Patrick Tiernan
Can someone be committed to their faith but struggle with what it asks of them? Are duty and desire mutually exclusive? These are questions we find in the story of The Mandalorian framed by personal and religious goals cloaked in competing desires and obligations. Din Djarin lies at the center of this dynamic, torn between obligations to abide by the Way of the Mandalore while resigning himself to reuniting the Child, Grogu, with the Jedi. His unwavering faith in pursuing this mission leads him down an existential path questioning his own upbringing and his role as a protector.
In the opening episode, “The Child,” we meet the gun‐slinging, soft‐spoken, masked mercenary known simply as Mando. His demeanor is calm and calculated with a laser‐focus intent on finding his hit and collecting its full bounty. He's concerned only with maintaining anonymity as he pursues his targets with stealth and unforgiving intensity. But, by the episode's conclusion, instead of delivering his latest target and retrieving his bounty from Greef Karga, Mando is gazing down upon the Child like a doting new father. We learn that Mando himself was taken in and cared for by the Mandalorians. Like others before him, he was a “foundling” brought into Mandalorian culture and trained to be a capable warrior, and it's clear that the Mandalorians hold foundlings in high regard. But everything he's grown familiar with through his training is thrown into doubt when he encounters the one bounty for which he'll never collect credits.
The moral dilemma Mando faces as he struggles to return the Child to the Jedi Order is illuminated by Søren Kierkegaard (1813–1855), one of the central figures of existentialism, a philosophy centered on the belief that individuals define themselves through their actions. The fundamental truths of our lives are not abstract but are lived experiences that challenge our very sense of identity, asking who we are and what we stand for. Our free will generates anguish, as we struggle to find meaning in our lives and take responsibility for our choices.
Kierkegaard's Christian existentialism was critical of the social dynamics and religious models that were supposed to represent authentic religiosity but were actually hypocritical and naive. Religious leaders spoke of virtue but rarely modeled it. Kierkegaard, by contrast, upheld the central tenets of the faith but was humble about what he could claim as objectively true or real. In one of his most well‐known books, Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard examines the biblical story of Abraham and Isaac.1 Highlighting the steadfast faith of the Biblical patriarch Abraham, Kierkegaard views him as an individual who is capable of believing in himself and acting independently. The devotion and commitment of Abraham's faith allows him to have the “power to concentrate the whole substance of his life and the meaning of actuality into one single desire.”2 Abraham is an archetype of someone who resists becoming something other than who they are called to be.
In the moment when God commands Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac as an offering, he realizes that a single individual is more important than a universal ethical system of right and wrong – what a paradox!3 Kierkegaard calls this the “teleological suspension of the ethical.” What does this mean? Well, as an example, let us say that we agree in principle that stealing is not a positive behavior and could lead to a series of poor choices in one's life. If, though, one needed to steal food for one's family, would stealing be permissible? Could it be morally acceptable to ignore this rule – namely, that it'd be morally wrong to steal – at that moment (“suspension of the ethical”) because at this given time the purpose of meeting one's family's needs (“teleological”) is more important? Throughout the series, Mando becomes a father figure to the Child, echoing the biblical story of Abraham. He's challenged numerous times to give up the Child, and he realizes this is no ordinary being. In handing over the Child, he fulfills his duty but against his better judgment. To keep the Child would risk their safety as well as his allegiance to Bounty Hunter protocol. When faced with the choice to keep the Child, he decides to see the task through of returning him to the Jedi, a decision validated by the value Mandalorians place upon foundlings.
The word “religion” comes from the Latin religare, meaning “to bind” oneself. Throughout his journey, Mando does not just talk about the Way, he lives and embodies it. As a galactic mercenary, Mando's primarily concerned with collecting credits on solicited bounties, no questions asked. Almost mechanically, he takes a formulaic approach: take the puck, bring in the bounty “warm or cold,” and collect the credits – no personal entanglements, no social connections, and no hard feelings. To do otherwise would risk abandoning the Mandalorian creed along with his very identity.4 Traditional Mandalorian culture adheres to the Resol'nare, or Six Actions. They consist of wearing armor, speaking the language, defending oneself and one's family, raising one's children as Mandalorians, contributing to the clan's welfare, and, when called upon by the Mand'alor, rallying to their cause. Tradition requires that those who desire to be called Mandalorian are to abide by these guidelines and live them out daily. If a Mandalorian does not abide by the Resol'nare, they are considered dar'manda – someone who's ignorant of their heritage and bereft of their Mandalorian soul. An individual in this state is considered soulless, having no place in Manda, the Mandalorian afterlife.5 Consequently, Mando resists giving in to worldly desires that would only lead him away from these commandments.
Kierkegaard's philosophy speaks of three developmental stages of existence. The first is the aesthetic stage in which people are defined by pursuits of the heart and body, and pleasure is discovered in the drama of pretending to be someone else.6 But eventually, one realizes this is not enough to be fulfilled, leading the individual to despair asking, “Is this all life has to offer?” We're driven to boredom after exhausting desire after desire, unable to attain any sense of fulfillment in our life. In the episode “Sanctuary,” Mando lands on the planet Sorgan to hide from the Guild and finds himself helping local villagers defend themselves against Klatoonian Raiders with the help of another mercenary, Cara Dune. During the ordeal, a widow named Omera expresses her gratitude for his help saying, “We want you to stay. The community's grateful. You can pack all this away in case there's any trouble. You and your boy can have a good life. He could be a child for a while. Wouldn't that be nice?” This exchange raises an intriguing possibility regarding the sense of care he's developed toward the Child and about his emerging persona as a father. Settling down and raising a family appears to be a natural desire here, but given his adherence to the Mandalorian creed, he cannot place himself first. In “Redemption,” Mando's signet is revealed to be the mudhorn skull representing the great deed accomplished by him and the Child, a clan of two. It also represents a personal challenge to Mando's commitment. Should he abandon the creed for a new life that centers on what many of us seek – committed relationships and personal stability? But what exactly is the good life? What others ask of you? What you desire for yourself? For Mando, there are no such questions, only obedience.
The place of family and the meaning of names are important to note here. Names are also significant in Kierkegaard's writings as he uses several pseudonyms to underscore existential themes of solitude, meaning, and subjectivity that permeate his writings.7 They also underscore an important existential maxim, namely that to find yourself you must be willing to lose yourself. The tension between finding your purpose in life and staring into the abyss of meaninglessness frames the human condition, and it's played out clearly in the narrative of Din Djarin. For most of the first season, we know very little about Mando until “Redemption,” when Moff Gideon calls out the mercenary's birth name. Since he was present at the Siege of Mandalore, Gideon indirectly humanizes Mando by presenting us with his true identity. More is revealed when he becomes injured in the battle with Gideon's troops and IG‐11 instructs him to remove his helmet so it can attend to him. As part of the Mandalorian code, he's never allowed to take off his helmet to any living being, but IG‐11 notes that it's not a living being. Likewise, it is not until season two's “The Jedi” that we learn the Child's name is Grogu and that he'd been trained at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant and rescued from Order 66. These revelations of names personalize the two main characters. They have moved far beyond the original bounty transaction.
The persona of Din Djarin evolves in complexity: from enigma, to soldier, to father. He believes in the Mandalorian creed and its rules, but he experiences a personal attachment to Grogu. Indeed, this mutual emotional bond begins to take its toll. Similarly, the existential tradition raises the theme of authenticity, the genuine or true way of human existence; specifically, this entails an element of one's own unique self. It's another paradox involving the subjective individual and the objective moral order. Din Djarin commits himself to seeking out other Mandalorians who may help him with his mission. In doing so, he begins to realize that the label “Mandalorian” is not a monolithic ideal, but rather applies to a diverse spectrum of zealots, apostates, and mercenaries universally opposed to oppression of any brand.8 By discovering his own way, Din Djarin also follows the Way. This is a specific and unique mark of each Mandalorian going back to the signet each receives. When we witness him collecting enough beskar to fashion an entirely new “iron skin,” we might imagine his meetings with Cobb Vanth and Bo‐Katan Kryze, both geared in traditional Mandalorian armor, would not be contentious. But these encounters raise the question of what it means to be a true follower of the Way and the responsibilities that come with wearing the Mandalorian armor.
In Kierkegaard's second stage, the ethical stage, the individual moves from living for oneself to acting in accordance with moral laws.9 In this plane of existence, we come to know pleasures that are empathetic, prolonged, and constant rather than the fleeting and limited pleasures of the aesthetic stage. The ethical life actually leads to deeper, more authentic pleasure because we do not suffer from the limits of base indulgences. Appearances seldom determine what's real. When we are first introduced to Cobb Vanth in “The Marshal,” we immediately recognize his armor as being from the bounty hunter Boba Fett. When Vanth casually removes his helmet and explains how he acquired the suit, Djarin is unimpressed because this action is not part of the authentic Mandalorian creed. The agreement he makes with Vanth to return the armor in exchange for killing the Krayt dragon reaffirms his vow to safeguard all remnants of Mandalorian culture and artifacts. Mando is able to sacrifice because it's in line with his creed and is the right thing to do for the betterment of the Mandalorian Order as a whole. Likewise, in “The Heiress,” when Djarin meets Death Watch lieutenant Bo‐Katan Kryze and her fellow mercenaries, his horizon of understanding of Mandalore's diversity expands. Bo‐Katan has struggled in the past with her desire to obtain the Darksaber when it wasn't rightfully hers to take. Both of these episodes highlight what appear to be selfishly motivated individuals who, in fact, reveal their willingness to sacrifice for the greater good – Vanth wants to save his town and Kryze hopes to redeem herself in the eyes of her soldiers. Appearances can be deceiving. Both Kryze and Vanth mean well but their desires aren't aligned with a higher calling. Their selflessness is clouded by seeking revenge or ensuring their image, respectively. It's in living in accordance with the ethical stage that we can distinguish between the posturing of what's real and the actual representation of someone who lives an authentic life.
The arc of Din Djarin's character culminates in an intriguing question for the viewer: was his purpose fulfilled in returning Grogu? Or was it a mission in futility? His faith and commitment to the moral precepts of the Way certainly guided his decisions, but he is more than a soldier of fortune. Kierkegaard's existentialism provides a framework to appreciate Din Djarin's moral complexity, a saved individual who in turn saves another. While both the Jedi and Mandalorian Orders echo religious values and ideals, it is not preordained that his mission to return Grogu would conclude successfully. His commitment to uphold the tenets of the Mandalorian Order is absolute, but he's confronted by a mission not of his choosing. He believes he's doing the right thing throughout encounters with Imperial forces and other mercenaries bent on collecting the bounty on Grogu, but he cannot deny the personal attachment he feels for Grogu. The paradox that frames Din Djarin's life culminates in his sacrifice of what he wants for the betterment of the being entrusted to his care – the very act that defines his purpose in life. By never removing his helmet, he maintains his authentic identity and upholds a core tenet of being a Mandalorian. But for Grogu, he is willing to make this sacrifice – twice. In “The Believer,” Djarin teams up with Migs Mayfield to infiltrate an Imperial remnant refinery on Morak to acquire more information on Moff Gideon's light cruiser. To log into the network terminal, Djarin must have his face scanned to be recognized by the system. Then in the season finale “The Rescue,” he removes his helmet again as the bittersweet reality of saying farewell to Grogu intersects with the realization of his mission to reunite him with the Jedi Order. The literal and figurative way in which Djarin faces this struggle embodies how he defines the true meaning of his existence.
The final stage of life according to Kierkegaard is the religious, in which one makes a leap of faith.10 Here one paradoxically regains one's purpose and desire by giving them up. This tension between faith and reason in Kierkegaard parallels the life of Din Djarin in many ways.11 Faith ultimately goes beyond the surface and is the task of a lifetime, requiring trust in divine promises, obedience to divine commands, and the teleological suspension of the ethical. Returning to the example of Abraham, from the standpoint of reason, his faith is naive. What would possess anyone to have such a blind adherence to a divine command to commit such a heinous act? Therein lies the paradox in experiences that cause fear, trembling, anxiety, and despair – the journey is never meaningless if one has faith. The leap of faith that Kierkegaard ultimately directs individuals toward goes beyond the aesthetic and ethical and transforms into the religious stage of existence where belief in God transcends everything we know as human beings. This is the Christian paradox that directs the existential narrative of Søren Kierkegaard: to find yourself, you must first lose yourself. Ultimately, these choices form the same moral trajectory for Din Djarin: to become a true Mandalorian, he must abandon the very creed that defines him.