ in this world’s a privilege.
Understandably, Sasha would refuse to give up the forest. Why do they have to feel responsible for the well-being of others so that they’d leave their old ways? It’s not their fault that Wall Maria fell, right?
But just as Sasha represented human selfishness at that time, her father became the symbol of altruism (and practicality):
Even if we gotta lose our traditions, I wanna live ta see the future with my family. We gotta accept that this world’s connected.
Y’know, Sasha… Ya’ve got a bit of a cowardly streak. Leavin’ this forest and facin’ other people… Is that really so tough for ya…?
Eventually, Sasha let go. She left their forest to become a soldier, and the Braus family switched to raising horses.
It wasn’t long, though, before they discovered that the forest could change its form. Like a living entity, it adapted its shape to the times.
Mr. Braus thought he had pushed her daughter out of the thicket, only to learn later that he had allowed her to fly into the thick of it. In Volume 28, Chapter 111, Sasha’s dad made mention of the other forest that had engulfed his daughter:
I taught her how to use a bow when she were little, and we’d go huntin’ in the forest. ‘Cause that’s how we lived.
But I knew the day’d come when we couldn’t keep livin’ that way. So I made Sasha leave the forest… Then… The world got bigger. Sasha became a soldier. She went off to attack other lands, shot people, then got shot ‘erself.
I thought getting her outta the forest would mean somethin’… Turns out, the whole world was a colossal forest, where it was still kill or be killed.
Indeed, the world is a forest, with all its forking paths, entrapping vines, and menacing monsters.
In Isayama’s forest, humans go through the motions. The conditions make it so the only way to thrive is to dominate others, and they eagerly feed on the idea (like how mindless titans eat flesh).
But unlike titans, humans know what they’re doing. They know that to stay on top is to remain strong by feeding on the weak.
As the only philosophy widely accepted in their time, this belief permeated every nation and people and had been an accepted notion for generations.
Thousands of years before, this philosophy motivated power-hungry people to conquer others. Thousands of years later, it became the belief Mikasa formed about the world and the same principle that fueled Eren to fight.
It has always been the case: To kill or be killed. The strong eat the weak. The weak submit to the strong.
And humans couldn’t seem to break out of the mold.
By Burning, Humanity Cuts the Forest’s Growth
Isayama created an invincible forest that continued to grow as it fed on humanity’s preference for greed, violence, and selective compassion. The forest feasted on these ideas for centuries, creating the illusion that it will never crumble.
But some humans in the same narrative, despite being trapped by the consequences, chose to go against this hopeless flow.
How? By creating a small fire from within themselves and throwing it into the bushes.
They did so in hopes this fire would lick on dead leaves and wood and, under favorable conditions, would turn into a massive inferno that would devour the forest to ashes.
These sparks lived in people like Mr. Braus, who chose to put down the knife that should have avenged his daughter’s life. When the enemy (a brainwashed child) expected retaliation, the man gifted her with compassion and forgiveness.
I think Sasha got killed… ‘Cause she wandered too long in that forest. We’ve gotta get children outta this forest, at the very least. Else the same thing’s just gonna happen agin an’ agin.
To shoulder the sins ‘n’ hatred of the past… Now that’s our burden, as adults.
But like other good things, this beautiful moment happened around a small circle of witnesses. Its smallness, compared to the grand scheme of things, might as well be a flicker of a firefly.
But it did save one girl from a lifetime of hate. And that meant one less human that the forest could feed on.
Upon seeing her transformation, it isn’t far-fetched to hope she would pass this idea of forgiveness and understanding to her children.
Passing the values to future generations might be a slow and tedious process, but given time, it will deprive the forest of its food and eventually uproot it.
Cornered, the Forest Retaliates with a Violence Hundredfold
Of course, the forest has its trump card. Small fires might burn its parts, but it would retaliate with a nuclear bomb.
Eren believed that only total violence could erase the world’s violence, so he became the forest’s ultimate weapon.
Little did Eren know that the forest used him as a means to a grim end. It was willing to sacrifice its current domain if it meant extending its reach later. It provided humans with more reasons to nurture hatred, which it will happily feed on in the future.
The forest allowed a big chunk of its resources to disappear at the moment in exchange for a hundredfold of supplies later.
But the forest committed an oversight when it permitted Eren to protect the island’s Eldians.
Escape the Forest First, then Fight It
The people of Paradis were well and safe within the bubble Eren formed when the Rumbling started. Many rejoiced, a few grieved, and others didn’t know what to feel.
Then, Isayama shifted the scene from the hubbub to the middle of a forest, where we saw Hange nursing Levi back to health after narrowly escaping death.
After taking the helm from Erwin, for the first time in years, the exhausted commander allowed herself to feel vulnerable. She contemplated hiding amidst the trees.
I could imagine the forest smiling, feeling triumphant that the few fighters who planned to burn it were now losing the will to fight.
But I could also picture it getting confused, as Hange, after voicing out her resignation, moved to build a makeshift cart anyway.
And when the two spoke, affirming their duties, I could see the forest’s smile disappear.
With everything that’s happened, throwing the fight looked like the easiest choice. These overworked adults who have fought for over a decade should find stopping the most tempting non-solution.
And yet, with their pride intact and their heart in the right place, they set out to escape the comfort of the trees and campfire. They went out in the open, reached out to potential allies, and fought.
It was a choice Hange boldly made, and Levi wholeheartedly supported it. They risked their lives (and have taken lives) to get out of the forest.
And they did it not because of circumstances or selfish desires but because they believed it was the right thing to do.
Leaving the Forest Doesn’t Make One a Hero
Hange, Levi, and the rest of the scouts who decided to stop Eren’s killing spree weren’t really playing heroes.
It just looked that way because of the scale of the mission— stopping the massive terror that is the Rumbling is so impossible only heroes or fools (or foolish heroes) would attempt it.
Rather than heroic, I’d say that what these people were trying to do was human.
Imagine children and women trampled to their death while you sit safe and sound on your little island. Would you really enjoy the privilege?
Sadly, many humans from the island couldn’t care less about the fate of people beyond the now non-existent walls. Hearing it versus seeing the actual scene carry different impacts, and the islanders could only manage to do the former.
But the allies knew better. They have seen how similar they were to the people beyond the island. And even before that, they have witnessed how humans looked after titans stepped on them.
Seeing the horror first-hand, they would understand how it would feel for the people on the other side of the fence.
They are not trying to be heroes. They’re just doing what they thought was right within their capacity to empathize as human beings.
Most of us are not heroic and could be selfish, but I bet we would agree with the alliance. The belief that genocide (in its simplest sense) is wrong is universal, not a part of a moral conundrum.
We only had to ask ourselves: if given the power of choice like Eren, regardless of the rewards dangled in front of us, would we pick the bloodier option? I sincerely hope those who would answer yes are a minority.
The Forest may Burn, but It Will Grow Back
The fear the Rumbling struck in the hearts of men didn’t do the forest any favor for a while. There was a momentary peace that left it hungry.
I think negotiations for a truce succeeded. Otherwise, Mikasa wouldn’t be able to live that long in a warless zone.
But it was only temporary. Eventually, the forest returned to its full splendor, entrapping humans anew.
The last pages showed that the “kill or be killed” cycle remained vibrant, and the forest that enabled it was alive and well.
In the end, removing the titans was pointless. As soon as the trees returned to tower over their heads, humanity again succumbed to the rules of the wild.
Still, amidst the hopelessness, I saw a glimmer of hope. There was a moment when humans in the seemingly inescapable forest decided to stop the conflict and shook hands.
It worked for a while and then failed, but I believe someone will initiate the move again. People would just have to do it over and over again until they succeed, just like how we do it with trials and experiments.
Hange, ever the brilliant and conscientious scientist, embodied the idea so well right until the end:
Notes:
- For the uninitiated: you read manga from right to left.
- I used she/her pronouns for Hange for editorial purposes only.
