Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a cornerstone series for us here at Beneath the Tangles. It came out just a few months after Twwk kicked off this ministry, and has inspired rich, thought-provoking posts from many members of the writing team ever since. So, isn’t it time to move on? Why are we doing yet another Madoka post? Well, that’s because each new writer brings something fresh to the table, and our latest team member, Michel, is no exception! In this feature (the first of two), he explores the way that Madoka Magica routinely subverts our expectations—not simply to entertain or keep us guessing, but in order to effect the greatest plot arc of all: redemption. As Michel reveals, although Madoka Magica may be most well-known for the theme of sacrifice, it is as much, if not even more so, a tale of redemption. ~ Editor

This article will be spoiler-heavy and will contain (excessive?) discussion of the anime’s symbolism. If that’s your cup of tea, read on!

Madoka Magica is one of those ambitious series that aims to be a fast-paced psychological thriller, while also telling a multi-layered story that treats us to deeper insights on each additional viewing. Usually, I prefer anime that have a more humble vision, but the crazy thing is that this anime succeeds in achieving both goals. In fact, the thematic depth of the anime goes so far that for a long time, I missed some of the more obvious allegories. This is because the relatively easy-to-follow main plot contains a motif that gives the story a surprising amount of complexity: the motif of reversal. That is, after introducing one way of understanding a character or situation, the series eventually turns that interpretation on its head. This happens with symbols, characters, and even core themes.

Let’s look at an example of this in episode seven, where the symbolism behind the apple gets flipped. Sayaka follows her enemy, Kyouko, to an unfamiliar location where they can talk in private. The place where they end up is fitting: an abandoned and ruined church. This site both reflects the degeneration of something good and primes the viewer for the Christian symbolism to follow.

Up until now, Kyouko has been nothing but a thug who seems to be trying to corrupt Sayaka and undermine her good intentions. And what she has to say now seems no different. When she offers Sayaka an apple—literal forbidden fruit, since it was stolen—Kyouko seems to be playing the part of the snake in the Garden of Eden. It’s no surprise then, that Sayaka is suspicious of her, which becomes evident when we see Sayaka’s face reflected on the apple.

But there’s more going on here. Sayaka’s understanding of the apple is incomplete if not flat-out wrong. She comes to this realization as Kyouko begins pouring her heart out, talking about her past. She tells Sayaka about how her naive hope in being a magical girl led to a painful end for her family, and how she recognizes this same naivety in Sayaka and wants to protect her from the same tragedy. Kyouko, this callous and selfish girl, suddenly becomes vulnerable for someone else’s sake. The reversal in the meaning of the apple here, then, turns it from a sign of sin into a symbol of the power of selfless sharing.

Japanese viewers might have an easier time connecting the dots here because the same sharing of apples happens in Kenji’s classic children’s story, Night on the Galactic Railroad. The two protagonists of this story even share Kyouko and Sayaka’s hair colors. The parallel with this story foreshadows Kyouko’s fate as well: Just like the red-haired (or red-furred?) protagonist in Galactic Railroad, her life will meet a heroic and noble end. Sayaka’s sincerity affects Kyouko, returning her to her pure and hopeful true self. Her naive attempt to save Sayaka ultimately fails, but nevertheless, her final moment is passed in prayer, conveying the hope that things might still be set to rights.

As with the apple, the series gives us an initial impression of Homura that is intentionally misleading. The first episode plays around a lot with this tension in the form of foreshadowing that is recognizable only in retrospect, as Bobduh wrote about. First-time viewers will have a hard time figuring out why Homura knows her way around the school and why she clenches her teeth when Madoka calls her by her first name. Other than being interesting for rewatchers, these little oddities seem to prime the viewer for what is to come later. The same intent is likely behind Homura’s line about having attended a Christian school, which is basically the only thing she reveals of herself to her classmates. This prepares us for the Christian symbolism to follow, which we wouldn’t usually expect in anime.

But at this moment in the story, Homura doesn’t look like a hero. Toward the end of the episode, she seems to be a villainous figure who fights against the cute magical girl mascot, Kyubey. Her initially shadowy and mysterious vibe escalates to murderousness, as she hunts down and seems to torture the small, cute animal. For first-time viewers, this initial framing is often so convincing that it becomes difficult to see Homura in a positive light. She seems to be the evil counterpart to kind-hearted magical girls like Mami. But episode ten disrupts this entire narrative, as it reveals not only Homura’s motivations but her true character as well. We’ll come back to this later!

Just as the anime proposes contrasting ways to understand key symbols and characters, there are also two ways to interpret becoming a magical girl: Is this central act truly heroic, or is it actually selfish? Those who argue for the heroic view must deal with the detail that to become a magical girl, you must make a contract with a devilish alien, which involves selling your soul to him in exchange for a wish. But we also can’t deny the sincerity of the wishes. When the girls make their wishes, most don’t ask for something for themselves but instead wish for something that they think will help someone else. The nobility of this is undeniable, to the point that Madoka herself acknowledges Sayaka’s genuine goodwill toward Kyousuke at the end of the series. As if to signal the worthiness of the wishes, they are made not by signing a contract, but with hands clasped together as in prayer, which, again, Madoka explicitly recognizes, referring to all the wishes of magical girls in the past as prayers.

Throughout most of the series, though, the selfish, nihilistic framing of the wishes gets the upper hand, only seeming to grow stronger as the story progresses. The girls are fighting because of their wishes, and on top of that, there is also a psychological battle being waged over the legitimacy of their wishes. Kyubey weaponizes each girl’s wish against herself in a fatalistic zero-sum game until his manipulation leads them to die in battle—or worse, turn into a witch out of despair. In the case of Homura, he does this by characterizing her fight as a self-centered quest to keep creating new timelines until she finds one that pleases her. He concludes that her selfish wish will only cause more suffering for Madoka.

So who is right, Madoka or Kyubey? Are the magical girls’ wishes signs of nobility or selfishness? As much as the viewer may feel compelled to choose a camp here, I’d argue that both are right—and both are wrong, in that both interpretations miss the full beauty of what is going on here. This is because what we see throughout the series is the redemption of the wishes. Any hint of selfishness that may have been present at the time the wish was made is eventually put to death. And nowhere do we see this more clearly than with Homura.

In episode ten, we see that, originally, Homura was a weak and insecure girl in dire need of a savior. Madoka fulfilled that role for her, saving Homura not just from physical harm when she found her cornered in a witch’s labyrinth, but from her insecurity as well, by becoming her true friend. Then, Homura goes on to witness the greatest tragedy she could imagine. Her only friend saves her again, but this time at the cost of her own life. Madoka made this heroic sacrifice gladly, but Homura could not receive it so. It was too bitter a sacrifice to lose her friend.

In this moment of grief, there is one thing she desires most: to redo her meeting with Madoka. She wants to be the one to carry the burden of being the protector. She sees Madoka as more valuable than herself and is willing to give her life for her. Through Kyubey’s contract, she acts out this desire by offering up her soul from between her clasped hands in exchange for her wish. She performs the same prayer of self-sacrifice that Kyouko did in the previous episode, but instead of it being the end of her struggle, it’s just the beginning.

After going back in time, the sight of Madoka alive and well makes Homura happy beyond belief. But in her enthusiasm, she’s not yet aware of the crushing weight of the burden she is going to bear. Simply banding together with Madoka and the other magical girls to defeat the witch Walpurgisnacht with brute force is never going to work. The cruel ending of the third timeline confirms the fact that they cannot escape the curse of being a magical girl. So it’s hard to blame Homura when in that moment of despair she suggests embracing the curse. She asks Madoka if it might not be better for them to become monsters and destroy this cruel world. Homura’s words here sound very dark, but they are spoken in a vulnerable state to a person who thankfully won’t let her stay in that darkness.

Madoka responds by going right to the core of the matter: to the despair in Homura’s heart. She uses her last grief seed to cleanse Homura’s soul gem, through which she saves Homura’s life over her own. If the scene ended here, it would seem like Homura failed her mission to be the protector. But then something incredible happens: Madoka’s voice breaks as she makes a desperate request of Homura, asking her to go back to the past and save her from Kyubey’s lies. Homura now sees that her original wish was not entirely a selfish whim. No, Homura’s wish to protect her is also a noble desire that Madoka fully appreciates. Homura doesn’t take long to let this sink in. She immediately gives Madoka a solemn promise to protect her. By repeating her original wish, and reshaping it into a promise to Madoka herself, her resolve is now solidified.

There’s still a long road of suffering ahead for Homura, but I’d argue that it’s at this very moment that her wish has been redeemed. The way Madoka cleanses Homura’s soul gem and justifies her wish foreshadows Madoka’s ultimate act in episode twelve.

The link between this scene and Madoka’s eventual wish becomes clearer when we take a closer look at Madoka’s request. Apart from being a desperate cry for help, she also displays here an incredible faith in Homura. Her decision to save Homura instead of herself here implies that she truly believes that Homura will succeed in her mission. In all timelines, we see that Madoka doesn’t sacrifice herself lightly, but instead sells her life dearly. This tells us that her hope and trust in Homura are not naive or foolish, so in her confidence, she must have already considered her future wish when she made her request of Homura. In this moment, we see a glimpse of the divine Madoka who emerges at the end of the series. And this is fitting because an ordinary person would have no right to make the kind of request she did. Madoka knew that Homura would accept her request and that a huge amount of suffering would be waiting for Homura as a result. The only way this could be justified is if Madoka had a future in mind where all the suffering would be worth it. Effectively, Madoka’s words echo those of Christ when He said: “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.”

Madoka speaks here with authority, foreshadowing her future transcendence as the embodiment of hope. She makes the contrast plain: walk in my path of light and hope, which is stronger than the path of darkness and despair. The end of the scene hits this point home even more when she asks Homura to kill her before she becomes a witch. Madoka shows her trust in Homura’s mission by facing death head-on because she knows that this isn’t the end of the line. She doesn’t allow the despair in her heart to win, not even in this doomed timeline. This radical resistance to darkness transcends the seemingly cruel request, one she knows will hurt Homura. But just as Madoka trusts in Homura, she’s asking Homura to trust in her. They’ll have to say goodbye to each other for now, but their true fight for redemption has only just started.

In my next post, I’ll discuss the image of Madoka as a Christ figure and how this interpretation misses half the story. This is because the Christ figure in Madoka Magica is not singular, but dual. Stay tuned!