I remember the first time I really sat with Suguru Geto—not just as a foe to be defeated or a plot device, but as a person whose ideas gradually warped into something unbearable. Writing for Jujutsukaisen Co., I keep coming back to characters whose choices ripple through the world of Jujutsu Kaisen, and Geto's journey from idealistic protector to mass murderer is one of the series' most disturbing and fascinating moral arcs. In this piece I'll trace the ideological steps that led him from empathy to atrocity, and try to explain why his fall feels both tragic and chillingly logical.
Where Geto starts: idealism rooted in protection
At his core, young Geto is painted as a protector. He and Gojo share a bond built on shared trauma and a desire to shield others from curses and suffering. This isn't a character who starts out cruel—rather, his early impulses are compassionate, steeped in a sense of duty. I think it's important to hold onto that because it makes his later choices feel less like a sudden corruption and more like the distortion of genuine convictions.
That distortion has two main sources: a radicalized solution to a real problem (the existence of non-sorcerers who are vulnerable to curses) and a growing resentment toward a society that seems oblivious to the sacrifices of sorcerers. It’s a dangerous blend: righteous anger plus a pragmatic willingness to impose a “solution.”
The ideology takes shape: purity, us-vs-them, and moral absolutism
Geto's drift toward extremism hinges on a few recurring motifs. He increasingly frames the world in binary terms: sorcerers vs. non-sorcerers, pure vs. impure, deserving vs. expendable. This reductionism is familiar in real-world radicalization patterns, and that’s one reason it’s so effective as a narrative—it feels uncomfortably plausible.
- Us-versus-them thinking: Instead of seeking systemic change or protection within existing frameworks, Geto begins to see coexistence as impossible.
- Moral absolutism: He replaces nuanced ethics with a simplified calculus: if someone is a threat or unnecessary, the moral constraints can be discarded.
- Ends justify means: His belief that drastic action is required to secure a safe future for sorcerers allows violence to be reframed as sacrifice or purification.
We see this shift in how he talks about "non-sorcerers." Where empathy once guided his actions, an ideology of removal takes over. The rhetorical move is subtle: start by emphasizing failure and danger, then magnify the threat until radical measures seem reasonable. That rhetorical arc is a textbook way to manufacture consent for atrocities.
Key turning points that hardened his worldview
There are several narrative moments that crystallize Geto's descent. Some are external—trauma, betrayal, systemic injustice—and others are internal shifts in how he interprets those events.
| Turning Point | Effect on Geto |
|---|---|
| Repeated exposure to death and curses | Normalizes extreme solutions; increases cynicism toward civilian life |
| Perceived neglect by society and jujutsu institutions | Breeds resentment and a desire for decisive control |
| Isolation from Gojo and peers | Removes moderating influences and feedback |
| Contact with extremist ideas/groups | Provides ideological vocabulary and logistical means |
When you map these events, you can see how Geto's logic becomes streamlined. Each blow to his faith in the system pushes him toward an absolute: if the world won't protect sorcerers, then sorcerers must remake the world, by force if necessary.
Psychology under the mask: resentment, grief, and rationalization
There’s a psychological tenderness in Geto that the series doesn’t entirely erase—he genuinely mourns what he believes has been lost and resents the cost imposed on sorcerers. But grief, when unprocessed, can harden into resentment. In Geto's case, the belief that sacrifice has been ignored becomes the idea that victims must be avenged through radical action.
I often think about how he rationalizes murder: by reframing victims as threats or obstacles, he preserves the image of himself as a protector. That self-image is crucial. If Geto allowed himself to see his actions as monstrous, his mission would collapse. So he constructs narratives—about purity, about necessity—that permit atrocity without internal collapse.
Comparisons that clarify: Geto vs. Gojo and Geto vs. other antagonists
Placing Geto alongside Gojo or other antagonists highlights his unique danger. Gojo, for all his detachment, retains a belief in protecting people and in the possibility of change. Other villains might seek power, revenge, or disruption; Geto seeks a radical reordering justified by a moral thesis.
- Against Gojo: Geto's methods are a perversion of Gojo's protective intent. Where Gojo defends, Geto imposes.
- Against typical villains: He’s not motivated by personal glory so much as by ideological certainty.
This comparison matters because it helps explain why Geto’s path is especially tragic: he starts from the same value set as heroes (protection, duty) but arrives at a totally different conclusion because of his chosen means.
Narrative purpose: why the story needs a Geto
As someone who loves close readings, I'm convinced Geto's role isn't merely to be a foil. He forces the world and readers to ask uncomfortable questions: What lengths are justified in protecting your own? When does defensiveness become aggression? How do institutions fail those who must serve them?
Geto’s arc is a mirror held up to the jujutsu society—and to any community that relies on sacrifice. If we're only allowed to admire his early convictions without grappling with how they can morph into exclusionary violence, we miss a crucial lesson about corruption through righteousness.
Signs to watch for: how ideology becomes violence
Recognizing the warning signs is one reason I write these breakdowns. In Geto's arc, several markers heralded the slide into atrocity—markers that, frankly, show up in real-world extremism:
- Dehumanizing language: Referring to groups as problems instead of people.
- Isolation: Breaking bonds with moderating influences, like Gojo.
- Ideological echo chambers: Seeking out only those voices that confirm your view.
- Incremental moral compromises: Small transgressions that become normalized.
Spotting those patterns in fiction helps us see them more clearly in reality, and that’s part of why Geto's story resonates—it's a cautionary tale about how good intentions can be commandeered by rigid ideology.
Personal reflection: why Geto still haunts me
I keep thinking about Geto because his fall feels avoidable. There’s heartbreak in recognizing that different choices or interventions—counsel, accountability, community—might have diverted him. As a fan who loves complicated characters, I’m fascinated by the ethical ambiguity he embodies: he’s not an empty monster, but a person whose virtues were twisted into vice.
For readers at jujutsukaisen.co.uk exploring character motivations and moral nuance, Geto offers one of the richest case studies. His path warns us about the seductive logic of purity and the danger of letting grief calcify into ideology. I still find myself returning to his scenes, trying to parse exactly when empathy became exclusion, and what that tells us about the world the series is building.
