âWhat Other Options Were There?â â The Rumbling and the Limits of Human Choice
Whenever I see someone ask, âWhat other options were there besides the Rumbling?â in relation to Attack on Titan, I catch myself wishing we'd all take a huge step back and ask ourselves if that's even the right question to be asking.
Eren didnât initiate the Rumbling because he saw it as the optimal solution to a political crisis. He did it because he couldnât see any solution at all. He reached a point many trauma survivors do: the urge to burn everything down and start afresh. And honestly, that's pretty normal; Armin even admits heâd thought about it, too, during their final conversation in the Paths.
The important difference is that Eren acted on it. And, crucially, he didnât solve anything by doing so. Historiaâs letter makes that painfully clear: Eren's actions didnât bring about lasting peace. They sowed the seeds for future generations to repeat the same descent into fear, war, and destruction. The island survives, but it doesnât heal.
And that's because Attack on Titan isnât a story about solving crises.
Itâs a story about how humans, collectively, repeat the mistakes of history â only realising too late what the cost was. For example: Kiyomi regrets her political gambit in bringing Eren and Zeke together. Commander MĂźller begs his soldiers and the survivors assembled at Fort Salta to vow that theyâre done with mutual hatred. Everyone only sees the pattern once theyâre trapped deep inside it, facing down the consequences.
You could argue that one positive consequence of Erenâs actions â though indirectly, and not through his own agency â was the resolution of the Curse of Ymir. But even that wasnât really something Eren accomplished. He admits this himself in the Paths: âYmir had been waiting for someone⌠and that person was Mikasa.â It was Mikasaâs choice, her refusal to perpetuate the cycle of violence through love in bondage, that finally empowered Ymir to let go.
And we're shown that even that resolution isnât permanent. The very last scene with the boy and the dog approaching the tree makes it clear that history resets; the cycle begins anew. By that point, everyone who lived through the cataclysm and the children who remember them are long gone â in other words, the people who could have said ânever againâ with real weight behind it. All thatâs left behind then are people like me: history nerds who recognise the warning signs, and try to educate, contextualise, and point out where weâre headed if we donât change course. And yet⌠look at the world around you; weâve ended up there anyway. My efforts, and the efforts of countless others like me, clearly havenât stopped society from repeating the same patterns of fear, extremism, scapegoating, and dehumanisation.
Which is exactly the point Attack on Titan makes: even when the curse is lifted, even when the cycle should be broken, humanity has an astonishing capacity to recreate the very conditions that destroyed it.
Western storytelling sets us up to misunderstand Attack on Titan
I sincerely think that part of the problem is that popular Western narrative tradition trains us to expect stories to offer a clean resolution with a single moral; something like an Aesopâs fable ending.
Attack on Titan, to put it simply, is not that kind of story. Itâs an allegory. It observes human nature, and draws on philosophy, history, theology, and mythology. It illuminates patterns, rather than prescribing solutions. Itâs not trying to tell us what should be done; itâs asking us to notice how humans behave, and question what it means for us.
Ergo, a more meaningful question than âWhat other options were there?â might be,
âGiven the world I live in, what can I reasonably do?â
Attack on Titan challenges us to think about the tension between freedom and security â symbolised by going outside the Walls versus staying within them. For some people, the ideal balance leans toward exploration and risk; for others, protection and stability. Attack on Titan isnât telling us which one is right â itâs asking each of us to consider where our personal threshold is, and at what point weâd stand up and fight if that balance were threatened or taken away.
At the same time, it suggests that things that are outside of our control perhaps matter less than giving thoughtful consideration to the things we can realistically do something about. That meaning and purpose come from staying rooted in the present, seeking understanding rather than fearing the unknown, and valuing small moments of connection we find with others. And, maybe â just maybe â if more of us did that, instead of buying into hatred and culture wars, weâd be a more peaceful society overall.
Tl;dr â the Rumbling isnât âthe solution.â Itâs an example of how bad things could get.
Ironically, I think that if Attack on Titan does have a moral, itâs probably nothing more complicated than touch grass. Which is funny to me, considering how often fans and haters alike seem to forget to do exactly that.
The âEldian problemâ framing itself is the issue
When people ask âWhat other options were there?â, theyâre assuming that there was an inherent problem to be solved: âthe Eldian problemâ requiring a âfinal solution.â And historically, that kind of language is not only reductive â it's dangerous.
In early 20thâcentury Europe, political discourse included talk of âthe Jewish question.â Today, similar, dehumanising rhetoric resurfaces in discussions about other marginalised groups (e.g. âthe trans debateâ). Hitlerâs âfinal solutionâ was genocide â the Holocaust, literally âsacrifice by fire.â The Rumbling mirrors that logic: annihilation framed as necessity.
This is why I push back on the premise. In Attack on Titan's case, the story isnât asking us to solve anything. Itâs asking us to recognise how extremism frames itself as inevitability.
Thus, Erenâs tragedy is that he became the thing he hated most.
Attack on Titan repeatedly shows that outcomes canât be predicted
This is another reason I find the âWhat else could they have done?â debate to be flawed: Attack on Titan is riddled with worked examples of the impossibility of predicting outcomes. I mean, Leviâs guiding philosophy is literally, âMake the choice you think youâll regret the least.â
In terms of what other options there might have been, to enact a smallâscale Rumbling was meant to be the plan. However, its success depended on Eren's compliance. Of course, when Eren did gain the power to act on it, he chose to enact the full-scale version instead.
But then, throughout the story, every time a best-laid plan gets compromised, it's always down to some unforeseen variable:
Erwin predicts that there are other Titan shifters besides Eren, but not the Female Titanâs ability to call other Titans (creating the diversion that allows Annie to evade capture).
Levi fails to predict Kennyâs involvement in the kidnapping of Eren and Historia.
The Scouts plan to use Eren's hardening ability to seal Wall Maria, but they fail to predict how Zeke will use the terrain and his ability to control Titans to divide and eliminate them.
Hange says something important in the anime (and Historia's letter echoes it): that outcomes affecting groups arenât determined by any one personâs decisions, but by the collective choices of many. Fandom debates canât replicate that condition, when theyâre really just individual egos sparring.
Then what is the central thesis?
For my two pennies' worth, it's probably not: âHow do we stop humans committing atrocities?â
And something more along the lines of: âHow can we live, knowing we canât control everything?â
Attack on Titan asks us to reflect on our individual choices, accept what we canât control, and to do our best with what we can â while valuing connection, curiosity, and staying grounded in the present. And perhaps, if more people chose to live that way, atrocities like the Rumbling would be far less likely to occur in the first place.
Because peace isnât something that simply happens â itâs something everyone has to actively work towards.