After the Fire: Questioning Coexistence on the Ashes of Our Society [Slate]

The Questions Raised by "Avatar: Fire and Ash"
Is Community Possible After Loss?
James Cameron's Ethics of Symbiosis
Conditions for Community in an Age of Division, Beyond Violence and Loss

Movie still cut from Avatar: Bulgwae Jae

James Cameron's "Avatar" has always been known as a visual spectacle. However, with "Avatar: Fire and Ash," the series no longer remains a mere showcase of technology. Instead of focusing on the spectacle of war, it dwells longer on the time that lingers after loss. When fire has burned everything and only ash remains, by what ethics can the world be reassembled? This question extends beyond Pandora, addressing our own society today, where division has become the norm.

The film begins in a state of ash. If fire is the event of destruction, ash is the condition left behind. Throughout history, ash has always marked the starting point of a new order. After the Great Fire of London in 1666, the city was left in ruins, but people established rules and legal standards for reconstruction. During the rebuilding process, the use of brick and stone instead of wood became mandatory, and regulations on building height, wall thickness, and street width were introduced.

When disasters have destroyed cities, societies have created systems to cope with what follows. "Avatar: Fire and Ash" traces the time left after destruction. It asks how a community can function again in the aftermath.

Movie still cut from "Avatar: Fire and Spuljae"

When Loss Divides a Community

"Avatar: Fire and Ash" begins with loss. In the face of a family member's death, the family does not come together as one. Although they experience the same grief, each person copes in their own way. Some soar through emptiness, burdened by guilt; others seek meaning by turning to faith; still others immerse themselves in work to cover their anger. Rather than becoming a catalyst for unity, loss exposes the differences in how relationships are experienced.

Director Cameron does not idealize the family. Instead of declaring unity, he focuses on the moments when mourning goes awry. Sociologically, mourning is both a personal emotion and a way for a community to function. Groups reconnect by sharing grief through funerals and rituals. When this process fails, hidden cracks rise to the surface. The Sully family's inability to become one mirrors the early stages faced by a divided society.

Cameron identifies this point as the core of the film. He explained, "It is a story about how loss, grief, and trauma can create cycles of violence, and how those cycles can be broken." In the narrative of "Avatar: Fire and Ash," mourning is not simply a matter of comfort. It expands into an ethical question: can the cycle of violence be stopped?

Movie still cut from Avatar: Bulgwa Jae

At this point, the cracks lead to the issue of "the silence of God." Some interpret this as a mystery, while others see it as betrayal. Even with the same deity, faith splits in different directions. This is an age-old theodicy debate. When suffering and evil exist, faith becomes not a source of comfort, but a standard for distributing responsibility.

The 1755 Lisbon earthquake is a historical example of this shift in perception. After the disaster, the question "Is this God's will?" moved beyond the realm of religion into the language of politics and institutions. As ways of interpreting disaster changed, urban reconstruction, accountability, and public safety became central topics of discussion.

The silence of God did not unite people. Instead, it compelled humans to invent their own language of responsibility. The world in "Avatar: Fire and Ash" is similar. Rather than fostering unity, the silence of God leads people to choose different ethical paths. These choices become the starting point for conflict.

Cameron does not force this confrontation into a simple good-versus-evil framework. He moves beyond the premise that indigenous people are always victims or inherently good. The Mangkwan tribe, having lost their home to a volcanic disaster, no longer trusts Eywa. Believing that nature has abandoned them, they ally with humans for survival.

The history of colonization was not so simple either. The dichotomy of indigenous people versus invaders was rarely clear-cut on the ground. To survive or maintain power, groups formed alliances, turned their backs on each other, and moved toward whichever side was more advantageous. Ethics could not be summed up as "purity," and every choice came with a cost.

Movie still cut from "Avatar: Fire and Spuljae"

From Destruction to the Reconstruction of Meaning

The narrative of Barang, the leader of the Mangkwan tribe, reveals the film's most uncomfortable point. After the volcano erupted, they prayed to their god but received no answer. Silence turned to anger, and faith was transformed into fire.

Here, fire is not just a weapon. In a world where myth no longer functions, it serves as a language for creating meaning on their own. Rather than destruction itself, it is a device that reveals how a wounded community externalizes its pain and channels it into aggression.

Barang's process of learning to wield fire encapsulates the choices human societies have made to transform pain into the language of responsibility after disaster. Depending on whether that choice leads to coexistence or destruction, the trajectory of the community changes completely.

Movie still cut from "Avatar: Bulgwa Jae"

Connection Is a Choice

The ultimate destination of the film is "symbiosis." In particular, Spider's story redraws the boundaries of community based on relationships rather than blood or tribe. A being once marginalized for having a different body eventually learns to live through connection. It prompts us to reconsider what defines a community.

This film introduces the "Wind Merchants," a group inspired by the nomadic trading bands of the Silk Road. Centered on trade, movement, and exchange, they remind us that history has been shaped more by interaction and connection than by war and conquest. The Silk Road was not just a route for goods; it was a conduit for the mixing of languages, technologies, religions, and ideas, expanding civilizations. How societies manage the risks that come with connection has become the standard for the maturity of civilization.

This perspective aligns with contemporary ecological philosophy and biology. Symbiosis is not an exception but a condition, and life has evolved through the union of different beings.

Movie still cut from "Avatar: Bulgwa Jae"

Today, our society is divided. Political factions define each other as enemies, and social conflicts harden into moral certainties. In this context, the question posed by "Avatar: Fire and Ash" is clear: Even after violence, must we continue to live together, and if so, how is it possible?

Cameron does not offer easy answers. Only after showing the mismatch in how people endure loss, the cracks in faith, betrayal, and alliances, does he hint at a faint possibility. Coexistence in reality is even more difficult. It has always barely functioned atop imperfect systems and indelible memories.

Nevertheless, the ethics that make us believe coexistence is possible begin with a way of thinking that prioritizes relationships over individuals. The African communal philosophy of Ubuntu puts it this way: "I am because we are." Existence is established not as individuals, but within relationships. The symbiotic ethics presented in "Avatar: Fire and Ash" are rooted in this very idea.

Movie still cut from Avatar: Bulgwa Jae

Fire burns the world. Yet, even on the ashes, life continues. The question is whether that life will become a repetition of hatred or a reconstruction of relationships. The greatest legacy this film leaves in an era of division is its refusal to avoid that choice. Connection is not a feeling but a decision, and coexistence is not an ending but an ongoing process. The question cast upon the ashes of Pandora falls squarely upon where we stand today.