Hayao Miyazaki has spent his entire career drawing worlds that feel more alive than our own.
Yet beneath the flying castles, enchanted forests and talking spirits lies a remarkably simple philosophy: animation should bring people closer to humanity, not further away from it.
For the legendary Studio Ghibli co-founder, imagination has never been an escape from reality. It is a way of seeing reality more clearly.
That belief runs through nearly every film he has made.
His stories are filled with fantasy, but they are grounded in emotions that feel unmistakably real -- fear, wonder, loneliness, compassion and hope.
Miyazaki has often argued that fantasy should expand the human imagination, not replace the world we inhabit.
He has warned that virtual realities risk becoming a denial of reality itself, imprisoning people rather than enriching their lives.
This philosophy is closely tied to what scholars describe as Miyazaki’s “critical animism” -- the belief that nature is not simply a resource for humans to exploit but a living world deserving of respect.
Forest spirits, rivers and ancient creatures are not decorative fantasy elements in his films; they embody the idea that the natural world possesses its own dignity and life.
Whether through the Kodama in Princess Mononoke or the river spirit in Spirited Away, nature becomes a character rather than a backdrop.
That same commitment to authenticity shapes the people who inhabit his stories.
Miyazaki has repeatedly criticised modern animation for relying too heavily on clichés instead of careful observation.
In his view, too many animators draw characters inspired by other cartoons rather than by real human beings.
Genuine emotion, he argues, comes from watching how people move, hesitate, smile and grieve in everyday life. His films feel deeply human because they begin with humanity itself.
Perhaps that is why traditional heroes and villains rarely exist in his work.
Rather than dividing the world neatly into good and evil, Miyazaki fills his stories with flawed individuals trying to navigate complicated situations.
He has said he dislikes narratives that justify killing countless enemies simply because they stand on the opposite side.
Human beings, in his eyes, are morally complex, and his films embrace that complexity instead of simplifying it.
His characters also quietly challenge conventional ideas about gender.
Miyazaki’s heroines are courageous without becoming stereotypes of toughness. They overcome fear through empathy, resilience and self-belief rather than through physical dominance.
Male characters are equally liberated from rigid expectations. Figures such as Howl reject conventional masculinity, suggesting that authenticity matters far more than conformity.
That pursuit of authenticity extends even to the way Miyazaki makes his films.
For decades he insisted that animation begins with a pencil.
While Studio Ghibli has occasionally incorporated digital techniques, Miyazaki has remained sceptical of allowing technology to replace human craftsmanship.
Every hand-drawn frame, he believes, carries traces of the artist’s presence -- something no machine can fully reproduce.
His widely publicised criticism of AI-generated art reflects the same conviction: creativity is not simply about producing images but about expressing human experience.
In Miyazaki’s world, animation is more than entertainment.
It is an act of observation, empathy and care. His films remind us that the most magical stories are not those that help us escape reality, but those that return us to it with greater compassion -- for one another and for the world we share.
