Guts: The Modern Man
On stoicism, masculinity, and carrying demons through the lens of BERSERK
Brand of Sacrifice, or: the Burden of the Protector
I have a lot to say about the gone-too-soon Kentaro Miura’s epic medieval fantasy manga Berserk. So much so that meditations on this series serve as a refrain in one of the novels I’m juggling. Currently at 42 volumes, this brutal odyssey is overflowing with magic and monsters, sex and violence, intricate architecture, and the most fluid action ever depicted via pen and ink. But what resonates beyond the technical proficiency and carnal indulgence on display here is the character of Guts—a brawny struggler archetype who can never outrun his demons, who is incapable of avoiding battles he’d rather not be in, but who nevertheless persists. It’s the inspiration spurred on by following Guts through each battle, and the lessons we learn with him along the way, that solidify Berserk’s placement next to the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius and Sun Tzu’s Art of War as one of the most important philosophical texts for men.
For the uninitiated, a brief encapsulation of this sprawling journey: found in the muck beneath the corpse of his hanged mother, an infant is taken in by mercenaries, raised to fight and pillage and have his ass sold to deviants by his own adoptive father. Off rip: Guts is not a hero, was never fated for honor or glory. He clumsily swings a sword he can barely hold because he is much too small to be expected to fight. And yet, even after murdering and escaping his abusive father figure, his childhood is spent on the frontlines of fortune fighters. Because however ill-equipped to wield it, the sword is all he knows. Over and over, stubbornness trumps skill in his unbelievable ability to survive. He’s got that redneck confidence, that primal trait that keeps the stupid alive through intense hardship.
Eventually, this war child’s reckless approach attracts the attention of the Band of the Hawk, a group of mercenaries led by the charismatic and dangerous Griffith. Guts finds family with the Band of the Hawk, and finds love in Casca, a captain in the mercenary group.
The betrayal and damnation that follows is what causes most to proclaim Berserk as one of the most harrowing and nihilistic tales ever told. But it’s literally, at thirteen volumes in, only the beginning. Structurally, this series begins with Guts as the mutilated and armor-clad Black Swordsman, a notorious monster hunter with a bloodlust we don’t understand yet. And then it flashes back for over a hundred chapters to show us exactly why the hero of this story has no interest in being a hero at all.
This brutal odyssey was never meant to end in triumph. It’s not about saving the day, it’s about surviving it. It’s about overcoming as a daily ritual; moving forward when all that lies beyond the horizon is more struggle.
From birth, Guts was thrown into a world that demanded everything from him—his blood, his freedom, his soul. His eventual role as a protector is central to his character, but it is far from the romanticized ideal of medieval chivalry. It is another role thrust upon him, not one he chooses. All the way up until the Eclipse—a pivotal tragedy in which both Guts and Casca are branded with curse marks and all of their friends devoured by demons—every decision Guts makes is reactionary. He’s always playing defense. Always just surviving. Now, having made it out of hell at the cost of an eye and an arm, and with the only love in his life mentally broken, Guts is finally given a choice. He can seek vengeance, he can settle somewhere and care for this woman who is now entirely dependent on him for survival, or he can surrender to the demons who appear every time he shuts his eye.
And the choice is not immediate. Something Miura depicts on a more visceral level than any other mangaka is the exhaustion that couples the will to endure. Every single day with Guts beyond the Eclipse is a choice. To stay or to run. To fight or to flee. And this is where the story most begins to reflect the modern man’s struggle to fulfill societal expectations of stoic provision while confronting inner demons.
The thing about being a protector is that it’s a thankless job. You don’t get parades or medals, you get scars and guilt. And the knowledge that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be enough. Guts carries that knowledge like a second sword, strapped to his back alongside the Dragonslayer. It’s always there, cutting into him—this constant reminder of every failure. Every time he wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, good enough. And yet, he keeps going. ‘Cause that’s what men do—we bite the complaints off the tips of our tongues and we thug it out. We keep swinging the sword, even when our hands are bleeding and our hearts are empty.
Demon Dawg
Not all demons are external. Something else Guts carries with him past the Eclipse is the Beast of Darkness, a demon dog that embodies all of the wrath and hatred inside our boy. At his most vulnerable and exhausted, the beast appears to whisper in his ear, coaxing him to give in, to let go, to stop pretending he’s human. Sometimes, the beast catches our boy slipping and manages to take over. Guts becomes the monster. But even after losing these battles with himself, Guts doesn’t give up, because he knows something most of us won’t admit: the beast isn’t the enemy. We all got a bit of that dog in us. And if we are to survive and provide, sometimes we gotta let the dog out.
This is where Berserk as an entertaining work of art goes even harder in the paint with the villains and adventures, while as a philosophical tome, it dives internally deeper. The battle we must show up to constantly, regardless of all the noise and the bullshit, is the battle within ourselves. The fight to keep the darkness at bay, even as it threatens to consume. Where we are both the hero and the villain.
More than an omnipresent opponent, the demon dog is a mirror. It’s the part of Guts—and the rest of us—that we don’t want to see. The part that’s angry, scared, broken. The part that wants to burn the world down because it’s easier than trying to fix it. And the hardest part isn’t fighting the beast. It’s admitting it’s there.
That Which Is Worth Not Letting Go
As men, we are expected to provide and still be present. To be strong but compassionate, and somehow always stoic. But what happens when those roles conflict? What about when our dreams and ambitions clash with our responsibilities to the people we love? That’s the ultimate Guts dilemma. On one hand, there’s his quest for vengeance against Griffith, this brother figure who stabbed him in the back, destroyed everything he cared about. On the other hand, there’s Casca, the woman he loves but doesn’t know how to piece back together after she’s been broken.
Guts tries to balance these competing demands, but it’s impossible. He can’t be both the avenger and the protector. He can’t chase Griffith and care for Casca at the same time. So he makes a choice. He chooses Casca, which is choosing love, but also sacrifice. And the thing about sacrifice is it doesn’t always feel noble. Sometimes, it feels like failure. Like you’re giving up on what you perceive as your purpose because the world won’t let you have everything. And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe being a man isn’t about winning. It’s about choosing what—and who—you’re not willing to lose.
Broken River shoutout
Rios de la Luz is hosting an online workshop March 8th.
Want to write with other creatives? Want inspiration for poetry, prose, or fiction?
WRITING THE WILD will focus on exploring the wilderness in our imaginations, non-linear paths into a story, mixing nature into writing to paint vivid imagery, exploring ways to add magical realism into our work to give stories more depth.
This workshop is generative, meaning, we write together within time limits of 10 to 20 minutes per prompt and create on the spot.
All writers will receive a packet with prompts and guides for longer exercises which focus on magical realism.
Classes are recorded and recordings will be available for 30 days.
WHEN: March 8th, 2025
WHERE: Online
TIME: 9:00AM PST to 1:00 PM PST
COST: $40 to $60
(Sliding scale)
Rios has my utmost endorsement as a writer and a workshop orchestrator. If you are a writer with any interest in developing your craft in a generative group setting, don’t miss this. More info/sign up HERE.
P.S. Tomorrow is my birthday. It’s a good day to buy a book from my webstore. On that note, I’m working on getting Mercy back in print, so keep an eye out. Y’all be easy.