The Jasmine Dragon: An Ode to Uncle Iroh

Spoilers for Avatar: The Last Airbender

I've known how much I loved the show Avatar: The Last Airbender (ATLA) ever since I saw it during its run in 2004-2007 as a middle-schooler, but it was only upon a recent rewatch of the entire series and its sequel series The Legend of Korra that I realized how much it's impacted me, from my taste in storytelling to my approach to life. ATLA is more than just a great show; it's given me some of my favorite fictional characters, including one excellent role model for both the series' young protagonists as well as anyone watching - Uncle Iroh.

For the uninitiated, ATLA is a popular animated kids series that aired on Nickelodeon from 2004-2007, hitting me right at the middle school era. It was an epic fantasy series depicting a diverse set of characters in a world inspired by Asian mythology. I watched it live and loved it then, and after this rewatch, love it all the more. ATLA is a triumph of classical storytelling, with compelling characters with recognizable drives and goals each undergoing their own satisfying character arcs. The music and animation are iconic, the fight sequences are unparalleled in anything I’ve ever seen, it’s surprisingly funny, and, perhaps more than any other piece of fiction I’ve experienced (aside from the His Dark Materials novels) is genuinely interesting for all ages. Its sequel series The Legend of Korra doesn’t match ATLA’s heights, but it’s still great and worth a watch.

But I digress. The point of this post is to talk about one character from ATLA in particular. Iroh is beloved by the fandom for his combination of wit, wisdom, comedy, and raw power. But over and above everything, what really defines Iroh as a person and what makes him so worth emulating, is his complete rejection of pride.

"Sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life's true delights."

Iroh is an old man at the start of the series, the traveling companion and uncle to the anti-hero Prince Zuko. As the eldest son of the previous Fire Lord, Iroh should have inherited the throne of the antagonistic Fire Nation, but instead, he lives in exile with his dishonored nephew and travels around the world in a seemingly-vain attempt to find the long-missing Avatar.

Iroh serves a number of important roles in the narrative of ATLA: as a cheerful, optimistic, friendly balance to Prince Zuko’s sullen, bristling teen angst, as a portrayal of a good father figure for a character with a horrendous father, as the angel on Zuko’s shoulder tempting him towards the light, and as a source of wisdom about the more spiritual side of the Avatar world. But on a practical level, in most of his early scenes, Iroh is primarily there to act as a foil for one of ATLA's other great characters, the villain-turned-antihero Prince Zuko.

Zuko is young; Iroh is old. Zuko is impulsive; Iroh is patient. Zuko is angry; Iroh is content. Zuko embraces violence; Iroh avoids it when he can. Zuko is serious; Iroh is jovial.

Zuko is proud; Iroh is humble.

There’s no more important difference between them than that one. Zuko’s entire narrative is built on the cornerstone of regaining his honor. He wants the love of his family, yes, but he always phrases it as a quest to “regain my honor.” To his father, the Fire Lord, the living embodiment of pride and power, there can be no love without that which is worth being proud of. Zuko's pride is inexorably tied to his father and his evil sister Azula; in other words, his pride cannot be separated from his pull towards villainy. Therefore, if Iroh’s primary purpose in the story is to serve as the force pulling Zuko towards becoming a hero, then Zuko can only embrace this change by rejecting pride.

I don’t think that this is only important for Zuko’s journey. I think it’s a valuable lesson for all of us. Pride and evil are tied together, while humility and good are linked. That makes Uncle Iroh ATLA's chief example of a humble - and therefore good - role model.

So how did Iroh become ATLA’s embodiment of humility?

"Life happens wherever you are, whether you make it or not."

Iroh was born the eldest son and heir of the Fire Lord, leader of the most politically and militarily powerful nation in the known world of the series. There’s literally no higher position of privilege and power available in this reality. We would understand completely if Iroh was filled to the brim with pride, earned or not. While the small glimpses into Iroh’s past seem to confirm that he was always fond of jokes, tea, and Zuko, we’ve seen nothing to dissuade us from assuming that Iroh would have internalized most of the values of the Fire Nation nobility. He was heir to the throne, a famed general, and hell-bent on conquering the unconquerable Ba Sing Se and toppling the Earth Kingdom himself.

In order for Iroh - and us - to really learn the lesson of humility, he needed to fall from the highest height. In this case, Iroh’s ultimate transformation from the Dragon of the West to the humble old man comes late in life, spurred by the death of his son.

Iroh fails to conquer Ba Sing Se, but it’s important to note that his “fall” from the heights of power comes because he abandons the siege, not simply because he fails to succeed. With the death of his son, a victim of the war ideology Iroh himself took charge of, all the benefits and prizes of pride seem hollow. The difference between Iron and his brother Ozai is never starker than this moment.

For Ozai, anything he respects or claims to love must contribute towards his own pride.

For Iroh, love does not stem from pride. It negates it entirely.

Bereft, grieving, and hollowed out, Iroh abandons the siege. We don’t get Iroh’s reaction to this anywhere in the series; but as a wise man, he likely knew that abandoning Ba Sing Se could mean abandoning his crown.

But in that startling moment of tragedy and clarity, Iroh saw the truth. The highest heights of power and pride would not bring back his son. There could be no pride in something that cost him those he loved.

Iroh’s claim is set aside, his younger brother ascends to the throne, and to remove him as a threat, he is assigned to wander the world with his banished nephew Zuko, given the fool’s errand of finding the supposedly dead Avatar. Yet Iroh seems to take this all in stride. Whether freezing on a ship in the Arctic, staying in small inns or sleeping on the road, Iroh looks on the bright side, takes what’s offered to him, shares his tea with strangers, and lays the groundwork for turning Zuko away from his destined path. He has found someone to fill the void left by his son’s death, and he will not fail this one.

We don't get much about Iroh's son, and nothing suggests that he was an especially evil or immoral person. But for Iroh to truly save Zuko, he has to show him that another path exists. Like Zuko, Iroh has lost much that was dear to him. He's suffered, despite his privilege of birth. But he's learned a path towards something better, a path paved with enjoying life's small pleasures, befriending strangers, playing music with joy regardless of singing ability, and taking the time to do small things right. He doesn't care about regaining his status or maintaining some sense of superiority to others; he'll do what he likes regardless of how it makes him seem, or he'll do what he has to do in a pinch, even if it's considered unworthy.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the beginning episodes of Book Three, when Iroh is imprisoned and branded as a traitor. Zuko, without really knowing why, visits him secretly at night to search for some direction or atonement, but never gets a response. Iroh doesn’t even speak from episode to episode (though this may be due to the death of Mako, his voice actor). In episode 304 - one mostly about Sokka - we see repeated scenes of Iroh playing the part of a senile prisoner when watched by a guard, and immediately shifting to working out when alone. He grovels, licks food off the stone floor, and slobbers while the guard dismisses him: “you used to be the pride of the Fire Nation…” To the guard - and likely most of the Fire Nation - Iroh is a tragic misstep, an example of what happens to those who fall from the towers of pride, or more likely, leapt from their own volition.

We see the truth, that Iroh is training, preparing, waiting for the right moment to break free. His senile old man routine is an act, but he's willing to debase himself in the eyes of his nation in order to escape to aid his nephew. Neither his brother, his niece, nor even Zuko himself would ever do such a thing, even for their own gain. It's against the Fire Nation. It's undignified, unmasculine.

But to Zuko - and to us - Iroh is a hero, an example of someone worth aspiring to, someone whose love and affection is worth seeking out.

Zuko’s old life crumbled away when he fell to his knees and pleaded for forgiveness from his father. Ozai burned him, banished him, and rejected him.

Zuko’s new life began when he fell to his knees and pleaded for forgiveness from his uncle. Iroh embraced him, forgave him, and accepted him.

"I was never angry with you."

Iroh is not a detached buddha, rejecting the world for an enlightenment found in isolation. His lack of pride does not mean a lack of respect for himself or others; he’s honest about his strengths and faults, obviously takes care of his body, and even treats everyone he encounters - enemies included - as potential friends. He laughs, sings, flirts, drinks and makes tea, plays games, dances, cries, and offers hard-earned advice to those in need of it, wherever they may be from and whatever circumstances they may find themselves in. He has wants and goals and values worth fighting for. But none are rooted in status, achievement, or building some worldly egotistical legacy.

When the war ends, and our heroes ascend to positions of power to help better the world, Iroh rejects power again, and returns to the city he once tried to conquer, and runs his tea shop. I like to imagine him chatting with his regulars, listening to stories of love and loss and joy, and suggesting just the right blend for them. I imagine him becoming a lynchpin of whatever neighborhood he finds himself in, playing music for the kids, sitting around a campfire giving advice to confused and wayward kids that will remind him of the son he lost, and the son he found.

I understand how gaining power and pride is vital for the many people in our world who have so long been denied it. Human society has perhaps always been a story in which the many are rendered powerless by the few, and any steps towards balancing that situation are the ones we should take. But, speaking as someone from a life experience that our world often gives power to and raises to expect power, I can think of nothing better to do with it than reject it. When you have it, use it to raise others up. And when you can offer it up, do so gladly.

Zuko hopes desperately to gain pride to combat his shame, and it seems quite obvious that both the fictional world of ATLA and the real one we live in are filled with people who share his initial beliefs, who believe that acquiring enough power will lead to enough pride and recognition and beat back the specter of shame for good.

But Iroh offers us a piece of wisdom here: “Pride and shame are not opposites, but stem from each other.”

Neither Zuko nor any of us can destroy shame with pride - we’d only be fanning the flames. Pride is weak, and shame will come crawling into the cracks of whatever monuments we build to our own greatness. This isn’t just true for the power-hungry and arrogant. Even well meaning people bereft of the major heights of power dream of creating legacies, of being remembered and beloved. Iroh shows us one example of what happens when you abandon the treadmill race for pride, and learn to love and live without a need for recognition. Sometimes, in doing so, you’ll get it. Sometimes not. That’s not the point.

For myself, I don’t know what the future will bring for me or the world. I hope I live to be old, and that I can retain enough of my mind and body to find some peace. I hope that I can be like Iroh; without pride, enjoying the pleasures and wonders of life, being a good friend to those I love, and offering a smile, a helping hand, and a song to those around me. And I hope I always have a warm cup of tea at the ready.

"True humility is the only antidote to shame."